TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW

MARLENE AGUILAR for broken toys... First Edition 2010 Produced and published by Jamayco Publishing House

© 2010 Marlene Aguilar All rights reserved.

ISBN

Author: Marlene Aguilar Editors: Francesca Marks, Josephine Queipo Design and layout: Alexander Pascual, www.alexdesigns.ph Photography: Raymund Isaac, Demetrio Dela Cruz Fashion consultant: Monina Tan-Santiago Typeset by Rainbow Graphics and Printing Co. Ltd. Printed and bound by Paramount Printing Co. First edition

Address book orders to Jamayco Publishing House Fax: +632 439-0572 Website: www.marleneaguilar.com E-mail address: [email protected]

No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means nor may any part of this publication be stored in a database or other electronic retrieval system without the prior written consent of the publisher.

The publisher assumes no responsibility for any errors or omissions contained in this publication. vi Contents

Letter from the editor ...... ix More letters from the editor ...... x

Chapter 1. Virgins and Pretzels...... 1

Letter to Gabriel...... 39

Wishful Thinking and Indecisive Wars...... 43

Chapter 2. White Knights in Dark Armors...... 58

Chapter 3. Land of Broken Toys...... 122

Chapter 4. Creature of the Mind...... 179

The Mystery of Infinity ...... 191

Sex with Ra...... 238

The Vampire M, Creature of the Mind...... 250

Playing with Venus ...... 255

Chapter 5. My Twin of Flames...... 260

Magic ...... 275

Chapter 6. The Goddess of Light and her Ocean

of Blackness ...... 322

Acknowledgements...... 367

Photos...... 369

Books by Marlene Aguilar...... 378

vii

Letter from the editor

October 14, 2009

I love your writing Marlene, the power of heaven and the celestial spirit moves and flows through it. Blessed be you for these incredible words that will change the world.

From all of humanity and the earth, thank you.

Francesca Marks xxx

ix More letters from the editor

Dear readers, I have decided to share with you the following series of letters of my editor Francesca Marks, my soul sister. These were written during the time she was working on this book. She had chosen to only see the good in me. She showered my life with love and light, through her kind and magical soul. I would like to share her blessings with you.

Marlene

Monday, October 5, 2009 Dearest One, I have attached the edited version of the first chapter. I love it! Again you are writing a literary masterpiece. Again the work is very powerful. You write in such a way that the reader is gripped from the start by its intensity. I find the balance in this chapter perfect. I have started to read the following chapters, and found that there was not so much about the Tarot, cosmic laws and the Buddhist saints which created such a beautiful balance in Warriors of Heaven, though I have not read enough ahead yet to know if that is truly the case. It is so exciting. This is another incredible book. I am so very happy to be working on this. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your words, your wisdom, and your energy and for being x TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW the incredible being you are. Thank you for asking me to work on this with you. I miss you and love you so much. You are a Goddess on earth, a sacred celestial being, and I love you with all my heart.

Love always all ways, Francesca Marks

Tuesday, October 6, 2009 Dearest Marlene, There is no one in the world who I have met who has such strength, beauty, and compassion. Thank you deeply for your words, they mean so much to me. I love you with all my heart. It brings tears to my eyes at times to think of you, because you are more divine than human.

Francesca Marks

Thursday, October 8, 2009 Dearest Marlene, I do not know if I have ever told you how much knowing you has changed my life. For someone like you to exist in the world, and in my life, is beyond dreams I thought possible. I love you with the very essence of my being. The book is amazing.

I love you, Francesca

xi MARLENE AGUILAR

Saturday, October 10, 2009, the day after Maya’s birthday: Dearest Marlene, Please give my deepest love and blessings to beloved Maya. Today you appeared in my meditation, in my heart chakra, smiling gracefully and playful like Kuan Yin. I know you are a celestial being from different realms of this universe. I love you so. It is so much fun working with you. Your energy is so pure, so dynamic and powerful. It is magic.

Love, love, love, xxx

Tuesday, October 13, 2009 Dearest Marlene The compassion in your writing is so heartfelt and pure it touches the soul so deeply. I remember your eyes when you talk and I miss you so greatly. Your soul is so strong and your compassion so great.

I love you so, Francesca

Thursday, October 15, 2009 Dearest Marlene, I miss you so much. All I want is to spend time with you again. The time we spent together was so magical; it was such a blessing to be with my soul sister, and a heavenly being. Now I am in tears from the end of chapter 3. What you write about Marcus is so touching; one can feel the intensity of his world, and how much he has haunted your soul. Your arguments in the email to Gabriel regarding the interview with the four-star general, Martin Dempsey are so powerful - brilliant. xii TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW

The chapter is altogether amazing Marlene, your writing is so absorbing. Thank you again for asking me to help you with this. I have attached chapter 3, edited version. I have to say again how much I miss you so; I love you to the bottom of my being. I feel I have never known a love like this before my treasured soul sister. Thank you for being so special, so wonderful, a child of heaven.

October 19, 2009 Dearest Marlene, Chapter 4 is my favorite chapter so far. The words from the oracles are so powerful. When I read about you and Jason, tears come to my eyes. The last sex scenes at the end are more erotic than anything I have ever read. I can’t wait for chapter 5.

Loving you, Francesca

October 23, 2009 Beautiful One, I love working with your writing. I believe it to be some of the best writing in the world. I love you, love you, love you. You are magic and divine, so beautiful and wise. I feel so blessed to have you in my life. Thank you so much for your kind words.

Love you xx

xiii October 24, 2009 Oh my God! Amazing, Chapter 5 is amazing. You write with such power, it is truly intoxicating. Thank you for being an angel living on earth Marlene. May you be blessed every moment.

X

October 25, 2009, the day after my dinner concert with Becca at the Hobbit House: Dearest Marlene, Last night sounds so wonderful. I thought about you almost every moment. I wish I could have seen it. The texts from Becca to you are so touching. She is so right; your selfless energy is a cosmic force that changes so many people’s lives, and the world, for the better. I am still in awe from chapter 5; its power is beyond words Marlene. It is magic, so well written. There are no words to express the love I feel for you, I hope you can feel it in your soul.

I love you infinitely Xx

October 26, 2009 My God, it reads like a fairy-tale, totally bewitching and magical. The words from the Oracles are like fantasy, if one were to try to imagine an enchanting story it could not be the same. The end of the chapter with your soul rising to Ra is so inspiring and touching. It fills one’s soul with strength and inspiration. I have missed Caesar! I love him, his energy in the book works so well. Loving you so xxx

PS: The way you write about Merlin’s moon is magical! I just looked out the window now and Merlin thanks you.

Darling One The heavens dance in between our souls. You are so magical if there were words to say what your existence means they would be sacred texts. Xx

October 30, 2009 Dear Marlene, Chapter 5 is magical. It really does contain true magic. The story ‘Magic’ that is included in it, is so heart-warming. I believe that with this tale you have told the dreams of every boy and girl living on this earth. The poem which opens the chapter is so powerful. The tales of real-life are so interesting, and create suspense in the reader so the reader just wants to keep on reading. Your writing is so interesting, so insightful, and so heart-felt. It is amazing how you manage to thread so many different tales together and make them flow together so beautifully. I loved reading of our time together, I do miss you. Finally the words of the Oracles, truly Marlene there are no words to describe what this is like for the reader. It is bewitching magic. There is nothing I can say but well done, it is so good. I love you my beloved soul sister.

xv MARLENE AGUILAR

November 3, 2009 Dearest Marlene, The story you have written about your conversations with Becca concerning the hard time she had are so powerful. The way you write about it is healing for those who have suffered abuse and darkness. You grasp the psyche, and the description of monsters and demons in the blackness is so resonant with how abuse can affect the psyche. You offer inspiration and light when you say only the brave will be set free. I do not know how you do it, though your writing is magic, it is so special and you enter so many realms. Loving you.

Francesca

November 4, 2009 Dearest Marlene, Attached is chapter 6 with the final changes. I am sad it is finished. Your writing is so incredible. I have deep respect for the way you write. I will miss working on it. The chapter is very powerful. As you know the parts with Becca have had me in tears every time I have read them. I feel this chapter brings the reader into your world in a very intimate way, with Steve, with Becca, and you speak of your personal experiences and as you are such a divine being this intimacy is very magical. An interesting thing happens when you speak of broken toys near the end with your reflection, that brings all of humanity together with its various forms of hardship from abuse, to suffering to war, and all the dark secrets kept in one’s heart, it is as though one can xvi TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW feel your compassion for all of humanity at this point and one feels nurtured by it. Also when you speak to Gabriel about his not understanding that you do not hate Muslims or Americans yet that all of mankind is one family, this is a very powerful illustration. I find it divine every time you discuss metaphysics. You are magic. I love you unbelievably beautiful soul sister.

Francesca

November 6, 2009 Darling one, Thank you for sending me this. I love it. It is especially important that women stop thinking that it is weak to be loving to someone. With Steve’s comment on how his company reacts, this demonstrates this, it is great. Seamen on the long hard thing - classic. The way Becca feels about you bringing her back to life is the same way I feel. I just wanted you to know that. I love you so.

Francesca

xvii

Chapter 1

Virgins and Pretzels

This book contains my memoirs. It begins during the second quarter of the earth year of 2009, the year of the Ox. It was the evening of Saturday, May 9, 2009. I was at Ka Freddie’s Club in Malate, Manila, sitting at our usual table near the stage. My soul sister Becca and Steve, my partner of 10 years, were with me. Boe, the mysterious American man had taken his favorite place near the center of the bar, sitting alone and sipping his beer. I got up from my table. “I’m going to assault Boe,” I whispered to Becca. “Please keep Steve company for me,” I added. I then proceeded to walk toward Boe, calculating in my head how to launch my cerebral attack upon his psyche. At this point, he had already eaten his supper, and seemed delighted to see me. I grabbed a chair and sat close to him, smiling. “So when did you lose your virginity Boe?” I asked the U.S. service man sitting to my right nursing his beer. “What?” he asked dismayed. “How old were you when you had your first pussy Boe?” I inquired again grinning.

