Chapter One – In the Beginning (Autobiography Book by Mynzah)
(age unknown…picture of me by Shani Beyeridge)
~ In the Beginning ~
Everyone has a story, and this is mine. Over the years, individual Souls have connected with me in different ways. I’ve met many people through the internet, the Marine Corps, Sheriff’s Department, High School..just life in general in my walk. Some things have stood out more than others in this life and I wish to share that here. You may believe all of what I share, part of it or none of it. Whichever way you go, is not up to me, it us up to you, I can only share what I know to be true and hope that it sheds Light in areas of darkness within your vision of reality.
I have no desire to have a following, start a religion, become famous and/or rich, I only come to deliver the Word and complete other mission tasks along the way. I am indeed a messenger from the Stars and there are many that are here who have awoke as I have. These others that have awaken have kept it privately to themselves for their own reasons and then others such as myself have chose to be more public. Each have their own path to walk here yet share a collective mission of Love and Light. Some remember when they awakened, some remember their Walk-In experience. I consciously Walked-In to this reality at the age of 4 and eventually fell asleep after some years within this material illusion, to awaken almost 40 years later.
After my awakening in 2008, I realized that other people, both alive and dead, whom I had no previous knowledge of, had identical metaphysical experiences as I. The end of the world cycle I have seen and understand why I have been shown and others as well. Some may see what I share as doom and gloom but with a consciousness locked in a realm of fear, one is unable to see beyond the veil of birth.
I remember the day that I entered this body, it happened when I was 4 years old. At the time of me coming into the body, I had no name or word to describe the experience. It wasn’t until almost 40 years later that I would find out that there was a name for my experience. Today, some refer to it as a “Walk-In”, but at the time, I had no idea what was going on, and my walk has been one of remembrance since.
I carried this experience with me and never revealed the totality of what had taken place to anyone. I didn’t hear anyone around me talking about how they got here or where they came from so I didn’t feel comfortable talking about it myself. The more violence I saw amongst people over their perceived differences, I didn’t feel safe revealing myself to anyone.
As a short definition of what a “Walk-in” is according to Wikipedia: “A walk-in is a person whose original Soul has departed his or her body and has been replaced with a new Soul, either temporarily or permanently.”
I know that I was 4 at the time of this taking place because I was also attending pre-school. As an adult, I asked my mother about a school she would take me to, one of my earliest memories. I described the playground and the interior of the school to her and she said, “You remember that?” I told her that I enjoyed it there and that was one of the earliest memories I had. She said, “That was your preschool before kindergarten, and you were 4.”
The earliest childhood memory for me wasn’t preschool though, it was when I was standing in the middle of a street, looking over my body, wondering how I got here, and what I was supposed to be doing. In wonderment, I looked at my arms and my hands, turning them over, back and forth. Within less than a minute of being in my body, I remembered that I had a mission and something important to do, but just couldn’t remember the mission or what was so important to do here. And where is here? And where was I at just before here? I knew I was in another place, but as hard as I tried to remember, it slipped away. I associate it now with waking from a dream and trying to remember it but it fades from you the harder you try to remember.
I remained in the middle of the road trying very hard to piece together this instant puzzle. My first instinct was to remember where was I before, maybe that would help me understand where I was now, but nothing came through. As I stood there confused, I looked to my left. and there was what I recognized as a house that I was supposed to live in. There was this inner knowing that I was to live there. I felt that there would be more clues at the house for me. so I headed towards it. It was my hope that someone or something there could help me.
As I walked up to the house there was a lady that I didn’t recognize visually outside sweeping. As I got closer, I immediately knew her as my mom. but not my real mom. I recognized her on a Soul level as someone other than the role she was playing as my mother. There was no name that came to me, only a familiarity, a feeling that I knew this person as someone other than who she was pretending to be. I asked myself, “Why is this person pretending to be my mother?” I knew her as someone else but not as my mother. As I experienced this I became guarded because I was very confused about who I was, why I was here, and who this lady was, pretending to be my mother. I didn’t even know my name, until she called me “David” when she asked me what I was doing.
So many things ran through my head at this time. Trying to process it. I felt a need to get away from her and be alone, to process what I had just experienced. I told her I was going inside the house. I don’t recall what she said to me after that, but I saw three doors and chose the one closest to me. It led into what I later would know as the living room.
