Thursday, April 28, 2016



Some of this story is true, some is not. Not yet, but it's all sincerely shared.

I woke up this morning with "Wings!" Not little fledgling feathers, but with radiant Raphael renaissance wings. Think the Angel Gabriel in all them Annunciation paintings.

I was in bed between being awake, and dreaming when I felt an itch where I'd never felt one before. Something was going on around my shoulder blades. I experienced that strange sensation amputees have, but in reverse. There was now 'more' instead of less.

I touched my back. There was something there. I rolled out of bed, and nearly fell over, center of gravity had changed! I picked my way through the semi-light of early dawn to my dresser mirror.

Well there I was. Looking as I usually did when I wake up. At least now in my grumpy middle years. I'll spare you the grim details, but there was a light over my shoulders. I half turned. Wings.

I had wings.

(It wasn't exactly like this, but I thought it was a cute picture so what da hell)


A few days ago,...before the wings. I was standing on a corner waiting for the light to change. There were some school kids horse'n around near the edge. One of the kids spilled out into the street oblivious to the danger.

A Hugh! "SUV" big as a tank was speeding straight at 'em! The bastard wasn't even thinking about slowing down. As they say in these sorts of stories, time slowed down. The world, and all in it seemed to drift like feathers in a light breeze.

Well I was standing right there so just reached out, and pulled the kid in. Time resumed it's natural flow. The car/tank flashed by, and the kids didn't miss a beat. They continued laff'n, and playing.

All of them apparently unknowing of the tragedy averted. The light finally changed, and the kids frolicked away. Life went on.

Once more I 'happened' to be there to pull someone in. "Right place", "Right time",...again. A few months ago there was that little boy I pulled back from slipping over a railing, and falling into the East River. Then there was that teen-aged girl I yanked back from stepping into the path of a bus.

There's more,...the old lady in the subway, the man at that construction site I 'happened' to be passing, the little girl, and that car backing out of the driveway.

Wait it gets better.

A couple of summers ago there were these two teenagers that were gonna knife each other on the train. I stood between them. Don't ask me why I did it 'cause I don't know.

One moment I'm sitting with everybody else hoping that someone would 'do' something. Next thing I know that someone was me! How the hell did that happen?! Hey, I'm a New Yorker, but I ain't 'that' crazy!

Now this sort'a thing has been going on for most of my life. Since I was a kid. I never questioned it. It was just 'something' that happened sometimes. There's people that can shoot milk through their nose's, me I save complete strangers from certain death.

(This here is one busy painting in a creepy sort of way, but ya get my point, yes? Btw if ya clicks on it this pix' get's big, and scary!)

'And no, I can't predict horse races or lotto numbers. My rotten luck, figures. Unfortunately this ain't a "gift" I can make a living off of. Don't expect to see me on "Oprah" anytime soon. Unless of course I "happened" to pull her from the path of a speeding "Health Quack", and their publicists!

Anyway through it all the folks involved in these "incidents" don't got a clue. They all seem totally oblivious to the danger averted. I guess it all happens too fast for them to notice that the very "Jaws of Death" had just snapped at them!
'And because I was there,...missed.


I was considering this curious personal history as I looked over my shoulder at my wings. Interesting, they seem to react to light like a prism. My every movement was creating rainbows around my bedroom.

Truly this is a gift though I don't think I ever prayed for it. I suppose this is my "Stigmata", my unasked for token from Heaven.

I should say for those not raised by deranged Nuns. The stigmata is a sign from G-d to the particularly faithful or insane. Take ya pick. Since I consider organized religion the worse disaster in human history. Well, maybe second to the last ice age or that comet or whatever that blew away all the dinosaurs. I guess that narrows ya choices.

(Oh yeah that looks like fun. Where do I sign up?!

About the stigmata though. You're basically awarded, "awarded" mind you with the inconvenient, and extremely painful wounds suffered by Jesus during his passion.

One look at that blood-fest Jesus flick that Mel Gibson splattered across the complex's of the world should give you a good idea what this swell "gift" is all about. Yuck!, nailed hands, and feet. Crown'a thorns, stabbed side, the works as only "gawd da father can provide!"

Kind'a makes ya wonder what the 'other side' is offering. Humm, just sign here in my own blood, and I get's my way with the world for the rest of my greedy life. Yum!

(Eh, now that I think about maybe this signing my soul away deal ain't so sweet after all. Nothing' personal there Mr. Satan, but I'll keep the wings. Floating in molten lead for eternity might give me a headache)

I've seen that episode of the "Twilight Zone", ya know the one with Sebastian Cabot as the devil. Forget it.
Them wings though, I seemed to have been let off easy on the the stigmata scale. They don't bleed, and they weigh almost nothing. I wonder if I can fly? Wait a minute, that would put me on "Oprah!" Things might be looking up for me after all.

I'm assuming that this is a gift from the "Good Guys." My wings are amazing. They seem to have weightless weight, and edge-less edges, presence without presence. Running my hands over them is like passing ones fingers through a thick warm mist. They're just this side of solid.


The Dreams. I have too often seen things that will happen. 9/11, the south Asian tsunamis. I had dreamed these, and other things over the years, and told you about them on the air. On my radio program, "Carrier Wave". I described these terrible events in detail long before they happened. Others did so as well, and you laughed, and forgot.

The dreams are the worst because no one believes them, and when they come true they don't remember I told them. If I bring it up they look at me like I belong on the front page of a supermarket tabloid. Yeah me shake'n hands with a space alien or a yeti or something'.

All I can do is see these things. I can't stop them. I once begged G-d to take this "gift" away. I remember telling this to my dear friend, and colleague Bob Fass. He said it was "better to 'see', and tell" because a few "might hear it", and believe. Some "might benefit from your gift which is why you have it!"

Then there's the Spirits. They visit me, always have since I was little. They touch my hands, my face. They enter my dreams, the speak to me, and show me wonders, and horrors.

Angels, Spirits, Demons, remembering the future, pulling souls from the jaws of eternity,...and now Wings! Have I been given this unambiguous miracle so that those I pull from "Well of Forever" will know from where their rescue really comes?

Paradise has bestowed on me an undeniable token. Bright Wings! A Miracle for which I did not ask, and don't know what to do with.


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