1 MARLENE AGUILAR

He looked up to the ceiling above with a big and uncontrollable smile on his face, shaking his head violently and in total disbelief. Then he gazed directly at me, eyes wide and glowing bright. His primal self had awakened within him, excited because this part of his psyche felt my presence and had heard my calling from the wild. “You can’t talk this way to people. This is crazy,” he said. “Yes I can. I’m talking to you now. Doesn’t it feel good to be alive Boe? Aren’t you excited by my boldness?” “So tell me Boe. Come on, tell me. When did you first taste pussy? 18..20…21…” “23,” he uttered softly with a tone of modesty in his voice. “That’s terrible Boe. Why did you wait so long? Shame on you!” “So how old were you when you had your second pussy?” “This is insane! You can’t do this to people,” Boe exclaimed, smiling ear-to-ear and squirming in his chair, his right leg shaking up and down. “Come on Boe…Don’t be shy. Come on…tell your Mommy,” I beckoned to him with a gentle voice. “Okay! 25!” he hollered smiling and excited further this time. He placed both his hands on his face, jerking his head, his body erect and attentive, his entire being threatened yet excited by the provocation. He took his hands off his red face and gazed at me again, this time his eyes were lit on fire, blazing and peering through mine. “Why are you screwing with my head? You’re crazy. People don’t behave like this!” Boe declared, his body now trembling, his face quivering. “That’s alright Boe. I will respect your body. I’m not going to touch your manhood,” I said softly.

2 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW

“I promise, you will leave this place a virgin tonight…because you’re a virgin Boe. You’re still a virgin…” With these words, he got up with his hands on his face. Then he looked down seriously upon me. “I’m not doing this. I’m going to the bathroom,” he warned. “But when you get back, I will still be here Boe. And if you run from me, I will call you a pussy. You don’t want me to call you a pussy, do you Boe?” “Hey! While in the bathroom, don’t be stroking your manhood too much. But if you do, let me watch,” I said laughing. He bolted away to the bathroom. I sat in my chair listening to the band performing, savoring my red cabernet sauvignon, surrounded by several people drinking and talking, sitting at various tables scattered in different locations in the dark lit club. My demonic persona was in command, happy with her freedom, enjoying the loud music and the game she started to play with the American. In my head I could imagine Boe facing the urinal, unzipping his pants, grabbing his male gland, whipping his sex toy out of captivity and pissing away the beer that he’d drunk. I could see him in my mind, standing there, holding his penis, confused and intoxicated not by the alcohol he had consumed, but by my inexplicable incivility and forwardness. After relieving himself, I imagined Boe staring at his face in the mirror, asking himself what was happening, asking himself how he was going to deal with “Lucifer” waiting for him outside. “Secrets, secrets, most hedonic of all secrets,” he whispered to his masochistic male instrument, petting it ever so gently. He closed his eyes now still facing the mirror, dreaming, dreaming, and floating away in wonderland. In this place of fantasy, he imagined himself going down on his knees.

3 MARLENE AGUILAR

“Oh Lucifer, Lucifer, most spiteful and evil mistress of man, have you come down from hell to torture your despicable slave?” He thought silently. “I do not deserve you, my master. But I would crawl on the floor and beg you for mercy. I would do anything you please…but you must, you must let me touch the wicked parts of your naked and dripping flesh with my dirty fingers. Oh god. Oh god, have pity upon my poor soul. ” “Degrade me, my master. Punish me. Punish me for I have been bad. Strike me and condemn me for I am dirty, disgusting and vile. Spit on me, kick me, hit me, whip me…torment your unworthy servant. I beg you. I beg you. I beg you. Release me from my pain. I am guilty, guilty of hideous deeds. Do it. Do it, now, now, now. Please, my master.” “I would do anything, anything…just give me your love. Lucifer… Ohhhh…Lucifer, Lucifer. Aaaahhhhh….” he whispered now, gasping softly to himself on and on and on. I saw him in my head washing his hands viciously with soap and water after. Like many homicidal men I’ve known in the past, Boe is extremely obsessive compulsive. “He must wash these dirty hands…Oh yes, the bad, bad boy must wash his dirty hands…” he told himself. I imagined that he quickly splashed water on his face to cool the tension spinning around his mind, body and spirit, a tension that was so engulfing, consuming and possessing his manliness. Oh…the danger, the danger that is caused by that phallic organ between his legs, that male gland that is the source of so much deceit, treachery and evildoing in this world. Oh…this luscious penis, this brutal beast that once in full throttle, charged forward, on and on and on with crashing contempt. He knew. He knew that I knew. I knew that his

4 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW male gland came with a curse of his insatiable and diabolic sexual hunger, an affliction he keeps so well camouflaged and concealed. Still now, now, now this female “Lucifer” was confronting him and assaulting that part of him, that part of him, which he believes to be empowered by demons, demons... “Touch your little penis again, and I will strike you hard until you cry. I will turn you over and whip your ass a hundred times until it’s raw and red,” Boe suddenly heard his mother’s voice in his head. “I will make you sorry and I will make you beg me for mercy, you filthy child. You are a wretched, disgusting, dirty little boy!” “Go wash your nasty hands, now!” “And when you return, you better kneel on the floor and tell Mommy how sorry you are….And if you don’t convince me, I swear I will make you feel that Satan is real, and he lives in this house to punish contemptible dirty little boys like you. Bad, bad, bad boy!” Boe heard his mother’s Catholic voice deafening in his ears, chiding him like she did over and over as a young boy. “You are forbidden! You are forbidden to touch your penis… It is wrong! Wrong! Wrong!” Yet in the here and now, he felt every inch of his masculine flesh agitated and hot, my words resonating in his head, consuming his manhood, burning, attacking and banging against the walls that protected his deepest, most animal, most erotic and utterly vehement of secrets. Suddenly, he cleared his head and took a very long breath. “I’m going to play this right”, he thought to himself. He returned to the table, smiling and in better spirits. He stared at me perplexed by my unholy existence. Boe has the smile of an innocent and immaculate altar boy. But behind this youthful smile is another story altogether. I can see what he keeps obscured and

5 MARLENE AGUILAR so fortified within; something imprisoned in blackness, which he has suppressed almost all his life, something so savage beyond imagination. In this forbidden place, he has imprisoned his darkest secrets of furiously intense sexual hunger, a hunger that had never ever been confronted before, a hunger that had never ever been engorged. “Why are you doing this? Why are you pushing me to the edge?” “Normal sex gets really tiring, Boe. There is more out of life. And what is forbidden is so desirable, don’t you agree, Boe?” He stared at me, silent, calculating, lips held tight, trying very hard to keep his act together, his head shaking side-to-side, nervous yet excited at the same time. I could feel his heart pumping faster, blood rushing to his head, my energy flooding his being. Ooohhhh, I could almost hear his heart beating. “This is just mental exercise. It’s good for you. Play with me, Boe. Expression is purification. It is a necessity to express one’s thoughts. Why do you think that your acute sexual desires are wrong?” “It’s not wrong to hunger for sex outside the norm, Boe. As long as you’re enjoying yourself and you’re not harming anyone in the process, why should you not be able to express your carnal desires with full freedom? Life’s too short, Boe.” “If you keep living the life you live, the juices of your manly parts will come oozing out of your ears,” I warned him. “The juices are oozing out of my ears sometimes,” he stated laughing. “So Boe, remember when we met last night?” “Yeah…” “Did you go back to your hotel room and play with yourself before you went to bed?” “Oh my god! You don’t stop, do you?” he exclaimed.

6 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW

“Did you wake up in the morning with a vicious hard on, Boe?” “Christ! What made you like this? No one does this!” he declared, shaking his head, smiling from ear to ear, his whole body fully alert and out of control. “So tell me, Boe….When was the last time you paid for sex so you could be tied on all fours to the floor and be treated like a dog?” I asked the brave soldier. “How can you say that to me?” he whined. “Tell me, Boe…please, please tell your Mommy,” I begged him tenderly. “How do you know this about me?” he asked. “I know, Boe. I can smell your sweat. The juices dripping through your flesh whisper to me unspeakable deeds you have done in the past. I’m clairvoyant you see.” “There is nothing wrong with your sexuality, Boe. Why do you hide it? It’s only religion and society that dictates it is wrong to behave in this manner. We are animals, Boe. And sex is one of the most delicious and primeval acts of man. Besides, since you’re homicidal, then your sexual intensity and desires cannot be compared to those of the average person…” “I know you’re not homosexual, Boe. But I know that you like to dress up as a woman when you are having sex. I have wigs, Boe. You want to borrow them? I’ll lend them to you if you’re nice to me.” I spoke to the American soldier with my face only a few inches away from his. My demonic personality “Medea” came out now to join the psychological battle zone, staring at him from her domain of eternal blackness, embracing him with her spirit, comforting the man. Medea, Medea…I love my beautiful Medea. She brings forth the evil in men.

7 MARLENE AGUILAR

At this point, Boe’s dark image stormed out into the open to confront me. He couldn’t suppress this part of him any longer, not when he was assaulted by my personalities, “Medea” and “Lucifer”. He switched personality now and his eyes changed color instantly. The glow in his eyes was gone. Now his face had a determination, blackness and intensity that had not been present before. The little boy in him vanished at once. It retreated into another box within Boe’s psyche. Another man faced me now, staring at me like a wolf. Mmmmm… the chill of adrenalin now kicks in, arousing a frisson of lustful yearning possessing him. The wild animal was out, daring and craving to devour immediate and raw flesh, challenging my darkness. “So, do you want to come to my hotel?” he asked determined. “No, Boe. No. But if you behave like a good boy, and you help me out, I can arrange a package for you and hook you up.” “What do you want?” he asked. “I want you to read my book, Warriors of Heaven, and tell me honestly what you think. If you can do that, I will buy you pussy you want and make sure “she” understands that you like to be submissive in bed.” “Give me your email address, so I can send you the chapters to my book first thing tomorrow morning,” I said. That was only my second meeting with Boe. How did we first meet? I will tell you. The night before, Friday May 8, 2009, I walked into the same club at around 8.30pm. As soon as I passed the door, I stepped up the stairs going to the main floor, and I noticed a man sitting to my left, in front of the bar and about 10 feet away from me. That was Boe. He wore a beige baseball cap, a white collared golf t-shirt and khaki Dockers pants. I stopped. I couldn’t proceed. Becca sat against the wall to my right. She stands around five foot

8 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW three inches tall and has soft and straight black hair flowing down below her shoulders. She has the most amiable dark brown eyes emitting affection for life. When she smiles, her whole face glows with a glorious light. She smiles through her heart, a heart that knows both light and darkness too well, as I do. She has a beautiful classical face, a timeless beauty that exudes from her amazing soul. She is free, free in mind and spirit. And her passion for life is burning infinitely. She is a talented visual performer having appeared in the local independent film, Ang Pagda-dalaga ni Maximo Oliveros, a movie that became very popular all over the Philippines. It is a movie about the life of a gay man coming out of the closet. I loved Becca from the moment I saw her, knowing perfectly well this is not the first life we have shared together. My cosmic sister I call her. To say that she and I come from a common background of dysfunctional families would be an understatement. Like me, she suffered immense pain and torture growing up in a violent environment. However, my inner voice warns me that there is something more than physical mistreatment in Becca’s background, something unspeakable. I wonder if my magical and beautiful celestial sister could ever summon the courage to reveal the most frightening skeletons hidden in her closet. May heaven grant her the wisdom to forgive those who caused her harm and may heaven grant her the wisdom to forgive herself for being human. After all, it is not possible for any of us to escape this life without blemishes and scars. I believe that Becca has a wonderful story to tell, a story of love, hate, violence, trust and betrayal, a tale that when told will grant her absolute freedom. More than that, I believe that her story will inspire so many other women who are suffering in silence to come forth and do the same.

