Apparently there is a Way to Heaven, with Gates and Keys, and Rules of the Road.   This Way is the only Way, each path demands, falsely, obviously, with a hundred “One Way” choices fanning out into time and imagination.The true path proves itself the one path only at the end… 

Hold on, what is The End, except more imagination?  Will I be removing two coins from my eyelids to pay a toll to cross the River Styx, jumping from Black Rock into the setting sun, or lining up before the Gates of St Peter trying to get my name into the Book of Life?  

Which path did I start from, when my parents were divided from the beginning?  My mother was Catholic to the last obligatory penance, escorting my brother and I to church every Sunday.  An Extra-saintly Prophet, she clocked into morning mass every morning during lent as well, managing to bring me along without my brother who was old enough to opt out.  She accomplished the presence of all four of us at Church only two days a year, Christmas and Easter Mass.  Even there though, my father didn’t buy into any religion, demonstrating his method of prayer by stretching his long legs out under the pew in front of him when it came time to kneel.  His temple was his mind; his sacred books were Nietze, Russell, Tolkien, and Architecture. He read slowly, carefully, patiently taking the time to let the words soak in. 

I could have taken sides, as my mother’s religion demanded.  By sheer persistence and guilt, her influence tried to make me Catholic, who are told what to say when praying, when to kneel, and exactly which bible verses everyone reads at the same time around the world.  My father’s influence, especially when he wasn’t there, was for me to find another bible in the Pew and keep reading the entire chapter for myself.  

Like one big family, priests are called Father with helpers called Brothers and Sisters.   “Be one of us, and this is how, but only after you take the oath,” as the deacons and clergy act it out, reading the Bible for us, with the Rules to live by and guidance from the priests’ sermons every week.  Somehow, those sermons deftly skirt around where Jesus said, “do not call anyone Father except your Father in heaven.”

I may have been raised Catholic, sampling the Kool-aid, but I kept reading to where the Bible says “poisons cannot hurt you.”   Ever since, attending this church or that, each of them holds one key or another, but certainly not all.   One thing to be said for Catholics, they are the Marines of Christianity.  They may have invented the word Purgatory, but there are a million grandmothers praying 1000 rosaries to get everyone out, and the Nuns show up.“

Here is the Christian way,” I read, picking up a tiny Protestant booklet dropped on the sidewalk, leading like breadcrumbs to someone preaching with a PVC cross.   Follow Him 100%, or be Lost.   This booklet is too brief to include Jesus’ command, “pray silently to yourself, do not pray standing on street-corners for others to see.”   Yet, Protestants still defy even that, just in case one of us didn’t hear.   His name is above all others, and you can adopt yourself in with His Father.“

Do not take an oath, let your yes be yes, your no be no,”  Jesus says. Your word is all you have. But in this life I’ve already gone and done it.I stood, lifted my right hand, took an oath and gave my word. “I promise to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic.” What choice now?  Do I hand St Peter an excuse note, “I was only 18, a foster kid under economic duress…”

Can I buy my way in, at least with a Military Discount?  Here’s a receipt crumpled in my pocket, worn to practically lint, another excuse from several military doctors: “after a Traumatic Brain Injury caused insanity and a Loss of Identity, she didn’t know who she was.”

Excuses are worthless, any recruit knows this; and every soldier pays a price, to what end fate only knows.Reality is figuring out how to make it back alive. In my case, after being discharged brain damaged with no pension and no home to go back to, “life” and “finding herself” took on a whole new level of prices to pay. 

My mother considered herself a prophet.I  f she had some purpose naming me Anna, like the biblical figure who recognized the Messiah, then there have been at least eight of Him since then, appearing through various timelines and cultures. I’ve read that 

     like Jesus, Quetzalcoatl is born of a virgin goddess Coatlique, and is a great teacher of civilization.

      Both figures are light-skinned and bearded.

      Also like Jesus, Quetzalcoatl strikes down the Prince of Darkness and Evil (Tezcatlipoca), who attempts to deceive mankind.

       In the Gospel of Nicodemus, Jesus resurrects several kings and prophets of previous epochs out of the underworld.  The Aztec godman descends into the underworld, where he “gathers the bones of the human beings of the previous epochs.” 

       Quetzalcoatl’s blood is used to convey life to the humans whose bones he saved, while Christ’s blood delivers eternal life and saves humans from death.

       Quetzalcoatl became the “second sun,” while Jesus is the “sun of righteousness” arising with healing on his wings. (Mal 4:3)Both are identified with the Bright and Morning Star.

       Quetzalcoatl represents one of the four cardinal points, one of four “brothers,” while Christ has four brothers (Mt 13:55). 

        Jesus came to divide, causing discord even among families, while Quetzalcoatl, “caused a rain of fire to devastate the earth, drying up all the rivers and destroying man…”  

          In John 3:14-15, Jesus identifies with the serpent that Moses raised up at Numbers 21:0, Quetzalcoatl and Kukulkan are identified with the serpent, dramatically reflected at Kukulkan’s temple at Chichen Itza.

Prophecy said that Quetzalcoatl would return in the year One Year Reed (1531) to save the people from a bloodthirsty enemy. Doña Marina went to the coast hoping to meet him to plead for assistance in ending the river of Aztec sacrifices. The pale skinned arrival turned out to be Cortez, whom the Aztecs welcomed as Quetzalcoatl, and so she took the situation into her own hands.  If Jesus is Quetzalcoatl then I am Marina, returning with a hummingbird tattoo on the left.

(Trevor Hall, Obsidian)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HnneWrKfu3w

Prophecy said that Jesus would return.  I’ve read where the pale-skinned Chee-Zoos wearing a robe embroidered with crosses visited the Pawnee, teaching them the ways of peace.After some time, a few young rebels became bandits, but Chee-Zoos came back with a serious “what-for”, arriving from the clouds exactly like Revelation, rescuing and resurrecting their unfortunate targets before he left again.  If there is a second coming of Jesus, there’s a strong case He already came and went.  What does Revelation say about the people who missed the ride?  We might be here a very long time.  If reality is a line of people leading to St. Peter’s judgment, then I am Lilith, grabbing the feathery quill from St. Peter’s gnarled white hand scrawling into the Book of Life to write:  No one is left behind.  When I’m in, we’re all in

(Halsey Castle) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wrvK0dRiM0c