As I went into the house, the first thing that I saw against the far wall was a poster of a lady holding two babies. Immediately I was drawn to this poster and headed straight to it. I knew I was supposed to look at it. As I approached the poster, it became increasingly meaningful to me, but I didn’t understand why. I stood there looking at the colorful poster. In the poster was a blue lady with blond hair holding two babies. The blue lady had stars all over her face and body. The baby on the left was dark. and the baby on the right was light. Behind the lady was a large rising planet. Above and behind the dark child was the Sun, above and behind the light child was the Moon.
To me this image meant a lot but I wasn’t exactly sure why. I wondered if the lady on the poster was my real mom because I knew that the one I just met was not. I also wondered if the dark baby was me, and the light baby was my brother or sister. As I have progressed in my awakening, I have come to understand the meaning of this poster and why it was so significant that I see this upon initially Walking-In.
The divine mother of the stars indeed birthed me here, as well as my sister, I would later come to remember. This poster was one of the most important pieces to me, even though I didn’t understand it at the time. It left an indelible memory for later reference. I carried that poster in my mind all through this journey, and then almost 40 years later, it clicked into place.
I kept to myself after my experience with my mother and the poster. I wanted to continue to figure things out, and felt it would be best if I took an observer position. I wanted to figure out who the people were that were coming in and out of my life, and why they were there. I assumed if my mother wasn’t real, then nobody else was either, including me.
I came into contact with people and learned the identification labels attached to them. What I mean by that are the titles that people are known by, I saw as identification lables. I began filtering through them, determining who I could confide in. I wanted to know if there was anyone else who knew what I knew, someone else who was also lost in this reality.
You probably want to know what happened to the Soul that was animating the body prior to me Walking-In. I was not supposed to experience certain things within this reality, and birth was one of them. There were going to be some traumatic events that would take place prior to me coming in. The Soul already animating the body was supposed to experience these events, not me. The Soul that was birthed into this reality, and whose place I took, is named Jaliel. He is a teacher and guide of mine that has watched over me and has been with me throughout my incarnations. I wasn’t consciously aware of all of this information at the time. It wasn’t until later when I met Jaliel face to face that I would come to know why I Walked-In at 4.
I don’t remember how long after Walking-In I came across some pictures that my mother had of a child that I didn’t recognize. The child was unfamiliar to me because it had very light skin and its arm was in a cast. I recognized my mother in the picture but I wanted to know who the child was with the cast and light skin. I thought maybe it was a brother of mine that I didn’t know about. I took the picture to my mother and asked her who the boy was in the picture and she said, “that’s you.” I remember staring at her smiling face. She seemed happy that I was inquisitive or maybe she was amused that I didn’t recognize myself.
I had no recollection of ever breaking my arm, and I do not remember my skin color being that light. I asked my mom what happened to my arm, since this had happened before I came in, one of the events I was not to experience. My mother told me that one day while playing with me on the bed, I fell wrong on my arm. She said she was throwing me on the bed and I landed on my arm and my bone almost came out of my skin. When she told me this story, something about it didn’t resonate with me. I would later learn that my arm was accidentally broken by my mother. who was enraged by my fathers infidelity, and subsequently took it out on me. Her intention was never to break my arm, this I know to be true.
I also asked her why my skin was a different color in the picture than it is now. She couldn’t really give me an answer, she just said she didn’t know. I would later come to know that the darkening of my skin was related to my reincarnation and Soul exchange with Jaliel.
It didn’t take me long to learn not trust adults, including adults in my family. Before my parents separated, I mostly played with my cousins, who were the children of my moms siblings. The majority of my time spent with them was between the ages of 4 and 8. I was an only child until I was 10 years of age. After my parents separated, my mother had two more children. Up until them, my cousins were like my brothers and sisters. Yet I only entrusted one to share my story with. I was the 4th oldest of all the cousins, and the cousin I felt I could reveal some things to was next in age behind me.