9 MARLENE AGUILAR

Going back to my childhood, my home was beset by a crazy man, my father, who had passion beyond explanation, a passion that was impossible to control during those moments when he erupted. I had a father who was extremely caring and loving. But at the same time he was also extremely violent and volatile. And he beat his children terribly. I never saw him strike my mother, not once. But he terrorized his children physically and psychologically. I believe that I was the exception among my siblings, in that although my father struck me just as hard as the boys, I tortured him in mind and spirit. I fought him back. At times, I gave him my mind and told him “if I were given the chance to choose my father, he would be the last monster in hell I would pick.” During these moments, every time he struck me, I growled back at him seeking revenge. I swear “Lucifer” was alive inside me then. My defense led to more beatings of course, but this didn’t stop me. I realized then, that spiritually, I had power over my father despite my frail body. My defiance drove him mad. Other times I would allow my father to strike me without a fight, without my big mouth lashing out at him with all my might. And I realized then that my best defense was silence. Yes - silence. He hated this kind of retaliation from me even more. I would be stone cold, demonic and catatonic while he beat me. Then I would gaze at him through my diabolic eyes, piercing and cutting through his entire being, condemning his soul for the physical abuse and anguish he had caused me. At times this psychological assault would send my father running away from me screaming, losing his sanity all together claiming I was his “evil child” from hell. I was a child, I was just a little girl and yet in spirit, I could fight my most beloved and most beautiful beast – my father. I have written this partly because if you are in such a situation, where you are battered at home, then you must know my story. You

10 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW perfectly understand and feel my pain, because you and I are bound in the same dark and cosmic force. We are connected, you and I. However I want you to know that you are never helpless, never! You can fight back. Even silence is a strong offense. Please don’t get me wrong. I admired and loved my father beyond words. Believe me when I tell you that the other side of his darkness was the exact opposite. He was magical when he wasn’t violent. And I have learned from my tragic experience with this man, that as a grown woman, if I were to love a man and to allow him into my life, then I must accept all his demons, just as I must accept all his angels in equal measure. That is genuine love. But because of my father’s behavior, I vowed to myself from the time I was a little girl that never, never would I be subjugated by a man. And as an adult, I have never called anyone “Sir” or “Ma’am” for that matter. Oh… Becca and I know. We know so well. We knew about those indefinite intervals of time when Hades came down to earth into the privacy of our own homes, moments when our fathers became Satan himself ruling over us, tormenting our poor and innocent hearts. Those darkest of moments when time was held in total blackness embedded in endless screams of horror and panic and tears. I look into Becca’s eyes sometimes and I see what lies within her. Oh… the anguish that shines through the warmth of her loving gaze is the same anguish that keeps us utterly defiant and ferocious in spirit. In her, I revisit the memory of the past over and over again, and feel the excruciating pain inflicted upon us as children by the same men who were meant to love us and protect us – our fathers. I knew about those periods of terror when time stopped in my home. Those moments of disaster when as a helpless little girl, my

11 MARLENE AGUILAR heart was crushed to a thousand pieces and my frail body endured such pain, the memory lingers in the back of my mind to the present day, never to retreat. I will tell you that as a child, I died countless of times because of the anguish I suffered in taking beatings from my father. I died countless more times seeing my siblings; those I hold dearest to my heart, suffer his inhumanity and wrath. And because I could fight my father during his fury, I preferred to take his physical assault than witness my siblings take his hideous acts of rage. To this day, I can’t endure to witness suffering. As a child I encountered several kinds of death - death of spirit, death of hope, death of love, death of trust, death of promise. Death inflicted by the very same man, my father who was supposed to protect me from all harm. Yet I came back to life just as many times. However, each death gave me new life. And in each new life, I became stronger and stronger and stronger. Nonetheless the wounds remain somewhere, somewhere inside me, not fully hidden, insurmountable marks of betrayal, which I will carry for the rest of my remaining days on earth. However, does my tragic past rule over my life? No, never, absolutely not. Do I hate my father? No. I love him with all my might and I forgive him with all my heart. As I progressed through life I have loved other men who have caused me great pain and I have forgiven them just the same. Would I change anything about my life, were I to go back in time? NO. I have lived a magical life, and I will not trade it for the world. There is nurture where there is torment, love where there is hate, and ascendancy where there is a fall. I have balance within. Plus I have inner peace. More than that, defeat equals victory. And damnation becomes salvation. It is true. I am proof.

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Going back to Ka Freddie’s nightclub, Friday, May 8, 2009, the night I met Boe, I stood very close to her now, my beloved sister Becca. She didn’t notice me at all. I tapped her gently on her right shoulder, which made her turn her head toward me. “Is that the man you talked to me about, the one who has been coming here every night for almost 10 days now?” I asked her. “Yes, that’s the one,” she replied smiling, surprised to see me. “Shit,” I said. “You are right, that man works for the US government. I can smell him,” I continued. “I knew it. I knew it,” she announced, pleased to confirm her suspicion. “And that is a fine military man, educated better than the rest. Fuck! What does he want now?” I stated. I stood there staring at the American man from behind, sizing him up, and trying to penetrate his psyche with my clairvoyant mind. I looked at him from head to toe. He is good natured, a sweet man for the most part. He has darkness, but light definitely overpowers his evil side. He is not like the devil on earth. He is not like “Gabriel,” far from it, I whispered to myself. This one doesn’t frighten me, I thought. I’m not threatened, at least not mentally and spiritually. So I proceeded to enter the club and sat at my usual table close to the center of the stage. Steve sat at the table waiting for me. He had arrived earlier. He brought with him two bottles of cabernet sauvignon from California, which I like, “Turning Leaf” by Julio Gallo. The waiter poured me a glass of red wine. “What did you order? I’m starved,” I asked Steve. “Salmon sashimi, fried ‘lechon’ and some rice,” he replied. “My friend Joe Bolger from Canada is coming. You remember him?” he asked.

13 MARLENE AGUILAR

“Yes, Joe from Canada, the one who looks like Donald Sutherland,” I replied. “Yes,” Steve stated. “He’s coming with a group of economists from Australia. They are here doing some consultancy work for the Australian AID,” he added. In the background, the folk singer named Voltaire was singing “Imagine” by John Lennon, which brings back sad memories of his assassination in front of his apartment in New York one very tragic evening in December 8, 1980. I was living in a small condominium in Stamford, Connecticut then. My nephew Jeriko was performing that night with Abraham, my brother in-law who plays the lead guitar and the bass for my brother Freddie’s band. Later my graphic artist for the last 12 years, Alex Pascual walked in. He wore a long sleeved black and grey shirt. He walked over to kiss me. “Alex, sit with us and keep us company,” I said. Alex joined us now. By the time the folk singer’s set was over, Joe from Canada walked in with another Caucasian man who was several years younger than him. Steve saw them come in, and he got up from our table to greet his acquaintance that he met over two years ago. He had hired Joe as a consultant for a capacity development project aimed at improving the economy of the Pacific countries, all 14 of them, independent states that are members of the Asian Development Bank. Steve walked Joe and his male company to their long table parallel to ours. I got up to say hello to the happy Canadian, who wore a black-collared t-shirt and black jeans. They sat at their table facing the stage. Behind me, I noticed that Becca was now greeting a group of artists who had come in after Joe and his buddy. I say artists

14 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW because they have the aura of people who are in tune with their environment and with the world. I say artists because I can sense their deep passion and their devotion for their art, a passion and devotion that I share with them. These people have great warmth and boundless intensity of emotions. They feel more than most. I noticed one particular soul in this group whose spirit shone brighter than the rest. He had dark bronzed skin telling me he has a strong ethnic background like me. His spirit also told me that he is immensely proud of his noble Malay genes, as I am. I would like to take this opportunity to note that most Filipinos are misguided in their belief that the indigenous people of the Philippines, the Malay race, originated from Indonesia and Malaysia. It was an American anthropologist, a Mr. H. Otley Bayer, who originally made this mistake. This misconception was subsequently recorded in our history books by Filipino historians and is still being taught in the country’s schools to this very day. Modern day archeologists, linguists, and anthropologists, however, claim just the exact opposite, and that is that the “Austronesian people of Malaysia and Indonesia” originated in the Philippines. These scholars propose that during prehistoric times, these Malayo-Polynesian speaking people migrated to Indonesia and Malaysia from southern Philippines. Going back to the peculiar artist, he had long wavy jet-black hair, cascading down to below his shoulders, which he had tied in the back. His eyes were dark and piercing, determined and overpowering. On the other hand his eyes were also soft, genuine and pure, a clear sign of his imperious soul. This man, this magical being, had known losses and immeasurable grief on earth and yet, and yet his aura resonated true love and light and peace.

