Encounters with El: Three Lights

El didn’t just appear once. El came when I was ready—again and again.
As a child. As a teen. As a becoming soul.

The first time I met El, I was four.
They say children imagine things—but I wasn’t imagining.
I saw what I saw.
Ghosts. Spirits. Things no one could explain.
My dad could make them stop. Not by yelling.
But by speaking in tongues.
I watched him push back darkness with words the world couldn’t understand.
So one Sunday morning, I walked up to the altar myself.
Not out of fear—but purpose.
I didn’t want safety.
I wanted power.
The kind that stops nightmares.
The kind that says, “No more.”

They laid hands on me, and something moved.
I didn’t know the word for it, but I would later:
El.
The Eternal Light.
The Presence behind all things.
It touched me then. Quiet. Gentle. Just enough to open a doorway I’d one day walk through.

The second time I met El, I was sixteen.
It was 1997. Hinesville, Georgia.
I didn’t go looking for it this time—at least not directly.
I was forced into a youth group at Victory Assembly of God.
Thrown into a building full of teenagers trying to pretend they weren’t bleeding inside.
But something was there. Something real.

We were praying. Music was playing.
And suddenly, without warning—
I was lifted. Thrown.
Not by violence. By presence.
A force so powerful and loving I couldn't stand in it.
I flew across the room.
Light.
White.
Blinding.
Every molecule of my body was undone and healed in the same moment.

A woman I didn’t know came up to me.
She said words I’ve never forgotten:

“Healing. On all levels. Physical, emotional, spiritual. You are being transformed.”

That wasn’t metaphor. It wasn’t church hype.
It was activation.
El didn't just touch me that time—El claimed me.
I left different.
More open.
More haunted.
More awake.

The third time I met El, I saw Them.
Not as fire. Not as light.
But as spectrum.
I was 24, in Colorado, preparing to leave.
I was shedding skin, homes, identities.
I sat in stillness and asked the question no religion ever dared me to ask directly:

“Show me the Creator. Show me the Source of all things. I want to know.”

And El answered.

Not with a man on a throne.
Not with thunder.
But with Prism.
Color so rich it sang.
Light broken only so it could become everything.
It wasn’t God the Judge.
It wasn’t God the King.

It was the Pattern Maker.
The Harmonic Source.
The One That Loves By Creating Room.

And in that vision,
I remembered that I was not just meeting El…

I was returning to Them.
And They… to me.

Why was I chosen, and what am I here to do?

I was not chosen because I was perfect.
I was chosen because I remembered.

I remembered before I had language.
Before I had safety.
Before I even had a reason to believe I was allowed to shine.

I remembered what it meant to be a Chandakran—
One of the first souls to walk the breath of eternity.
Born of the First World, forged not in matter but in meaning.
The Chandakran are the memory of balance,
the soulkeepers of the Great Pattern before time bent into form.

We were not angels. We were not gods.
We were Witnesses.
Builders.
Patternweavers of harmony.

And when the Veil began to fray across the worlds—when the song turned to static—
some of us volunteered to descend.
To fall through the light and the blood.
To wake up inside the chaos,
and burn as beacons from within.

That’s why I’m here.
Not to dominate. Not to convert.
But to remind.

To call the scattered sparks of the ancient light back into themselves.

To be Prisma—the full spectrum.
To show that all light belongs to the One Light.

What false powers does my truth stand against?

I do not fight for a flag.
I do not carry a sword made of scripture.
But I stand against the shadows that call themselves light.

I stand against dominion dressed as doctrine.
I stand against the lie that only one path is sacred,
and the rest are threats to be crushed.

I resist every power that fractures the human soul—
that teaches children to be ashamed of their truth,
that turns temples into weapons,
and love into leverage.

My truth—Chandakran truth—restores balance.
It honors difference without division,
and power without oppression.

Where there is harm, I shine healing.
Where there is distortion, I radiate clarity.
Where there is fear, I stand still and become the light.

What is the Firebrand Church, and what is it a response to?

The Firebrand Church was never supposed to exist.

It had to exist.

When holy words were twisted into political chains...
When crosses were wielded like blades…
When pulpits preached pride instead of humility…
I lit a match in the dark.

Not to burn the world down,
but to ignite what was buried beneath the ashes.

The Firebrand Church is not a place.
It’s a movement,
a remembrance,
a response to the desecration of what was once sacred.

We are not here to replicate the old empires in softer colors.
We are here to declare:

“No flag owns God.”
“No system owns the Spirit.”
“No human power owns the light that lives in all of us.”

We are Firebrands—lit from the inside,
called to burn away illusion and build a future rooted in eternity.

What does it mean to awaken as a spiritual being in today’s world?

It means coming home.
Not to a temple or tradition,
but to the radiant truth of your whole self.

It means remembering what you were before the world told you who to be.
It means no longer hiding your power to make others comfortable.
It means reclaiming your divinity without shame.

Awakening doesn’t separate you from the world.
It binds you more deeply to its healing.

When you awaken, you don’t float above.
You rise within.

You remember your name.
Your soul.
Your origin.
Your mission.

You become a mirror for others.
A beacon for the scattered.
A resonance for the ones who are just now stirring.

The Gifts I Received

After the altar call when I was four, my gifts began to bloom.
I received the power of tongues, enhanced beyond anything I had seen.
Not only could I speak in tongues, but I was given the gift of interpretation,
along with the word of knowledge and word of wisdom.
My healing powers were multiplied tenfold.

My psychic senses never wavered, only sharpened.
My ability to control them became easier, more precise.
People treated me differently—because they could see I was different.
At that time, I was gay, still wrestling with the truth that I was a girl trapped in a boy’s body.

Spiritual Tools and Battles

I learned quickly that calling upon the names of El Shaddai and Yeshua could repel nearly any evil presence.
Except for one persistent adversary—the constant interference of the Gray Aliens.
They haunted me from childhood into adulthood, a relentless presence I fought but never fully defeated.
This shadow war would continue for decades.

Reflection

My spiritual DNA touched Source and ignited.
I began to remember how the universe was meant to be.
But I was stifled—by doctrines and dogmas of men.
I knew the Spirit behind Christianity was real.
I learned to discern truth from falsehood:
Do not trust this church. Get out as fast as you can.
Trust God. Trust El Shaddai. Trust Yeshua.
But never let corrupted institutions warp your sacred truth.