DEC 6, 2001


It was one of those terrible days from Hell when one wonders just why it is that the human species has been infected with the Satan Virus which is passed from person to person much like the Black Death of the Middle Ages. (See

Much of the day was a blur of endless phone calls, diatribes from Judases, and other trials and tribulations. By about 4 P.M. I had been pushed over the edge and so needed to recharge my batteries at the Great Spirit Wilderness.

When I arrived at the alligator ranch house I immediately changed vehicles and took the jeep down the mile long dirt path leading to Pretty Princess Point. My father had recently walked up on over 200 Pelicans at that place and so I was anxious to see if they had returned that day. Sure enough, many Pelicans were there, perching on old floating logs and preening. What a sight!!!

Sue, my first and only wife of long-standing, had taken my parents to the famous Houston Medical Center. There, my 90 year-old father’s blind eye was examined in preparation for cataract surgery which would take place the following Monday morning.

We had all been invited to the home of a retired military officer who had served in Italy at the same time as I, and who’s daughter had also been born there at almost the same time our first daughter had been born in Italy. (How strange that he had purchased a home in this remote part of Texas on the lake which was just across the bay from THE HOLY TRINITY WILDERNESS CATHEDRAL, especially since his California license plate read ‘GOD+COUNTRY’!!!) (And how strange that this day was the 30th anniversary of the birth of our Italian daughter!!!)

As my wife and parents were running a little late returning from Houston I decided to hurry over to our neighbor’s house so that they wouldn’t think that we had forgotten the invitation.

About a mile along the way I was reliving one of the particularly depressing moments of the day. I had encountered a very frail and elderly lady and struck up a conversation with her about the beauties of God’s Creation, which was surrounding us at that very moment. Another lady, who lives next door, began complaining about flies at her house. Then the elderly lady began screeching about how many lady bugs there were around her house. I told her how happy I was that God had blessed her with such beautiful little creatures and she almost flew into a rage at me, saying that when she found them in and around her house she called a pest control company that came and sprayed them and killed them all and how happy that made her.

I just couldn’t imaging what she would tell St. Peter about murdering God’s wonderful lady bugs when she arrived at the Pearly Gates, in what appeared from her looks, to be in the very near future!!!

At that moment I saw a mouse darting across the path of my car with a large owl in hot pursuit. It was my favorite Barred Owl, Mr. Hoot. I swerved, hoping to miss him but he flew head-first into the front fender of the car. My heart stopped. I backed up and there was my dear friend whom I had watched feed on insects under the street lights many times, lying limp in the gutter.

I plead, “Why me Lord? Of all people on earth, why did the one human who loves Mr. Hoot more than anyone have to be the one who would kill him”?

I stopped the car adjacent to his lifeless body and at first was afraid to touch him. Then remembering the dead butterfly which had washed up on the beach at The Great Spirit Wilderness and how, for some strange and mysterious reason she had regained her life and her strength in my loving hands along with fervent prayer, I decided then and there that through the grace of God and His omnipotent power my dear feathered friend would live again.

I gently picked up the lifeless body of my dear friend and held him tightly against my chest hoping to detect some sign of life. There was none. His head drooped from side to side and his eyes were shut tight. I had never before felt such a sense of guilt and shame and loss of a loved-one, for my friend was a child of God—pure of heart and without sin.

I had never before held an owl in my hands and was amazed that inside the huge fluff of feathers resided a tiny and delicate creature. I was awestruck by the amazing creative ability of God to produce such a magnificent yet fragile bird-child. If the owl were to donate molted feathers for the fabrication of a quilt it would be the softest in the world.

My mind raced back to a few months before. Many, many forces of evil had been working toward the destruction of the ministry God had tasked me with and these same forces of evil had been working toward the destruction of our work to help His human children overcome drug addiction and other problems in our educational video business, the small profits from which were being used to continue God’s work.

One late afternoon, (August 15, 2001 to be precise) on the way home from the Holy Trinity Wilderness Cathedral, I saw a strange vehicle careening toward me in the opposite lane of the highway. It looked like a derelict car from the late 50’s or early 60’s, that had arisen from some junk yard from hell!!! Just as it came close it veered directly into my lane in a collision course. The driver and the other two or more passengers in the front seat looked like Satanic Devils out of some horror movie. Others were leaning out of the back windows with fiendish grins.

I swerved onto the shoulder and missed the DEVIL CAR by inches. I was not afraid however, because I knew that in spite of the incredible efforts of Satan to stop me from exposing his evil mission of destroying Creation, God would somehow prevail and keep me alive long enough to fulfill my mission.