15 MARLENE AGUILAR

Becca led the group of artists to the left corner of the club next to the stage, the darkest area of the place. These artists are creatures of the underworld, I thought to myself, whose souls are not held hostage by the material world. I could see them huddled in the corner, Bohemian souls taking their journey on this earth through this one particular life, sneering at the rest of mankind for their lack of passion and understanding of the beauty of the arts and the natural world. They sneer at the rest of mankind because the rest of mankind cannot feel the simplest, most beautiful things that life has to offer. Yet these things come for free - the soft and sleepy morning light, the grass wet from the evening dew, the clear majestic, boundless skies ever loyal to the earth, cotton-white clouds kissing the blue ocean across the wide horizon, the bloody and dreamy sunset waving us farewell, giving way to the black night skies so the moon and the stars can roam in the dark, the first drops of rain cooling the scorched breasts of the earth, the passing wind flirting and whispering its devotion to the swaying leaves as the fleeting butterflies join them in their illicit affair, the birds singing in flight, the velvet flowers in bloom, the voluptuous fruits dangling from the trees, ripe and begging for the picking, the proud tree trunks standing hard and erect, shooting upward towards heaven, the innocent children running wild and free on the streets jubilant, celebrating life. There is so much, so much, that most poor souls, blinded by their material existence, take for granted. They do not see. They do not feel. They are lost amidst the magic and the wonders of Mother Nature, because they are held captive by the material world. For the more they have without, the less they have within. They do not feed their soul. And of course, of course, these Bohemians with their endless enthusiasm for life condemn the rest of mankind for their inability

16 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW to recreate and supplement the work of nature. Why? Didn’t you know why? There are only two kinds of people in the world - artists and others. Besides, these artists are my kinds of people; a great part of myself belongs to their world. I noticed my nephew Jeriko and my brother in-law Abraham got up on stage along with the drummer getting ready to perform. Then I saw Becca walking towards me. “Sister,” she said smiling. “I want you to meet my friends. But I really do want you to meet a very special man, someone with a special soul. He reminds me so much of you,” she added. “Okay,” I replied. Becca led me to the table of the Bohemians while in the dark club; I carefully glanced at the man sitting at the bar. I noticed the American was watching my movements. By the time we got to the table of the artists, Becca introduced me first to the man sitting at the left corner. “Lav, this is Marlene Aguilar,” Becca announced. “Marlene, this is Lav Diaz,” she continued. It was then I realized that the man with the magical soul is Lav Diaz, one of the Philippines’ most respected and admired film directors. Henry is a US military man, whom I included in my book Warriors of Heaven, who has cultivated a friendship with me. We met at my brother’s club one night and we have been friends since. He has a kind of honesty and openness that I find very refreshing for a service man to possess. In that sense, I admire Henry and enjoy his company although he can be a jerk sometimes. However, he doesn’t allow me to intimidate him. I like that about him.

17 MARLENE AGUILAR

After my brief encounter with Lav Diaz and the artists, I walked back to my table and found Henry there sitting with Alex, sucking on a bottle of San Miguel light beer. Steve now sat at the long table with Joe from Canada and his male company. His acquaintances from Australia had now arrived, a group of eight people all together. In the background, my brother-in-law Abraham was singing the song, “Every Breath You Take” by Sting, which he sings exceptionally well. “Do you see that American man sitting at the bar?” I asked Henry. “Yeah, what about him?” “He’s been watching me. He’s watching us now,” I replied. “So…” “I was told he’s been here every night for almost 10 days straight. You know I’m paranoid about men like this, right? What the fuck does he want from me?” I asked. “Stop whinin’, you pussy,” Henry sneered, laughing. “Let me see you go up to the man and talk to him,” he continued, laughing louder, eyes glowing like a wild and crazy dog. Instantly, my other personality “Lucifer” charged forward. She gazed at the American soldier sitting next to me with utter contempt through her diabolic eyes and got up from the table spontaneously. She went passed the bar, gave the tall Irish American-looking man a quick glance and sniffed him from a distance like a seasoned vampire. Then she proceeded to the bathroom. In two minutes, she came back out and walked straight to the bar and purposely slammed her right elbow into the strange man’s upper arm. “Oh…I’m sorry,” I said to the American tenderly, my frontline persona “Marlene” now taking over while my “Lucifer” hissed silently at the man. She stood right next to me, invisible but absolutely in control and ready to psychologically impale. “That’s okay,” he answered.

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Becca, who stood behind me, embraced my shoulders and confronted the American. “Oh….Boe,” she said smiling. “This is my soul sister, Marlene,” Becca announced. “Pleased to meet you, Boe,” I told him as I shook his hand firmly. “Nice to meet you,” he said. I stood now side by side next to the stranger where I could see his face closer. His chestnut brown eyes were playful, mischievous and mysterious, eyes that have seen so much more than most people, eyes that are absolutely guilty of forbidden pleasure. His nose was chiseled and his thin lips came with a child-like smile, disguising his deranged and perverted mind. How very fascinating he is, I thought to myself. This one was educated in private schools, I thought some more. Because he had the demeanor and speech that told me he came from upper middle class in the States. “So Boe, tell me, which box of the US military do you serve?” I asked looking at him straight in the eye. “No, I’m not with the military,” he replied, shaking his head. “Yes, you are. Look at you. You’re so stiff. You look as if you just came out fresh from the coffin. You are definitely a slave of the box,” I stated. “Which prison do you belong to Boe, navy, army, air force, or are you a leatherneck…?” “That was 18 years ago,” he whined. “Aha! See, I was right,” I said. “Okay, let me change the question. Which box of the US government do you work for Boe?” “US Embassy,” he answered. “Wow!” I stated as I looked at him closer from his head down to his… well, I could only see a little below his crotch. I did notice he

19 MARLENE AGUILAR wore a brown leather belt. Of course, I didn’t believe he worked for the Embassy. “But you don’t seem like a dick to me, Boe. I thought the US Embassy only hired dicks to work for them?” “Why are you giving me such a hard time? What did I do?” he asked laughing and bewildered by my cheekiness. “Because my insolence gives you a hard on, Boe!” I answered laughing. “It does! It does!” the American responded with a hoot. “Bye, Boe,” I said and tapped him on his left shoulder with my right hand. “If I see you again, I promise I will give you more shit.” I went straight back to my table close to the center of the stage where Henry awaited me while sucking on his bottle of alcohol. “Are you pleased with yourself now?” he asked smiling. “How much do you want to bet, I can turn that man into a pretzel? Give me two weeks,” I told Henry. “I’m not goin’ to bet! Nope,” he uttered, looking at me from the side of his homicidal eyes. “Okay, give me one week to turn the man into a fruitcake.” “Nope.” “Come on! Bet against me!” “No! Black widow,” Henry replied. “Pussy!” I hissed. “I am what I eat,” he answered grinning, so proud of himself. “So that means you’re a pig and a chicken too!” I declared. Unfortunately, after my second meeting with Boe, he left the Philippines. Oh why? Oh why did Boe have to leave? Who am I going to assault now worthy of the cerebral challenge? Good arguments to me are like psychological sparring. Most people watch television for entertainment. I don’t watch television at all; this business insults

20 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW my creative mind. But intriguing and actual mental battles give me great pleasure. So Boe left the country despite the fact that he had told my brother Freddie Aguilar and my soul sister Becca Padilla that he was to remain in the country for a long period of time. Hmmm… This brings my memory back last year, the year 2008, to a time when a US military man and I had a meeting at a coffee shop along Adriatico St. in Malate, Manila. We will call this American soldier from the US Army Special Forces, Patrick. I didn’t include him in my last book, but he had mentored me and advised me very well despite the fact that we do not see eye-to- eye on some important matters. “Marlene, don’t you ever mention to my superior that you’re talking to me,” Patrick forbade. “Why?” I asked. “Because, if he ever finds out about our discourse, he will get me out of the Philippines so fast, I won’t even be able to make a phone call to you to say goodbye,” he warned. Today is May 25, 2009. Recently, Patrick wrote me an email requesting me to remove two “conspiracy theories” from Chapter six of my book, Warriors of Heaven. I only removed one, and I cannot discuss that with you. I am bound to keep a promise. I sent him an email saying: “Those are two issues. I will compromise and meet you halfway. I will remove one “conspiracy theory” only. The other “conspiracy theory” regarding 911 I cannot and will not take out.” The conspiracy theory I refused to remove is regarding the tragedy of the Twin Towers in New York. I find it amazing that I was being guided to omit this information. Why should my opinion matter? There are many organizations in the US fighting to reopen

21 MARLENE AGUILAR the 911 Investigation, organizations claiming that the 911 tragedy that murdered thousands of Americans was an inside job. I am not the only one screaming that the 911 disaster was a conspiracy. I do believe that the twin tower atrocity was a conspiracy among a select group of business tycoons, top American politicians and imperious US military men. There are several American groups along with engineers, architects, scientists and physicists who believe that the Twin Towers collapsed due to a controlled demolition, explosives coming from the basement of those buildings. They insist that the jet liners couldn’t possibly cause the steel structures of those two great buildings to come crashing perfectly straight down into the ground in only a matter of 15 minutes! In Warriors of Heaven, I discuss that it was Wall Street that ultimately funded the power of Hitler and the Nazi Germans. It was Wall Street that masterminded the Second World War through a company called IG Farben in Germany. The Nazi Germans didn’t lose the war. They profited immensely. They walked away with US $15 billion along with tons of gold, masterpieces of art and other treasures. But since the Nazis successfully destroyed hard evidence, they got away with it. I believe those who have conspired on the 911 tragedy have buried and destroyed almost all hard evidence as well. Without substantial proof, a court trial in the present day is futile. But the truth, the truth will set us free. “IG Farben was Hitler and Hitler was IG Farben,” was the statement of Senator Homer T. Bone when addressing the Senate Committee on Military affairs on June 4, 1943. “In 1941, an investigation exposed a “marriage” cartel between John D. Rockefeller’s US based Standard Oil Company and IG Farben. Henry Ford was also linked with this German company.

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But the real truth about IG Farben’s involvement with other nations can never be fully proven because documents were destroyed in Germany in 1945.” Shortly after World War II the U.S. War Department declared: “Without IG Farben’s immense productive facilities, its intense research, and vast international affiliations, Germany’s prosecution of the war would have been unthinkable and impossible; Farben not only directed its energies toward arming Germany, but concentrated on weakening her intended victims, and this double-barreled attempt to expand the German industrial potential for war and to restrict that of the rest of the world was not conceived and executed ‘in the normal course of business.’ The proof is overwhelming that I. G. Farben officials had full prior knowledge of Germany’s plan for world conquest and of each specific aggressive act later undertaken....” “This U.S. War Department report also stated that ‘IG Farben officials’ included top American and German business magnates.” Camouflage of the truth was what IG Farben and Wall Street did during the Second World War, which massacred over 72 million people all over the planet!! They perfected their crime by destroying documents and other validation linking to the truth. During World War II, IG Farben produced and sold enough poison gas to kill 200 million people! 911 created wars, wars where a singular allegiance of imperious men profited greatly. And these wars will go on and on and on. These men who rule the world profit highly from the massacre of mankind – wars! And since Wall Street controlled Nazi Germany, who instigated the bombing of Pearl Harbor then? Did Wall Street mastermind this tragedy so America could launch a nuclear attack against

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Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Is there a connection with the minds that conspired during the Second World War and those who planned the 911 incident? Yes. I absolutely believe that with every fiber of my being. I believe that during World War II, those who masterminded this global disaster needed a fall guy. And that was Germany. After the war, America helped rebuild Germany’s economy, helping make it a leading force in technology and trade later on. Thus, Germany recovered. As well, I believe that 9/11 was a conspiracy creating wars that led to the economic collapse of America and dragging the rest of the world’s economy along with it. So this time around, America is the fall guy. I believe that the masterminds of this global crisis plan to pump money back into the US just as they did with Germany to cure the financial disorder. However, what these imperious men failed to consider, is that unlike Germany America doesn’t have a very strong singular culture to support its people. As a country America’s soul is weak. The Germans survived the terrible disasters of World War II because their national culture is very strong, their soul is strong. I fear that Americans will not be able to hold it together during this time of financial disaster. In addition, I believe there are states like Hawaii that would fiercely fight for independence. Hawaii may be the first state to break ties with the US. Plus I believe that the south will rise against the north and that the insurgency in the south, which is happening now, will get stronger as time passes. The following is an excerpt from Chapter five of Warriors of Heaven. This was an actual letter to Caesar, a commander of the US Special Forces, who was stationed in the Middle East at the time. It was written by me.

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These are my thoughts, October 18, 2008. “Imagine this. When America was on top economically and Americans were thriving financially, your society, despite all its fortune, still suffered immense societal sickness. America had the world’s worst instances of alcoholism, drug abuses, health and eating disorders and levels of crime at a time when your people had more wealth than most human beings in the world. Now that America’s economy is collapsing, can you imagine the negative impact this will have on the minds of Americans? How do you think this will affect your already decaying society? How will this pandemonium affect your society’s social diseases? I am afraid that the rates of alcohol and drug problems, health and eating disorders, along with crime, will reach astronomical proportions. En masse, your society will suffer a psychological ‘nervous breakdown’. And there will be anarchy and lawlessness. Your people will once again be divided, as it was once before, north against south.”

The following is part of an article that was printed in Associated Press on Wednesday, August 12, 2009, ten months after I wrote the above letter to Caesar. Eileen Sullivan wrote it.

“Officials see rise in militia groups across U.S. WASHINGTON Militia groups with gripes against the government are regrouping across the country and could grow rapidly, according to an organization that tracks such trends. Conspiracy theories about a secret Mexican plan to reclaim the Southwest are also growing amid the public debate about illegal immigration. These militias are concentrated in the Midwest, Pacific Northwest and the Deep South…” Here ends the excerpt from Warriors of Heaven.

25 MARLENE AGUILAR

Many years ago, in 1997, a magical man who claimed he worked for the Pentagon and who had graduated from Oxford University, saw me behind closed doors and spoke to me for many hours. He told me that he had 27 aliases, and that he had gone to jail for murdering two powerful members of the Mafia in New York. He also told me about the alliance of the few but great and powerful men who control the world. These men’s allegiance to any nation is not as crucial to the fact that they own the world. Additionally, he stated that IG Farben’s dissolution gave birth to hundreds of multi-national companies. I believe these businesses are now the true powers ruling the killing machine of America, creating and profiting from the world’s wars. Furthermore, he said that there is a magical and ancient book hidden inside the Pentagon. He discussed with me the future of the world and how the handful of imperious men, a brotherhood of men, will manipulate great events to unfold. I never saw him again. I discuss him in Chapter six of my book, Warriors of Heaven. If I remember correctly, he also told me that after Word War II, the same minds that put up the Pentagon were the same powers that created the CIA, the UN, the World Bank and the IMF. I wonder if that is true. But I do believe all these things are connected to the global disasters of today.

Patrick sent me another email dated Friday, May 22, 2009, saying: “If your 911 conspiracy theory is true, then why can’t anyone really prove it?” On the same day, I answered him with this statement. “You say...why can’t anyone really prove it?” “My dear evil one, haven’t you realized one thing? The absolute truth is projected by the person or the faction who can lie best!”

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“Like you said, as far as the Kennedy assassination is concerned...a lie repeated so many, many times becomes the accepted truth.” “The world is a lie!” “And you are a pussy!” “I give a big kiss to the sweetest little boy inside the body of that yapping grouchy man that you are!”

M

Patrick sent me another email saying: “Anyway, the Philippines is only a little island in the Pacific with a great sound stage. And you go overboard with your opinions…”

My reply was this: “The little island in the Pacific you mentioned happens to be top three richest in the world as far as natural wealth is concerned! As well, we are number one in coral diversity, which means, my evil one, that our oceans are richer than any other in the world! It has nothing to do with size. I realize this is very difficult for an American to understand since you have been brainwashed to believe that bigger is better.” “Additionally, remember the fight for global power is no longer about military arsenals. The fight for global power is about control of natural resources! I wrote about that in my last book. Yesterday Russia released a paper on that saying exactly the same thing. I will send it to you to enlighten you.” “You’re just pissed off because I’m smarter than you.” “Whiner!!!”

Meanwhile, I received an anonymous email with a coded message regarding the events of my life, which I discussed in my book, Warriors of Heaven. I forwarded this email to my dear and

27 MARLENE AGUILAR trusted friend Alwin Sta. Rosa on May 22, 2009. I blind-copied the email to Steve. I wrote:

Dear Alwin, Please read below and help me understand what this person is saying. He said: Remember that the second shooter was on the grassy knoll before he staged the moon landing with his time machine where he travels back in time to the 17th century only to come forward to present day, when phone calls from Nixon and Cheney are received…” And remember it’s only a conspiracy theory if you can get enough suckers to believe you... That was the message I received from someone unknown. Thanks.

Love, M

Here is Alwin’s explanation of the coded message. “But remember that the mind behind the scene, the person who will ensure that the job is done has the information cleared prior. And he had convinced his associates to believe in his cause as the truth - truth which he will release in the present day.” “He stated that it is only a conspiracy theory if you can get enough suckers to believe you.” “Since people believe in the explanations of the past and accepted it as the truth, he is saying that, even if you knew about the truth and expose the facts today, who will believe you? He is saying that no one will believe you.”

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Steve wondered if there really was a conspiracy behind my surveillance, which started about two years ago. And here is his explanation of the coded message: “What does the word conspiracy imply anyway? Wiki.answers. com states that the word conspiracy is ‘An agreement to perform together an illegal, wrongful, or subversive act’. He is saying that the events that transpired in your life beginning July 25, 2007 is really not a conspiracy. Because the events that occurred were directed - not conspired; that is, under immediate, direct and formal orders, given from one level to the next, from one person to one who is junior, and not as an illicit, secret, group illegally conspiring against an official policy.” That was Steve’s analysis of the person’s message to me. I wonder. Is he saying that Nixon had something to do with Kennedy’s assassination? Is he also saying that Cheney was involved with 911? In addition, is he suggesting that someone staged the moon landing? There are physicists today claiming that the US astronauts were not the first to land on the moon. In addition, these modern day scientists say that the first “moon landing” was a studio shot. Today is May 28, 2009. During lunchtime, I met Daniel at the Starbucks coffee shop in Corinthian Village. The oracles call him the white knight. He had arrived ahead of me and had bought himself a bagel sandwich and some strange-looking green iced drink, something I would never order for myself. These Americans love their sugar drinks. I walked to his table. “What do you want?” he asked me. “Mineral water please.” “Do you want something to eat?”

29 MARLENE AGUILAR

“No. Thank you. I had an early lunch at home.” “Oh…I forgot, the celestial being doesn’t eat processed food,” he uttered. Daniel wore a pair of safari green pants and a white shirt with short sleeves. He seemed like he had been spending some time in the sun, which gave him a nice golden tan. He went to the counter to buy me my drink and returned to the table at once where I sat waiting for him. He looked straight at me, inquisitive and with a very soothing demeanor that came with his confident and homicidal presence. He carried the same air of confidence common to those belonging to the US military elite. But unlike the others, Daniel has softness and depth. “You know what I love about you?” he asked. “What?” “You, all of you,” he replied. “We’re so much alike, you and I,” he said. “You’re so hardened by the events of your life. And yet, you’re so soft. Trust….You understand trust, the way I see it.” “I need you to help me understand something,” I beckoned him. “Why do you think I am being requested to remove the “conspiracy theory” regarding 911 from my book, Warriors of Heaven? Many people in the states have the same opinion, so why should I matter?” I asked the white knight. “Come here,” he said softly. “Come closer to me.” “I told you. The way you write is so provocative. You dig into the hearts of your readers. In addition, I sincerely believe that kind of stuff can spark an insurgency. Imagine that…” he whispered in my ear. “How are you so certain about your opinion regarding 911?” he asked.

