The Spirit Of...

750 pages

Published: June 3, 2016

ISBN: 978-0988944381


$26.95 print / $5.99 ebook



In history, truth is often lost to the ravishes of time. No more evident is this than in the most well-known book of all time: the Bible. But in an attempt to locate the lost city of legend, Matthew Stevens and his team of archaeologists uncover the truth behind the Genesis of the Word. Are you ready to find out what the world doesn't want you to know?


Amen Dello Keli.


The water pressed against my face. Soft and smooth, it caressed my cheek like my mother’s hand used to do when I fell off my bike and scraped my knee, or when my Shih Tzu puppy, Cuddles (named after her mother, from what I was told, by the strange guy behind the desk of the shelter with all the marks on his arms) was hit by a car. I didn’t see it happen, but the image of Cuddles running out into the street, scared to death — frozen — as the tires squealed across the blacktop, burned itself into my mind for weeks after my mother told me. I pretended to be him; I felt the fear and the lack of strength, the dry bumper shoving me under the weight of that thousand pound Chevrolet. (It was always a Chevrolet; that’s what my mom drove and that’s all I knew.) But every time I cried to mourn the death of Cuddles, my mother brought me to her lap, held me tight against her chest and sang me my favorite song. She sang to me as I fell asleep for as long as I can remember and then some. From the moment I was first brought home, that song was a part of my life. And as she sang, she would caress my cheek.


I was her little kitty.


The song was so clear; my mother’s voice rippled through the water that no longer felt like water. I knew I was sinking deeper and deeper, but no — I was flying. I was being protected. But by whom? In my life there have only been two people that I’ve ever felt safe with. My mother, of course, who up until a week ago, I hadn’t seen in three years; and my father, who wasn’t around as much as I would’ve liked, but was honest and faithful. Whenever he promised he’d help me with something — anything — I knew he’d follow through on that promise. He never lied to me, though, occasionally, I lied to him. It never sat right with me, and more often than not, the guilt would push me to fess up. They were the only two I let into my heart — until now.


My father was above me. My mother was above me. My life was above me. But all I could feel was the grace of the water’s love. My mother’s arms, my father’s trust — none of it compared to the freedom the water gave me. Soothing, soft, calming — no thoughts clouded my mind from the tranquility. I was drugged; I was dead;


I was kissed —


*     *     *


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