The only person I felt confident enough to share my experience with was my female cousin named Tenesha. Her and I became very close as kids. I always enjoyed going to her house and staying the night. She was like a sister to me, she even showed me how to cook with her easy bake oven. At the time I didn’t have a sister, but I always wished she were a sister instead of a cousin because I wanted her to live with us and be around all the time. I was able to tell her what I was experiencing and she knew not to share this with anyone-especially the adults. We both knew that adults were not to be trusted, especially about this stuff. I shared with her that I wasn’t from here, that I could go between realities but I couldn’t seem to remember how. I also shared with her about ships, but as we got older and I moved away, those conversations stopped. I don’t wish to imply that she and I talked about this all the time, because we didn’t. I was throwing questions out. first to see how she thought about things, and then if I felt comfortable bringing something up that we as cousins normally don’t talk about, I would. But it was not a regular basis.
I reached a point before I was eight years old when I was feeling as though I had been dropped off and stranded in some strange place, and couldn’t remember where I was from or why I was here. I did know about my past lives, but this only added to the confusion, so I didn’t think about it too much. India was the last place I remembered being in a dense reality, and I knew I had my previous incarnation there.
The day of realization that I was here with no apparent way of leaving, I was extremely depressed because I felt alone and abandoned by my family. It was a painful experience and I wasn’t aware of what suicide was, but had I been at that time, I am sure I would have done something to get out of here.
There was no one here like me, no one who thought like me, no one who saw what I did, and no one who knew what I knew. I began thinking I was being punished for something that I have no recollection of doing, and that life here in this reality with speckled amnesia was my sentence.
As time went on, I became immersed in society and slowly acclimated to this environment. I would frequently question my mother about the religion being forced upon me. I knew differently than what the preachers were speaking of . There was some truth to what they shared, but it was not entirely the truth. I would sit in church, reluctantly, with my mother and other family members, and I would look around at the people in wonder. I couldn’t believe that these adults, who are supposed to know what is best for us, take us to this place to listen to someone that doesn’t know entirely what they are saying. Just because you are an adult doesn’t mean you know the truth. Children are closer to the truth of reality than adults because they just came from the true Divine reality, and many adults have forgotten, and stopped questioning things all together. Eventually I came to the realization that they are believing and not questioning what they are receiving because they are in fear.
As a child, I would ask my mom questions with the hope that she would think differently than what she was being told to believe by the pastor. One day after church, I remember asking my mother about this place they call hell. I asked her if everyone who isn’t a Christian goes to hell, and she said yes. I assumed she would say yes because that is what the church says, but I wanted to see if she truly believed that, or thought differently. I then asked her if that included kids who were born some place else on the Earth where they’d never even heard of Christianity, and she clearly didn’t want to answer that question. She didn’t want to damn a child to hell. She got upset with me for my persistent questioning and told me I should talk to the pastor because she didn’t have the answers.
On another occasion, the subject of hell came up again. At this point, I was getting fed up with the concept of hell being forced upon me when I knew it wasn’t true. I asked my mother a question that made her kind of look at me sideways. I asked her, “Where was I before I came here?” I could tell by the look on her face that she was troubled and confused by the question. She asked me what I meant, so I repeated, “Before I was here, where was I at?” She replied “I don’t know, why?” My response was “I want to go back where I come from because we don’t have a hell there.” I remember a very confusing look on her face as she said that I couldn’t go back.
I would also argue with my Mom about the notion of only having one life. And I knew that dogs, cats, bugs, animals, birds and fish, were just as alive as we were and should be treated as such. Clearly I didn’t think how those around me thought, and this troubled me further. I wanted to get along with everyone, and to fit in, but it seems in order for that to happen I would have to believe in the lies they do, and either reject or forget my own truth.
Before I turned 8 years old, I was riding with my mother, aunt, and cousin in my mother’s Volkswagen. I loved to ride in the very back compartment because I could watch the other cars and people and just keep to myself. On this rainy day, I saw that we had slowed down and the traffic was stop and go. I looked ahead of us to see why were going slow and I saw a small puppy was in the middle of the road. It was a two lane road and the puppy was on the center line sitting and looked confused and scared. As we approached, I got excited and asked my mom if we could pick up the puppy so it wouldn’t get hurt. She told me that we couldn’t. I pleaded with her and she refused. I knew she could have just opened her door and picked up the puppy, we were barely moving but she continued to tell me no, that we didn’t have time, and we already have two dogs. I watched as we passed by the puppy, hoping it would be okay, or that someone else will help it. After we passed the puppy, I looked out my back window to see it get hit by the next car. It was still alive and trying to get off the road. I let out a scream that jolted everyone in the car and continued to scream and cry. My mother asked what happened, and I told her the puppy just got ran over. There was silence except for me. I told her that it was her fault it got hit. and that she could have picked up and saved its life. She apologized to me, but it wasn’t enough, I continued to cry.