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“It is because I have had arguments in the past with certain powerful US military men. Once I had an intense discourse with a particular man in person, someone whose mind and courage I admire and respect more than others. During this time, I told him that I believed that the rebellious group Jemiah Islamiyah that was conveniently blamed for the bombing in Bali, Indonesia was created by a certain US military faction….And when we got into the arguments relating to 911, he backed off completely. Suddenly, he was quiet. This strange behavior from him confirmed certain suspicions I had,” I explained. “Now, what kind of a service man would give you detailed information like that about a group of terrorists?” he asked. “No one told me. I do my own research, and I don’t stop doing research. I figured it all out. Remember, I wasn’t born yesterday,” I answered. “Help me, god. What am I going to do with you? How the hell did we end up again?” Daniel announced, frustrated. “I do not judge. I cannot judge these men. I understand that at the end of the day, it is business, just business. More than that, although I can drown in emotions at times, I can also be so clear-headed. You know that,” I stated. “In that sense, you’re right. You’re not a woman. You’re floating somewhere out there in the universe,” the white knight said. “More that that, in the end, you have enough flexibility, which makes me believe you’ll get what you want,” he added. Earlier that day, I was in communication with Demetrio de la Cruz, a multi-awarded painter who is working on a commissioned mural by a friend of mine. She is a very talented interior designer whose taste in home and garden is Asian like mine. Currently, she is doing the interiors for the newly built house of a very wealthy

31 MARLENE AGUILAR client whose taste in home design is garish and vulgar and very European. This client, for example, spent US $300,000 on three pieces of Baccarat chandeliers for their new home. Amazing, isn’t it, considering the Philippines is supposedly a third world country? Well, in this country, there is only the very poor and the very rich. Although there are architects, designers and artists fighting for Asian identity, so many Filipinos are still captivated in their colonial existence. We live in a beautiful tropical environment and there are people who decorate their residences with heavy, tired and outdated European motifs. I will share with you an incident that happened a few years ago. Jo Ann Salgado, owner of Jo Liza Antique Shop, and I visited the home of one of my neighbors in Blue Ridge, which is decorated by very expensive, loud and gaudy Italian furniture from, what seemed to me, the dark ages. Here is the conversation that transpired between Jo Ann and me that morning. “Who died?” I asked, looking at her the moment we stepped into the foyer. “I don’t know. Please behave yourself,” she whispered, giggling. “The place is decorated like a funeral parlor,” I said. “It gives me the creeps.” “Look at the ghastly gold leaf frames on the wall. They must have been carved out of Dracula’s original casket,” I stated, unable to control my laughter. After my discussion with Demetrio de la Cruz regarding the European-inspired artwork he had been commissioned to paint, I sat in my tropical garden sipping my freshly-brewed coffee from the Starbucks down the street from where I live, which I drink every morning.

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I sent Becca messages through my phone regarding this book. I saw her only last night. Steve and I had dinner at Ka Freddie’s nightclub, which gave me a chance to speak to my cosmic sister who was at the bar when we arrived. This morning, I sent her a message telling her that I have decided to include her story in one of the chapters to this book. I sent her the portion of this chapter where I described our violent childhood experiences. I asked her to read it and give me her comment. I told her that she must talk to me some more so I can write about her colorful life. She sent me a text message saying: “Okay. I have made up my mind last night. I will talk.” I replied to her and said: “Speak out Becca. Speak out. It will help heal you and your story will help heal other souls in pain. Expression is purification.” My celestial sister answered: “I will. I will break my silence with you. The time has come.” I wrote back to her and said: “I believe your story told will heal you. Besides, it will heal your children. Your freedom will be their freedom as well.” At 11.25 this morning, I received this message from her. “I read the part of Chapter one which you sent me. I read it over and over again. I am in tears. Steve is right. Our lives are so painful and yet so very, very beautiful…” “I owe you my story.” “I feel your love for me. In return, I love you back with all my heart and soul.” May 29, 2009 is the date today. Last night, I received a text message from Daniel to see him for dinner at around 6pm. I told

33 MARLENE AGUILAR him I couldn’t meet him that early since I had to feed Steve his supper. We had agreed to meet at 7.30pm at Café Ysabel in Little Baguio, San Juan. I would have preferred to go to my own place, Bulan Restaurant, which is near Café Ysabel, but I have decided to turn the place exclusive only for big functions. I made this decision for very personal reasons, as I am a very private person. My personality is not conducive for owning a restaurant where I must be gracious and smiling at all times even to strangers, whether I like it or not. If you have seen the TV series “Only You” on Channel Two, which had become the number one primetime show in the Philippines, then you would have seen the exotic interior of Bulan. This television show rented the place as their shooting location for the next four months. I left my home in Blue Ridge at around 7pm to meet the American military man. I had my driver of 12 years, Ronald Francia, drive my white Grandia van. But I had asked my bodyguard Mark Hauser to stay behind. I decided this was best for all parties concerned. I didn’t want him to see the service men I meet with on occasion. I keep two cellular phones with me, one that is a new model, and the other is at least four years old. I was told that the latter was harder to trace because it didn’t have the GPRS connected to it. I use this old phone only to text military men I know, and I change the number at least once a month. As soon as my van left the garage, I received this message on my outdated mobile unit. “Hai.” Now nobody I know spells the word “hi” in this manner. Text messages are done to shorten words, not to extend them. I have received messages from this person in the past but I have ignored

34 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW them. He had sent me messages in my old phones spelling “hai” in the same manner so I know it is the same person. You must be wondering why I am saying it is a “he”. I am certain this is a man sending me this message. I also believe that he is somewhere in Mindanao, located south of the Philippines. For some strange reason, I replied to his message last night. “Who is this?” And he answered: “There is no place you can hide.” He wrote the above words in Visaya, a Filipino ethno-language. In my mind, I imagined an underling holding a mobile phone and a Caucasian ordering him what to write, having him translate into English what he wants to say. Don’t ask me how I know this. I just know it. I replied: “Speak in English.” He sent a text message back. “Whu s ths plz?” meaning who is this please. My answer: “Don’t behave like an idiot. You sent me the message to begin with.” He replied: “Betsh,” meaning bitch. Oh god. This person is going to test my darkness. So I came back with these notes. “Dog not bitch you moron.” “You can’t even spell English you stupid animal. You are an idiot like your boss!” He fired back: “Edeyouth,” meaning idiot…

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That was it. I lost my patience all together. Agghhh! So, I sent the man the following messages using the speed of lightning. “Is that all you can do, you mindless piece of shit? Text me a word in English you can spell. Show me you are not retarded. I bet your penis is so puny, decrepit and useless, nobody wants it! Tell the military man next to you, he’s a virgin like you!” He stopped all together. He didn’t bother me anymore. I never heard from him since. I arrived at Café Ysabel a little before 7.30pm. Daniel had already found himself the most private table in the furthest corner of the restaurant near the kitchen. I joined him. “Remember the person who sent you a text message that said “hai”?” I reminded him. Daniel had also received word from this man in the past through his mobile. “Yeah…” “He sent me messages on the way here,” I said. “This act means to me that somebody is aware of our meeting tonight.” “So, what? There is no crime committed,” the white knight responded. “Why are you hesitant to face your future?” “Because, there is a part of me that needs a quiet life.” “It seems to me, you have made your bed in the past. Now, you have to sleep in it,” he stated. “I believe one of your oracles is now compromised, playing politician. You realize ‘they’ will only use you as an instrument. There’s no happiness where you’re going. I say, you should be selfish like me and run. “Your partner Steve gives you something special, no military man could ever offer you. We come from a world that doesn’t comprehend

36 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW his world. Whereas you, you have lived in many worlds. You belong to many realities and understand them all.” “But that is why I talk to men like you. I want to understand more. With learning comes understanding. I want to write about your reality, a world of death and disaster and share it with others. I believe it is possible for these separate worlds to come closer together through information.” I explained. “In you, I have found complete trust. I have shared with you my deepest secrets, things I have never in my entire life shared with another human being. You have opened Pandora’s Box. I have placed in your hands information about me that could ultimately destroy me personally. And I believe you will never betray that trust. Do you have any idea how impossible it is to find someone one can trust, most especially in my world? In my world, trust could mean my death? You’re a catalyst for change,” he said. “I think men like you who are exceptional in your field have all suffered great tragedies as children. It is your tragic past that has armed you to be good in what you do. I have known men who were born rich, grew up rich, went to private schools and lived pampered lives. They are ‘gay’ and I don’t mean homosexual. They are weak and are utterly boring, wishing that their material possession could possibly grant them true value in society,” I told the white knight. “Can’t you see you have set me free? I am redeemed,” Daniel stated. “In that sense, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Someone up above must really love me…” “Your freedom is my freedom,” I uttered gently. “I have heard you say the words, ‘to kill properly,’ a number of times. What do you mean by killing properly?” he asked.

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“I do not believe in torture, unless absolutely necessary. Killing properly to me means to kill with mercy. If you are going to kill the enemy then strike to the core and do it fast.” “But I hate the opponent, I like to see the enemy suffer,” he said. “I cannot bear to see anyone in pain,” I told him. “Can’t you see that the enemy may hate you just as much? In his eyes, what is just and fair to you is the ultimate wrong to him. It is all perspective. And if not for the mercy of heaven, you could be sitting in his stead?” I explained. Daniel stared at me with warmth in his eyes, absorbing what I said. I gazed back at him hoping in my heart that he felt the wisdom in my compassion. There was silence between us for a while. “Okay. Now tell your dear Mother about your first sexual experience,” I said smiling and breaking the silence. “Devious. You are devious. Jesus, help me…” he grunted with his head down and closed his eyes. Gabriel. Gabriel. He is the most enthralling demon of all. I entitled the first chapter of my last book, Warriors of Heaven, “Devil on Earth” on his behalf. This is what the oracles call this imperious military man who told me that, “he belongs to the upper one percent of the top one percent of the US military elite.” Warriors of Heaven is about my actual interaction and disputes with some members of the US military that belong to the top echelons of that institution. Of this group, no one gave me a better psychological run-in than the Devil on Earth himself. His out- and-out blackness threw me to the very edge of the psychological abyss. It was my raging fear of Gabriel that pushed me to write my memoirs and my first novel. He forced me so tightly into the

38 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW corner, destroying my spirit in the process, so much that all I could do to defend myself was to write down my thoughts thus cleansing my mind as we continued our cerebral warfare. Battles are not won by muscle or size of arms. They are won by the intensity of mind, courage and spirit. And no man, no man I have ever come across on earth has the immense complexity of darkness that Gabriel’s mind and spirit possess. Whatever happened between us, I shall never be able to narrate to you, for we have vowed never to discuss the duel we fought against each other in Hades. He was my greatest foe in mind and spirit, thus far. There is no man on earth I have encountered that can equal the complexity of Gabriel’s courage and blackness. Through our psychological wars, he killed me in spirit. But I couldn’t imagine surrendering to a lesser warrior of heaven or a lesser man on earth. The devil earned my deepest admiration and respect. I would like to include this letter, which I sent this imperious warrior last year during the month of December 2008.