Shortly after this mystical experience I received a phone call out of the blue from a woman in Dallas. She had been told about my interest in art by a former citizen of Huntsville, who had discovered the powerful works of art of Frank Jones, a prisoner in the house of death in the CITY OF DEATH—Huntsville, Texas. Frank drew ‘Devil Houses’ with colored pencils, and we had three examples of his work.

She said that she felt that she must warn me that forces of evil were bent on destroying me and that she must come and give me a weapon to fight against these evil forces. I detected truth and sincerity in her voice and agreed to meet her at my office that weekend. 

When she arrived, I knew at once that she must be some form of angel, which had been sent to aid me in my mission. She carried with her a painting of devils, much like those that attempted to destroy me on the highway and gave it to me as a reminder of the forces of evil which she would help me overcome.

She was a Christian Buddhist and gave me a protective mantra to recite. She wrote it on the back of a one dollar bill which I carry to this day in my breast pocket. This was on 18 August 2001. “NAM MYOHO RENGE KYO”

While these moments were repeated in my mind, I cradled the limp and lifeless body of Mr. Hoot in my arms. After several minutes of no signs of life, I suddenly remembered that my vial of anointing oil was in the car. I carefully laid Mr. Hoot on the forest floor beside the road and went to the car to retrieve my special mixture of oil of Frankincense, Myrrh, and oil of olive blossom.

I beseeched God to breathe life into His owl-child, and remarkably, his beak opened and he stuck out his tongue. There were then faint signs of breathing yet no other signs of life.  I placed my finger in the grip of the clenched foot and could feel a tightening of the talons around my finger. Yet there was no other movement. The eyes were shut tight and neither the head, wings, or legs moved.

After a few more minutes of silent prayer, asking both Jesus and God to help me in my moment of sorrow and pain, I cried out in a loud voice, “GOD, DON’T DO THIS TO ME, YOUR HUMBLE SERVANT! DON’T MAKE ME SUFFER OVER THE DEATH OF MY DEAR FRIEND AND YOUR CHILD— PLEASE, PLEASE DEAR GOD, HEAL MR. HOOT!!!

At that very instant, my friend lifted his head, opened his eyes and feebly attempted to spread his wings!!! I held him upright in my lap, as I had been sitting cross-legged on the forest floor and he began to look about. He stretched one wing and then another and then, like a giant moth, rose from my arms and gracefully flew a short distance.

I asked him if he was alright, but he did not answer. I approached him and he took another short flight into the darkness of the forest.

I rejoiced, thanking God for healing my friend and removing some of my guilt for having hit him, yet I was still apprehensive. Would this God-given renewal of life last? Would he be fair game for a fox or a red-wolf while regaining his strength? These questions still nag me and I will not be satisfied until I see Mr. Hoot, once more catching insects under the street lamps.

The next afternoon, after hours of Quixotic efforts to fend off those who had been exposed to the Satan virus, as well as take care of the heavy burden of daily chores, I left the office and drove straight to the Wilderness Cathedral. On the way back I spied the lifeless body of a large owl at the side of the highway. How strange, that during the last three years I had never seen a lifeless owl until the day before, and then the very next day there would be another. What did this mean?

I stopped the car and took my camera to take photos for a web site I am developing—, in which I wish to point out the terrible destruction of God’s beautiful creatures wrought by poor highway design, fragmentation by too many highways, and too many speeding vehicles consuming the life blood of Planet Eden.

Sure enough, there was another beautiful, Barred Owl, the same species as Mr. Hoot. There was no blood or sign of other trauma—just another lifeless form—this one with no hope of recovery as it had landed in a fire ant nest and was being consumed by these alien insects.

After taking a few pictures I returned to the car and instinctively reset the trip odometer. Something told me that this death had occurred three miles away from my accident with Mr. Hoot. I watched the tenths of a mile unfold as I headed toward the accident scene.

I was right. Three is a very significant number at the “Holy Trinity”. Three miles to the tenth and there was the spot that Mr. Hoot had almost met his maker. On second thought, Mr. Hoot did meet his maker that fateful night when God finally heard my prayers when I beseeched Him at full voice—and Mr. Hoot’s Maker breathed new life into his body. It made me wonder if God, due to his extreme age is as deaf as my mom and dad, for I sometimes have to yell to get their attention.

The death of the second owl mystified me. Why two encounters with death on the same night on roads slicing through the same sanctified holy ground? Did one owl give up his life so that life could be restored to the other? Did the sacrifice of Jesus on the Cross so that others might have life have been symbolized by these mysterious events? Only God knows. Perhaps some day He will tell me.


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