Even though I knew the answer, I asked my mom if the puppy would go to heaven. She thought about it for a second, and then said “No, dogs and animals don’t go to heaven.” I started crying and screaming again and told her that was a lie. From that point on, I wanted no association with this religion, this god, these parents, this planet, or the church.
I was abused throughout my childhood by various people in various ways. I learned to not trust people, including those that you believe to be closest to you, those that tell you that they Love you. My earliest introduction to corporal punishment at the hands of one who loves you was by my grandmother.
I don’t remember my age but I know I had to sit on my feet so I could reach the table to eat my food. I was admittedly clumsy as a child, and wasn’t fully comfortable in body. I reached to get my glass of milk in front of my plate and as I reached, my fingers hit the glass instead of grabbing it. As soon as it happened. I knew it was going to spill, and time slowed way down for me. Before a drop of the milk hit the table, where myself and a majority of my cousins sat for lunch, I felt the open hand of my grandmother strike my face and subsequently turn my head opposite the milk. Simultaneously I was in a state of shock and fear, and lost my breath. I breathed in but couldn’t breathe out because of the shock. Tears began running down my face, and I didn’t think I would ever breathe again.
In that moment I realized that while my face stung, I was mostly hurt by the realization of who had hit me, and why. I always thought I would be immune to such violence because I always tried to be good.
Seeing that I wasn’t breathing but crying at the same time, my grandmother threatened me with more violence with a statement I would hear later by another who said they loved me, “Shut up before I give you something to cry about.” Now I wanted to run because I knew I couldn’t breathe, or stop crying, and she was going to strike me some more. I looked at my cousins sitting quietly at the table, looking at me with compassion and fear, fear for me as well as fear for themselves. No one could come to my aid, and then my breath came back. I tried to stop crying, but my feelings were hurt and I was still in a state of shock. I sort of stopped crying, but my body still jerked from trying to hold back the tears and the hurt feelings.
When my father found out about what happened, I heard him tell my mother, “If anyone lays their hands on David again, I will kill them, I don’t care who they are.” From that point forward, no relative ever spanked me. I was fortunate to have him stand up for me, but my cousins still faced abuse, and I still wish someone would have stood up for them.
I thought I was through with abuse after my father’s statement to my mother, but after they separated, I was no longer under his protective radar. Then my mother began to hit me and make reference to my father as she did. I knew she was taking her frustrations out on me that she felt for my father. Regardless, I loved my mother anyway. Until one day I wished that she were dead. I was in 3rd grade.
There is nothing like getting what I call a “whooping” with your own toys. I received a race car track from my mom as a present, but I don’t remember the occasion. Not long after receiving this awesome gift, I was getting a whooping with one of the long plastic strips. The plastic race car strips would leave welts and break my skin open, and sometimes I would bleed. This continued until almost junior high.
One day after my mom gave me a whooping, I went to my best friend’s house to play and his parents asked me what happened to me. They could see the welts and blood on my legs because I was wearing shorts. I told them what happened because I really respected them and I could see they were very concerned for me.
They were very upset by what I shared. They talked to my mom about it and told her that they would call the police if this happened to me again. After that, the whoopings, that went through a procession of instruments such as the switches off a tree, the water hose, and the worst for me physically, the electrical cord, stopped. It had been hard handling the realization that my mother was doing this to me. She was the only protector I had in my life. At that time, her and my dad had split up, and it was just she and I.
We moved to a different city hundreds of miles away from my Dad, and we were around people I didn’t know at all, who didn’t appear to like me. The first day at my new school, after we’d just moved hundreds of miles away from everyone I knew and somewhat trusted, I was greeted with, “you’re a nigger.” I didn’t even know what that word meant.
~ Mynzah ~