Letter to Gabriel

Below is my attempt to tell you how I feel about the past, the present and the future. Please bear with me, because although I do think of myself as a celestial being detached from matters of the earth, when it comes to you, I am just as flawed as the rest of mankind. I write this without pain in my heart. I hope you can feel that. Nothing has changed inside me, though you have, because you have distanced yourself. The only thing that has changed is that I no longer fear you as much as I used to. This is the reward I received from allowing you to kill me spiritually. I granted you full freedom to inflict upon me the greatest pain possible. And I did so without

39 MARLENE AGUILAR hesitation and without mortification. Remember, you can only kill me once. So, I do not believe you could hurt me any more today. With the spiritual death you gave me, new life began. Karmic debt between us is paid. When I say I am bonded to your soul, it comes with a realization that this cosmic connection comes freely and openly. It’s just there, floating around our spirits, something imposed by the forces of heaven and earth. How do I feel about you today? I see you as my guardian on earth sent by the great cosmic forces. And with such conviction, I have decided to trust you with my being. Yes, I see you as my protector, just as calculating and manipulating as I am - but driven by courage and truth. In you, I see my darkest side. And in you, I also see my lightest side. There is one major difference. I believe I am capable of pure love. You are not. And you do not possess the inner balance I have. Do I fear you? Yes. I fear you somewhat. But what do I own in this world that you could possibly take away from me? I own nothing. I own neither my body nor my life. I do not decide whether I live or die. That is up to the will of the celestial universes. The same goes for all those I care about on earth. If the earth asked for my blood to quench her thirst, then I shall give it freely. I was born with nothing. I will die with nothing. My greatest possession on earth is my spirit. That is all. And I placed that in your hands for safekeeping for you to hold and protect, from the very beginning when we met. It is my spirit, which I hold most precious on earth, my dear warrior of heaven. Still that you have already corrupted devastated and ultimately destroyed. Even so my spirit dies only to come back to life once more. I have returned and I am stronger now than ever.

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There is only one thing in this world I call my own, which has no beginning and no end. That is my soul. It is eternal. And that you will never be able to touch again.

Lucifer

Two days ago, on May 27, 2009, I sent Gabriel the portion of this chapter recounting my riveting engagement with Boe, requesting for his comment. He replied and wrote: “Yes, I enjoyed this one. Oops, there goes that head of yours again. Now I sound like all the others that try to butter you up with words like ...... Ooooooooooh, Marlene you are so good. Aaahhhhh…. Okay, are you happy now? I did enjoy this one...maybe because you didn’t use any big words.” My reply to him was this: Finally, I get a thumbs’ up from the beast of all beasts! Yes! I am happy, very happy Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Also about my ego, that is like calling the kettle black isn’t it? Big kiss!

M

Early this morning, May 30, 2009, I received an email from him. He wrote: “It just amazes me how you can ever get out of a building with your head so darnn big. So I am sending you something that will deflate it. Hehehehehe! Attached is a recent essay written by your favorite writer, Ralph Peters. I know it will piss you off. Maybe this will release some of the hot air out of your oversized ego...... I mean head.”

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Ret. Lt. Ralph Peters was the advisor of former US presidential candidate John McCain. I have critiqued an essay he had written in the past. And I truly have no respect for his limited military mind. I replied to Gabriel and stated. “Do you really want me to annihilate this essay? It’s not going to be hard. I already know the virgin has the brain of a baboon. Are you having me do your homework for you again most evil one?” The Devil on Earthwrote back to me on May 31, 2009. He said: “No, the essay is not my homework. Ralph Peters has a column in the NY times. My homework is on something different which as usual, I am falling behind in. Do what you want with the article...but I see I am getting your goat... Hehehe.” On June 1, 2009, I sent Gabriel this email: “Attached are my comments on Ralph Peters’ essay entitled “Wishful Thinking and Indecisive Wars”. I can’t believe the man writes for the NY Times. Is the NY Times so right wing in its policies that it has fallen off Peters’ flat earth? The last Peters’ essay you sent me had many more arguments, whereas, this one is very weak. The man didn’t’ have a good mind to begin with, now it’s as shriveled as a dried prune. Is the NY Times so desperate for sensationalist right wing writers? Please send me a more interesting essay to comment on next time. By the way, when will you realize that I, “Lucifer,” am more intelligent and wiser than you and your virgin colleagues? If pretzels like Ralph Peters are guiding Washington DC, then heaven help Obama and America. I still think you’re tricking me to do your homework for you. I’m waiting for the next right wing essay. Come on!!!

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I swear Ralph Peters is fascist. He is also gay! And of course, I don’t mean homosexual. Kiss to you Darth Vader!

Lucifer And here below are portions of Ralph Peters essay entitled “Wishful Thinking and Indecisive Wars,” along with my comments, which I emailed Gabriel. Ralph Peters’ quoted narrative is set in Italics. My comments follow.

Wishful Thinking and Indecisive Wars

“Much has been made over the past two decades of the emergence of ‘asymmetric warfare’ in which the ill-equipped confront the superbly armed by changing the rules of the battlefield. Yet, such irregular warfare is not new, it is warfare’s oldest form; the stone against the bronze-tipped spear and the crucial asymmetry does not lie in weaponry, but in moral courage. While our most resolute current enemies, Islamist extremists’ may violate our conceptions of morality and ethics, they also are willing to sacrifice more, suffer more and kill more (even among their own kind) than we are.” Warfare? What concept of warfare? Does Ralph Peters not understand that America’s military power has always been a slave to its economic power? What moral courage is he talking about? I have spoken to some elite members of the US military who fought in Iraq not believing in America’s presence there? There is absolutely no morality in war. So who is the violator and who is violated?

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Here one can argue over not just how the US views warfare (on one level in the hoped for politically correct pursuit of war as populist and just, or on the real level of commercial, financial gain), but you can also contrast this with how others, including so- called “extremists,” may view warfare against the US as just and an essential last resort. Where does “just” warfare lie? America’s wars have not been “just” for centuries. Whether clandestine or open field warfare, America has usurped, bombed, invaded and otherwise prosecuted war against more countries and created more enemies than any other country on earth over the past 50 years. “There are multiple reasons for this American amnesia about the cost of victory. First, we, the people, have lived in unprecedented safety for so long (despite the now-faded shock of September 11, 2001) that we simply do not feel endangered; rather, we sense that what nastiness there may be in the world will always occur elsewhere and need not disturb our lifestyles. We like the frisson of feeling a little guilt, but resent all calls to action that require sacrifice.” There are many people who believe that the 9/11 tragedy was an inside job. This includes many American citizens. Many believe that the twin towers crashed because of a controlled demolition and that this was the only way that such structures could have collapsed as they did. And where does the “nastiness” really lie in America’s wars? America wants its cake and to eat it; that is to embark on warfare for political, commercial, material and cultural gain and, at the same time to pretend that all America’s wars are just. “Second, collective memory has effectively erased the European- sponsored horrors of the last century…” European-sponsored? Or sponsored by international commerce and trade? It’s a bit ignorant to pretend that the US had no role

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in sponsoring the C20th first and second world wars. US interests gained commercially and politically from these, as other wars. “Third, ending the draft resulted in a superb military, but an unknowing, detached population. The higher you go in our social caste system, the less grasp you find of the military’s complexity and the greater the expectation that, when employed, our armed forces should be able to fix things promptly and politely.” Might Peters really be acknowledging here, but not accepting, the great gulf between the US commercial, industrial, military “complex” and its people? The people of the US do not want war. As with all world affairs, the people of the US are not interested in wars beyond their boundaries. But the “complex” is. The words prompt and polite should never be used to describe the American killing machine. The US Armed Forces do not fix things! The Armed Forces of America are masters at destroying things! The US Armed Forces exist to kill, kill, kill.” “Fourth, an unholy alliance between the defense industry and academic theorists seduced decision makers with a false-messiah catechism of bloodless war. In pursuit of billions in profits, defense contractors made promises impossible to fulfill, while think tank scholars sought acclaim by designing warfare models that excited political leaders anxious to get off cheaply, but which left out factors such as the enemy, human psychology, and 5,000 years of precedents.” This statement provides more revelation of self-perpetuation of the interests of the “complex.” US voters will vote for a bloodless war machine, and they will be told, “…but this is expensive.” Resulting in more money for the complex. “We grow up believing that safety from harm is a right that others are bound to respect as we do. Our rising generation of political

45 MARLENE AGUILAR leaders assumes that, if anyone wishes to do us harm, it must be the result of a misunderstanding that can be resolved by that lethal narcotic of the chattering classes, dialogue.” Again, the US is a material society no longer interested in, nor in need of war; at least as far as the people of the US are concerned. BUT, did the US really NEED to make war against communism? A bad economic model eventually defeated the USSR, PRC, and Vietnam. They either imploded economically, or managed economic change. And so will Cuba and North Korea eventually follow. Communism was not defeated through war with the US. Does the US really have to make war against an already weak, intensely divided Muslim world? No! The US and globalization have long proven that policies that embrace trade, commerce, and investment; that is engagement are far, far more effective, peaceful and beneficial than any policy of direct military confrontation. Engagement through trade, commerce, and investment is also not only a lot cheaper – but profitable. But then what faction’s policies really run America? The industrial, military complex or the open trade, and foreign investment complex? Some in the US have long realized this, and now the Obama administration is committed to a policy of engagement with Cuba. But will this be allowed to last? Americans are not threatened by outside forces. America has reason for war, and believes it can live with more and more enemies. And so the rest of the world has become America’s enemy. So should the rest of the world invade America, and destroy their citizens? “By 1965, we had already forgotten what it took to defeat Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan, and the degeneration of our historical sense has continued to accelerate since then. More Americans died in one afternoon at Cold Harbor during our Civil War than died in

46 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW six years in Iraq. Three times as many American troops fell during the morning of June 6, 1944, as have been lost in combat in over seven years in Afghanistan. Nonetheless, prize-hunting reporters insist that our losses in Iraq have been catastrophic, while those in Afghanistan are unreasonably high.” Why are comparative numbers of any importance? In today’s terms, for today’s generation, and with the CNN coverage of today, the number of Americans seen to be killed in Afghanistan and Iraq are too many to stomach. Previous wars could be hidden under US war office carefully scripted newsprint, and commercial-political exhortations of nationalism, patriotism, religion, and duty. We should all be a little wiser now. Is Peters? “Unfortunately, the world in which we do live remains one in which war is the primary means of resolving humanity’s grandest disagreements, as well as supplying the answer to plenty of questions. As for giving peace a chance, the sentiment is nice, but it does not work when your self-appointed enemy wants to kill you. Does the US really have real enemies? There are many who disagree with America’s culture, goals and way of life, but how many times has America been invaded or attacked since its independence? Apart from the possibly self-inflicted Pearl Harbor and Twin Towers incidents, one can argue that America has really never had an enemy. But the US has created enemies by invading other peoples’ countries – many, many times, enemies that the US has created. “Gandhi’s campaign of non-violence (often quite violent in its reality) only worked because his opponent was willing to play along. Gandhi would not have survived very long in Nazi Germany, Stalin’s Russia, Mao’s (or today’s) China, Pol Pot’s Cambodia, or Saddam Hussein’s Iraq. Effective non-violence is contractual. Where the contract does not exist, Gandhi dies.”

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So why didn’t the US intervene in Russia, China, Cambodia – and Rwanda Burundi, Turkey (Kurds), Sudan (south Sudan), the Congo, Myanmar, Timor-Leste, Tibet and in so many countries where “the contract does not exist?” Because it was not in America’s interests to do so. There either wasn’t much money to be made, or access to resources to protect. And in other cases, the US war machine just might not have been guaranteed of success. “Furthermore, our expectations of war’s results have become absurd. Even the best wars do not yield perfect aftermaths. World War II changed the planet for the better, yet left the eastern half of Europe under Stalin’s yoke and opened the door for the Maoist takeover in China. Should we then declare it a failure and not worth fighting?” Is this really a matter of Americans’ perception of war or really a matter of the American people not supporting war? War should be the last resort. Or, is it the first thought of the American military, commercial, industrial, complex? When speaking before the members of the Special Forces community years ago, didn’t Ralph Peters declare, “Follow the oil trail and follow America’s future wars?” Anyway, Ralph Peters needs to get laid! Maybe that will improve his ability to remember. Or did they freezer dry his manhood along with his brain while in the military box? Remember that he was McCain’s adviser on National Security Affairs. No wonder America is doomed. “Consider the current bemoaning of a perceived, lack of progress and setbacks in Afghanistan. A largely pre-medieval, ferociously xenophobic country that never enjoyed good government or a central power able to control all of its territory had become the hostage of a monstrous regime and a haven for terrorists.”

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Are the culture, mores, and government of Afghanistan behind any of America’s business? Should the rest of the world invade America and take over its government to correct immoral capital punishment, to effectively sanction use of hard drugs, remove the vestiges of US racism, to educate US children, remove US poverty. ……What gives America the right to decide what is moral? How can America begin to heal itself, when it doesn’t have the wisdom to see that defeat is staring its citizens in the face? As time passes, America’s society continues to crumble apart. I asked Gabriel this question: “Did you ever in your entire life imagine that the day would come when, during one of America’s darkest hours in history, American citizens would look up to a black president to save itself from disaster? That is absolute Karma for the white man! There is justice after all. Hallelujah!” Ralph Peters continues: “We have the power to win any war.” Win any war? America has lost many wars to country’s that are so tiny like Vietnam, Somalia, and Korea. And consider the US’s failed invasion of Iran. Add to that the first, second, and the third Seminole wars.” The Yanks left Somalia in a rush after a few men riding in pickup trucks armed with grenades annihilated them! And did the US win the war in Iraq yet? The question is, is America capable of winning peace? Is it even interested in winning any peace, or even winning wars, or just profiting from running wars? I can’t stand virgin old timers! “The problem is religion. Our Islamist enemies are inspired by it, while we are terrified even to talk about it. We are in the unique

49 MARLENE AGUILAR position of denying that our enemies know what they themselves are up to. They insist, publicly, that their goal is our destruction (or, in their mildest moods, our conversion) in their god’s name. We contort ourselves to insist that their religious rhetoric is all a sham, that they are merely cynics exploiting the superstitions of the masses. Setting aside the point that a devout believer can behave cynically in his mundane actions, our phony, one-dimensional analysis of Al-Qaeda and its ilk has precious little to do with the nature of our enemies, which we are desperate to deny, and everything to do with us.” I’d have to say that many outside America see America as THE fundamentalist religious, pious, society. Religion is America’s problem. America must come face to face with the fact that although they may have the strongest military power in the world, this firepower does not win wars. America is totally impotent when it comes to winning peace – if it was so interested. And who created Al-Qaeda to begin with? I thought that the CIA did. What is the biggest force in the world that is “fighting for power or wealth?” Answer - the US. “When a struggling faith finds itself under the assault of a more powerful foreign belief system, it fights: Jews against Romans, Christians against Muslims, Muslims against Christians and Jews. When faiths feel threatened, externally or internally, they fight as long as they retain critical mass. Today the Judeo-Christian/post- belief world occupies the dominant strategic position, as it has, increasingly, for the last five centuries, its rise coinciding with Islam’s long descent into cultural darkness and civilizational impotence. Behind all its entertaining bravado, Islam is fighting for its life, for validation.”

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The only reason Islam or any other religion, or any other non- American peoples have to fight is because America took the fight to them in the first place. And there are many millions of Muslims, who are not terrorists, but many who are oppressed – in Palestine, in the Philippines, in Europe, in Iraq, and in Afghanistan. The world of Islam is not in descent. Indonesia, Malaysia, and countries in the Arabian Peninsula are in the ascent. “Islam, in other words, is on the ropes, despite no end of nonsense heralding, Eurabia, or other Muslim demographic conquests…” I do not see Islam being on the ropes at all. On the contrary, oppressing the Muslims will only make them stronger. Does he not know how deeply rooted Islam is in the minds of its followers? You cannot eradicate Islam, as much as you cannot eradicate Christianity or Judaism. Islam is alive because faith lives in the hearts of its believers; in Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, UAE, Singapore… “We struggle to explain suicide bombers in sociological terms, deciding that they are malleable and unhappy young people, psychologically vulnerable. But plenty of individuals in our own society are malleable, unhappy and unstable. Where are the Western atheist suicide bombers?” Not so. Peters should read others’ studies of suicide bombers. Some are/ were uncertain of the mission, most are/ were not. Many are/ were plain, middle class, well educated, committed. For many, there is more to life than current materialism. For many, there is a spiritual life, a belief in the soul. Material America consuming for today just can’t understand. Fortunately, the world is not America. But there is the great difference between the core of the Muslim fighters and the Americans. How do Americans today who do not believe in America’s wars, defeat people like that? How do

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Americans defeat a group of people with suicide bombers? Does Ralph Peters have the mind and the humility to accept that the US can’t win the war against Islam and the Muslims, most specially now when America’s economy is on the verge of total demise? And its society on the edge of a nervous breakdown? ”We face enemies who celebrate death and who revel in bloodshed. Islamist terrorists have a closer kinship with the blood cults of the pre-Islamic Middle East, or even with the Aztecs’ than they do with the Ghazis who exploded out of the Arabian desert, ablaze with a new faith. At a time when we should be asking painful questions about why the belief persists that gods want human blood, we insist on downplaying religion’s power and insisting that our new enemies are much the same as the old ones. It is as if we sought to analyze Hitler’s Germany without mentioning Nazis.” America faces enemies who celebrate death? This is outrageous coming from a man whose military firepower had raged wars against so many nations in this planet. Does Ralph Peters understand that the rest of the world does not hate the Muslims, but on the other hand, the rest of the world loathes Americans? And that this is because the rest of the world sees America as the greatest war- mongering nation of the world? So which country in this planet celebrates death? Sounds like Peters would kill everyone, everyone that is who does not belong to some fundamentalist, gun-toting, red neck, American religious belief. “When the United States is forced to go to war, or decides to go to war, it must intend to win.” Does he really think anyone outside of the US boundaries would believe America was ever forced to go to war? That would be like ants forcing the elephant to fight them!

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“When the US is forced to go to war?” It is the US that creates the wars! It is the US that declares the wars! “Yet another counter-historical assumption is that states have matured beyond fighting wars with each other, that everyone would have too much to lose, that the inter-connected nature of trade makes full-scale conventional wars impossible. That is precisely the view that educated Europeans held in the first decade of the twentieth century. Even the youngish Winston Churchill, a veteran of multiple colonial conflicts, believed that general war between civilized states had become unthinkable. It had not.” It has taken mankind a long, long time, centuries to understand that wars between states are loss makers for all states in conflict. And it is only very recently that trade has become truly interconnected. The young Winston Churchill’s world may well have quite rightly believed in trade not war, but they didn’t have Internet and CNN. While states may lose from war, the suppliers of warfare, the chemical industries, suppliers of energy, and armaments, do not. No wars are good business for some. But mankind is still not a very mature, matured, intelligent being. We over-consume to such an extent that we are now capable of changing the world’s climate. With so little humility, if any, Americans can never accept that they are still a dumb race. Just like the rest of mankind. “We are afraid to post dummy websites for information-warfare purposes, since we have talked ourselves into warfare-by-lawyers. Meanwhile, the Chinese routinely seek to infiltrate or attack Pentagon computer networks, while Russia paralyzed Estonia through a massive cyber-blitzkrieg just a couple of years ago. Our potential enemies believe that anything that might lead to victory is permissible. We are afraid that we might get sued.”

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“BS! I do not believe the US would stop at any trick of war. From water boarding at Abu Ghraib to defamations at Guantanamo Bay to satellite spying. Who invented modern torture, today’s intelligence gathering… Not the Islam world but the USlam world.” “While the essence of warfare never changes, it will always be about killing the enemy until he acquiesces in our desires or is exterminated, its topical manifestations evolve and its dimensions expand. Today, the United States and its allies will never face a lone enemy on the battlefield. There will always be a hostile third party in the fight, but one which we not only refrain from attacking but are hesitant to annoy: the media.” Now it’s funny. Peters wishes to banish the very forces of the media and others who would question him. All institutions need to be checked, most especially the military complex, most especially governments, most especially America. Of course Nazi Germany had a thing or two about their media, and the arts, and music,. … and the Jews, Gypsies, and the insane, the weak, disfigured… They also prospered as a war machine. Is Peters a secret Nazi?” “…a media establishment that has forgotten any sense of sober patriotism may find that it has become tomorrow’s conventional wisdom.” Who would want to be patriotic about a war mongering America? Not the majority of voters who voted in the last US election. “The point of all this is simple: Win. In warfare, nothing else matters. If you cannot win clean, win dirty. But win. Our victories are ultimately in humanity’s interests, while our failures nourish monsters.” Oh my God: “Our victories are ultimately in humanity’s interest.” What definition of humanity is this? Is the US “complex” humanity?

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Thank all the Gods that Obama has brought in an administration that tries to talk and that is capable of some talking. “To convince Imperial Japan of its defeat, we not only had to fire-bomb Japanese cities, but drop two atomic bombs. Did we then become like the Japanese of the Greater East Asia Co- Prosperity Sphere? