Category: Testimonials

Warning: Message For US Residents Only

Dear fellow mental health sufferers who dwell in the US, especially those remaining in California.

Please do read my blog but first this warning to you.

According to the ancient wisdom of the Bible where there is bitter envy and strife there is confusion and ever evil work. It also states in the Bible that Jesus Christ cast our sins as far from us as the east is from the west.

The flat earth theory, whether true or not, teaches that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. London and very near to my own residence, along with my current place of both retreat and forbidden work, lies upon or near to the Greenwich Meridian.

I have read yesterdays newspaper reports about the rise of anxiety in Britain of those who are young and use social media. Britain uses a mix of communication methods, many Old World, Some New World (increasingly) whilst those who trust in nature resort to the Eastern philosophies and meditations. These cannot be mixed without dangerous side-effects.

Prescription medications almost invariably mix the two (east and west) through synthesising. This may or may not be safe (see previous testimonies) yet to outlaw and persecute a person for their beliefs and spirituality causes great harm.

The Bible is clear: salvation belongs to Christ alone. It cannot be bought (e.g. through sale of adulterated coffee to young teenagers in the UK) or sold (e.g. through purchasing of additives to tobacco from the east.)

Every person needs comforts and strengths. Blesséd are those who rely solely upon the inspiration of the Holy Spirit of God, through the gist of the Father through the sacrifice of the Son. (The Blesséd Trinity.)

Few, if any, of the mentally unwell can so access such refuge in times such as these, however. That is why I am working after a very stressful night of writing poems, making notes and stealing a little water and the available, yet to me harmful, milk.

I have made promises to return to my earthly home before the weekend yet due to the nature of my host on this short spiritual retreat promises have been made for my return earlier (note, please, that I speak in terms of a fleshly journey by car, not an appearing in heaven).

I have used forbidden knowledge, as my initial testimony shared with a psychiatric nurse confirms, to gain insight into the causes of this dangerous “healing.”

(I saw the TV yesterday. I know who is editing their speeches. I know who is protecting me. I know those who will have access to this message will in some way benefit.)

REPORT OF MY REVELATION, for the benefit of the mentally unwell who dwell in the US. The NHS is a blessed institution and private healthcare damages and destroys those who love life more than money and possessions.

A Hard Day’s Work

Being mentally ill is a hard and dangerous journey.

I do not have the time to relate all that I have been up to this past day – or rather, I have much time but need to be resting and continuing my Bible study. At this present time I am having my stolen dinner 😉 and my borrowed chariot ( ).

The journey this past day has been full of light and blessing. I received some hard discipline from dear brothers at church yesterday, both in the morning and evening. I am unsure if they realised how hard ot was or how fruitful it may prove to be. Who can truly know but God Himself? As for me I remember my prayer at the beginning of this journey: “As for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.”

Mental Illness and Fasting

Yet I suffer from a profound mental disorder. I began an Advent fast according in time to the Anglican calendar but according to strictness closer to a mix of Ethiopian Tewahedo and my own fleshly desires. According to the Eastern Orthodox teaching, the mentally ill are not only warned against the practice of fasting but are also usually precluded (forbidden) from doing so. During my period of Advent fast I spent much time in the psychiatric ward, and the resulting drunkeness on food, distressed souls I sought to help and the holiness of God within me caused great harm to those ill-equipped to cope. Yet my continuing hope, along with an intermittant faith and a love no-one really quite “gets” keeps me going. In short, I depend upon God; Father, Son and Holy Spirit and at times only brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, friends and allies are able to provide for my most basic and vital spiritual and bodily necessities.

The Struggle Within and the Struggle Without

What is your own struggle? Is it to maintain a faith amongst the righteous when you are a sinner? Is it to cope with a self-righteousness which only a brother can nail down rightly? Is it to cope with an indwelling sin or the sins which others have placed upon you? As the Apostle Paul says: “We have been crucified with Christ.”

In his book Slave by John MacArthur he writes:

Slaves of Christ are to be “always abounding in the work of the Lord” (1 Cor 15:58), “trying to learn what is pleasing to the Lord” (Eph 5:10), and ever seeking to understand what the will of the Lord is” (Eph 5:17).

Slave by John MacArthur. Copyright 2010. Published by Thomas Nelson

The mentally disturbed can rightly be called slaves of Christ if they routinely confess their sins, seek to “fight the good fight of faith” and remain in fellowship with the brethren within the Church. Yet it is a battle. A huge battle.

Advice, Hope and Limitations Learnt

I was advised by a dear brother and sister yesterday about being careful about what I post online. I have now largely abandoned Twitter and abandoned YouTube, radio and television some time ago due to the temptations and false teachings they brought. Yet I know others can find comfort in those things. So who can truly judge? God, and He alone.

I spent some of the afternoon of Monday with some very ill people. There was a disabled person, some Down’s Syndrome people, some with learning disabilities and some I discerned were truly possessed by demons. Yet there were saints with me, in uniforms and out. Not all who belong to Christ confess Him openly. Some live in catacombs of the shadows. And that is the role of the mentally disturbed people of Christ.

Holiness and the Winding River of Mental Ill Health

We are, according to Jesus Christ Himself and the writings of many – though far from all – of the historical saints, called to live lives to holiness and undefiled purity. This is acheived through the Cross of Christ, yet, as a brother evangelist told me, sometimes this is an up then a down and sometimes a down then an up.

Sometimes for those with ceratin conditions the road is far more narrow and winding: a great river or a narrow stream; one which flows out into the Oceans of Faith rather than leading upstream to the pleasurable springs of pure refreshment. Remember that the rivers and streams and seas were not always as polluted as they are now and the rivers and oceans of the true Faith shall never be full of dead fish and bones but that even the sea shall give up her dead.

The ill, the demonic and the saints I had to leave be. I spoke words of confession to a friend and servant, words of comfort (I hope) to an employee and made and offer to give low paid casual labour in return for their kind shelter they have been and I hope shall continue to offer me.

And I met two true brothers this past day. One openly. One a beautiful surprise which prompted me to remember the poor I had been forced to pass by whilst in town earlier.

To Conclude

I end my day of work greatly blessed, still hungry, still drinking water, tea and coffee and still smoking tobacco (though less now that was the case yesterday). And so, with my confessions and, I hope and pray, my encouragements done, I shall now seek to continue my Bible study.

The Situation with Myself

As I am writing this I have come to use internet access which does not belong to me. It is my sincere hope that the hackers, of which I am aware, will understand my motives and, as I am convinced is the case, my history both of mental illness and severe difficulties with gross sin.

As an initial return to A Heart of Flesh, therefore, I desire to offer apology of sort. Final judgement belongs to God, but my intention all along has been to comfort the mentally distressed, provide help and prayer where possible, and introduce those who are able to receive to the glorious knowledge of salvation in Jesus Christ the Risen Lord.

I had started to exalt myself in my heart, again, and, professing to have a string wisdom, I became like unto a fool. Due to certain other hackers and criminals, as I suspect though sure evidence is scant, my telephone, personal communications and personal internet access has been cut of. This is the justice yet also the mercy of God. “All things work together for the good of those who love the Lord and are the called according to His purpose.”

I cannot post much here. My words need to now be few. My other websites may or may not continue, depending upon the will of the Lord and my continued survival both spiritually and physically.

Apologies to the mentally ill, and others, who may have been seduced into sexual miscreancy by my stories. Maybe the nature of that would be lost on many, yet there is a great danger when talking about spiritual matters in real-life related fiction.

My stories are my perspective, not to be taken as court of law statement nor as spiritual truth. My Twitter feed does still survive as at last look.

I shall hope to post more in due course.

Misty Moon

[This is the first of the Misty stories. Come on children, let’s make this a team effort!]

Misty was a silly cat, really. Never the mind, as Orinoco would say, we love him, for he lives with the Berry’s now. Everyone agreed, apart from Smokie. Well, Smokie, otherwise known as Great Uncle Bulgaria, often disagreed when people didn’t agree with him.

Smokie accused people, but this isn’t a story about Smokie. This is about Misty and Orinoco on a particular date. (I know, Fern, one of the treatment centre cats, often said silly things in front of children. “For their own good!” Big Nanny would say. But Greenfeather would shake his head and sit under Fern.

Well, Orinoco knew better, for he had spent the night with Misty and said with a giggle, “Sick people need treatments, what we need is a good roast dinner!” Everyone agreed. Agreed is good, but a greed is not. The Fruit Bat had told him that one, one night when they had prayed in the bedroom together with Smokie’s stuff whilst Elfin played around with the apple.

Misty had seen it all, except for the Sea of Love, which was the beginnings of The Mission. That night she was busy with the Fruit Bat as well.

Greenfeather always provided, even for himself. You see, Greenfeather was a good elf.

“He’s not a good elf!” said Smokie as he was burning the oven. And quite right he was, too.

“Let us forgive and forget!” said Elfin, but Orinoco and Misty couldn’t forget, for they had had guilty pleasures. “And a good job they did!” was Greenfeather’s response, but it was the first time any of them had seen Big Nanny cry.

“It’s okay, Nanny, I love you,” said Elfin.

“I love you too, very much!” said Big Nanny, and they all gave three big Hurrah’s to the Wise Men.

The River of Life

I have tweeted how this year I intend on publishing my short stories on a new blog along with my poems and hymns. Here I present my first short story of my battle with mental illness in a fictional account.

Part I

Merryfield awoke late for him. Five o’clock by his timepiece. The larks were already sounding their song. He got up and went into the Holy Place – his lounge – for the waking cigarettes and cups of tea. First couple of rollies in silence, then the Mac would go on to play suitable tunes.

Two cups of tea; several cigarettes; a few tunes: Toby Mac, Elements; Shai Linne, Doxology; Paul Wilbur, Praise Adonai; and Rebecca St. James, One and Universe. Then prayer. He prayed his most selfish prayer to date, for his spiritual wife was due to be engaged this day with a man who purported to be a Christian yet at this time she was still married to her third husband.

Merryfield justified his own position: she had been brutalised by her former and present husband, as had her five children. One had possibly been stillborn because of the abuse. She had had to leave. Why did he then covet her? Because. Because love. Because mercy. Because grace and, he hoped against hope, because truth. She needed a steady hand, her sons and daughter needed a good role model as father, they all needed comfort and good Christian teaching. Was he a hypocrite? No, for he had no sexual desire; even kissing was forbidden between them because he was a eunuch by choice. This other man? A so-called Christian who intended on fulfilling his sexual desire with seeds planted whilst she was still married. A very different kettle of fish.

He prayed:

“Heavenly Father, prevent this engagement. Stop any marriage of my spiritual wife with any man other than myself. I know this is a selfish prayer. I pray in Jesus Name. I know you hear my prayers. I know you will answer this one. I know that I have just denied my wife her greatest desire, yet it is a sinful desire and so I pray this selfish prayer to you.”

The Sun was now starting to rise. The false dawn, as the sailors call it, was showing. A little bit of respect to the letting agents; the next cigarette must be outside. He made his coffee. Two cups of tea then an instant coffee; full wakefulness would have been achieved by then, especially with the dawn coming and the Daybreak to occur. A Sabbath day, time for a rest, if that transpired to be at all possible.

He had been promised his rest, yet he knew that would come at the Final Trump, not before. He had his work cut out. Personal battles with demons, spreading the Gospel, watering the seed he had sown, nurturing and cherishing his wife and her children, providing for himself and them through his allotment and writings and art. Then the housework. A woman’s work is never done! He wasn’t a woman, but his wife had enough to cope with than to be troubled by his housework and he could only afford the cleaner for his elderly Nan. No, as well as the other work he had to be his own helpmeet, too.

Mourning took hold. “Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” He lied to himself. No sexual desire, my hat! It was why he desired a wife. It was why he could not have one. Yet never did the lust depart, and so he bent the rules and as a committed celibate he took an adulteress to wife. He took her daughter and called her his daughter. The scent of her menstruation aroused him yet he knew his vow of celibacy was firm for he had been tested. This was an holy eroticism, never to be fulfilled yet always present when he thought of his wife and damsel.

He thought of his cricket-loving cousins, partial Irish by decent. Better to bowl a maiden over than hit a triple six in a batting. He really was a naughty, naughty boy. No getting around that one. But Lilith his first wife was gone into the outer darkness now.

Joy returned. The battle was in darkness for the succubus. Yet the joy of Zion and the peace of Jerusalem was paramount. Yet not all had ascended and one was needed. He sent the call. And that one dwelt in the belly of the Beast. Babylon will fall. She must.

Frankie. That dog with the devil in him, as Mum always said when he ran around wildly. Welby was his first suggestion, then Francis of Assisi. But no, Mum chose Frankie. Did his Mum really return from death to speak to him? Ask of him a request to save her loved ones? Who could be sure? But despite the chemicals and excessive alcohol he had told that voice in his head that he would do his utmost. He must descend to the dead now. Yet those who are Christ’s shall never die. “A weeping heard in Ramah! Rachel weeping for her children, for they were no more!”

Part II

“How?” asked Diana. “How else?,” answered the bearded man she now regarded as teacher, “Mind control? Brainwashing? Propaganda? Mass media? Advertising?”
“You speak as if you doubt those?” queried Diana with a slight smile illuminating her face. Beardy looked upon her. A puzzlement? A possibility? A sudden dawning of a way forward? He could be unsure of the signal. Diana herself puzzled at the Beardy One spending so much time studying her mouth.
“No, not doubt. All of those are real and are already in play.” The Beardy One smiled and even grinned. “But Truth shall prevail! Hurrah! Hurrah! Three cheers to the Wise Men! Hurrah!” Diana felt uncomfortable.
“Continue,” she said matter of factly. “Continue I shall, but another time. Other people require my attention and my span is short.” He arose from his cross-legged position by the tree and walked off. Diana called after him. He turned. “You are indeed a Queen of Hearts,” he smiled again, “but there are fifty-two cards in a deck and I cannot spend all day with only one.”

Merryfield walked far that day. Yes, he had told the lady the truth, but he was also being true in that his span was short. He couldn’t talk with people all day. At times he needed retreat. Soon the stars would be out with the moon which strikes. A poor show for one who once worshipped the Queen of Heaven. A poor show. It would not do and so he stopped at the local Co-operative store for some tonic water; a good antidote. Plus the tobacco, of course, for the spiritual warfare.

He approached the local park and the memories kicked into play. Shock, pain, tears, emotional outbursts. Drink and poppers had had that effect on him in days past. Here, in the Gardens. With Eminem in his ears. Foul-mouthed Illuminati male whore, as he knew full well now. He would battle Marshal, that false prophet who had deceived a whole generation. He would use DISL. The other who see through the charade of Slim Shady and his alter egos. Maybe Shai Linne also, for Biblical balance. The tablet from Magog would come in useful once more.

My Christmas

Christmas was very difficult for me.

I travelled down to Dorset on Christmas Eve with my Nan and uncle (who was driving) to visit my brother and family. An intense time of trial ensued, culminating in my freaking out during the evening of Christmas Day. I am not proud of that, and I now owe my brother a new door as I headbutted it intending to release my pain through self-harm (sadly the door was cheap and broke rather than giving me the desired bruising.)

The Blessings

There were many blessings, including a game of Ludo on Christmas Eve which we agreed was the best game of Ludo EVER! (I had a huge giggle fit thanks to my niece which required the first of two “halftimes” in the epic game.)

Gift giving was also a huge blessing, especially being able to bless my niece with a beautiful painting I had bought.

The Devil Was Present

I explored the garden and surrounding area a little and it is a dark place.

My brother’s rented property has a hideous graven image of the Devil by the back door. It didn’t disturb me too much but explains well the haunting my brother and his wife told me about in the house. Spiritual warfare ensued most fiercely.

In Summation

I intend on visiting my brother again, mainly because I want to have Christian input into my niece. She suffers from mental health issues including demonic oppression.

I do not think, however, that I can celebrate Christmas with my family anymore. The majority of them pay either no regard or are openly hostile towards Christ.

Update on My Mission Field

I have been writing periodically on those I have been ministering to whilst at the local DOP (Department of Psychiatry). Here is a quick update.

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My Own Mental Health Situation

As I am sure you are by now aware, I do not regard myself as “insane” though I do freely admit that I have a disorder of mental and emotional state. As such I felt that my forced incarceration and medication under Section 2 of the Mental Health Act to be not only unjust but also illegal as I had insisted quite forcefully upon admission as a voluntary patient. I do not, however, intend on pursuing this through legal recourse any more.

I have now been discharged and have stopped the medication except for the depot injection of Haloperiodol, which is causing dribbling and lethargy as well as shortness of breath. I hope to reduce this swiftly as the dose is quite huge compared to my usual amount (double).

I am in a fairly stable state mentally right now after a good day’s Sabbath Rest, the first real rest I have had for a few weeks apart from sleep. I am still battling such things as the seductress from the early chapters of Proverbs and there are possibly still some inner demons which threaten me as well as the accuser of the brethren which haunts me. Prayers for me very much appreciated.

The Men


Please pray for this man. He has met a lady who is experiencing the Apocalypse though I do not believe that he himself has yet entered it. They are close and I have blessed them and advised them both.

JH is reading through a number of Biblical books as well as a teaching book I gave him as a Christmas present. He is charming, lovely and full of worldly wisdom, though obviously he is only just beginning to learn about godly wisdom.

He I regard now as a brother in Christ. Please pray for him!


He has been taken off Section 3 with an explcit threat to place him back on it should he attempt to leave.

Please pray for him as he and I call each other brother. He is a true Muslim, though, and smokes to cough out the “Lamb.” I cannot confess too much more to you about him as the rest I shall keep covered out of respect of brotherhood both Muslim and Christian.


Claimed by Ragi as a son. Yet I also have ministered to him with a Shai Linne song and a book on the Gospel by Glen Scrivener. Please pray for him as he appeared at last spekaing to be still refusing the message of the Gospel.

The Women and Girls

I use the word “girl” wisely, as one is no more than a child in demeanor and nature, yet stuck on a ward intended for adults with predatory men freely roaming at times in communal areas.


Hopefully she’s been discharged now. She and I pray together and I’m hoping to see her tomorrow for dinner with my Nan. She has troubles with her sons. Husband gone and I have no idea where but I know enough to know it is God’s doing that he is gone.


She has restarted smoking after I advised her, backed up by her husband, that moderate smoking would be preferbaly to vaping. I gave her a Christmas present of Prince Caspian by C. S. Lewis but have not been able to minister to her to any real degree.


A blessing to me yet delicate and vulnerable so I had to tread very carefully. Please pray for her!

Testimonies – My Testimony

“For we know in part.”

I am not yet fully awake, yet I start writing this testimony of testimonies now. It may take me some time to finish it and I want to edit it minimally, so will now write only a few thoughts.

We all know a part of our friends and family. In fact, we only remember a part of our own journeys. The mind edits and only remembers parts, and of that of our friends we see things but cannot be fully sure that our testimony of them is one hundred percent true.

I have shared things on this blog and my Twitter feed about myself and others. It has been shared with sincerity and faith, hope and love. Yet who can say for sure if it is true? God knows, as the old saying goes, and that saying is true: God does know!

My own testimony is true. That of others is through knowledge and observation. My testimony is true, unless I indeed be a liar and a deceiver.

Life on a Mental Ward for a True Believer

A mental ward is like hell for a believer. On my ward there are two true believers of faith: myself and a Muslim man from Egypt. We both struggle enormously. We are both coping well, despite the intense persecution we face there.

On a mental health ward such as mine the Gospel is forbidden to be preached openly. I have shared the Gospel as I am able. I have told, gently but firmly, a homosexual that sodomy is sinful. I have been severely rebuked for that with implicit threats that this may lengthen my incarceration.

There is a man, going by the name of Paul, who deceives the patients. He shares a “gospel” based on “science” and a hypnotic methodology. So I knocked over his coffee and stubbed a cigarette out on his tweed jacket, for few see him as he truly is: a wolf in sheep’s clothing who has abandoned his wife to deceive patients and others through his recording and playback devices. He returned my acts with acts of violence, including a punch to the head. I responded by quietly walking off.

Preaching the Gospel and Fulfilling the Roles

On my mental health ward few Christians visit. There is no visit from a Christian chaplain. No apostles come – except for one of the Apostolic Succession who occasionally and graciously visits me. No prophets true come. No evangelists come. There are no true teachers and pastors.

I have attempted to fulfil all these roles whilst at the ward. I have had no other option.

I have preached the Gospel, even to a seagull for we are told in the last chapter of Mark to “preach this gospel to every creature.” I have preached the Gospel as I am able to a person held in solitary in 136 (let the mental health patients understand.) I have encouraged JH, rebuked Ragi, warned many, comforted some, helped an old lady to the door, tried to wean women off cigarettes. I have told unrepentant sinners they are not welcome near me.

I am in many respects like King Arthur according to an Irish legend: the man who burnt his cakes. Yet I am not King Arthur. I have come as a thief in the night, yet I am not Jesus. I have judged to extreme, yet I am not God.

What shall my reward be? Punishment eternal? Or life most blesséd? Only God can judge, but see this post on my rebellion against the mental health system before you yourselves make judgement upon me.

Why I am at the Mental Health Ward

I went to the ward voluntarily. I asked to be admitted. The community team sent me to the crisis team. I kept my appointments. I once waited in the hospital grounds overnight to ensure I kept an appointment. I reported to A&E. I was beaten, bruised and had my clothes torn. I was told to leave. I left.

Later I was asked politely to to accompany some police officers to a mental ward in Hastings, I went, peacefully and quietly. They would have refused to take me if there was any danger of me being placed on Section under the Mental Health Act. They did their job well. And as soon as they had left I was placed on Section 2 of the Mental Health Act and violently and forcibly injected with a strange chemical.

I feel my rebellion is justified in the sight of God. And now, as I write on overnight leave, I want to cry.

Thank you for reading. Please pray.

Time Under the Ward – Overnight Leaves

Last night I had my first overnight leave since the beginning of my third 2018 time under the ward. It has been a blessing and I am now having my second overnight leave.

Adjusting takes time, even when the “insanity” which the doctors have prescribed has not been taken by the patient.

Last night I listened to Saga by Adrian Von Ziegler – a heavy and dark album of Norse lore. It troubled me yet it enabled me to take my meal of pork and vegetables well with much thanksgiving; the first dinner I have had at home since the detention under the unjust mental health detention system in place.

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Sleep went well, one of the earliest nights I have had. I had also listened to the Carols from a recording from King’s College, Cambridge and read the evening’s Song of Degrees.

The morning brought much joy with a time of praise unto my God with an African Children’s Choir as the backing to my offering of praise.

My Return to the Ward

I was required to return to the ward, which I did. I was blessed there with a coffee with my brother JH and the lady he is courting. For the purposes of this blog I will refer to her as Jessie James. Please pray for them: they will need much prayer and hopefully I can provide support, teaching and love after discharge.

I also was blessed by a hug, kiss and cup of tea from the one I have chosen to wife in a spiritual sense without any carnal knowledge being involved.

Thanks be to God this Advent of 2018!

Quick Note on the Sisterhood

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Last night I posted about my time on the ward and told summarised stories of some brothers of mine here. Now I want to speak on the sisters plus one son.


The son. From Arabia. Religion unknown. Cared for by Ragi, myself and the true, faithful, staff. Please pray.


My love. With sons and a daughter. Separated from husband, now committed to celibacy. I love her as my own. Sisters, please pray.


Pronounced differently. Brazilian. A good carer and protector. All, please, pray and be watchful.


(Sp?) Please pray. She says she has a son. I believe she is pregnant. She is seductive yet not physically beautiful. She smokes tobacco. All, please pray. Wolves: BEWARE!


Young. Squinted eye. Beautiful in my sight. Depressed. Has experienced violence. Sisters, please, please pray.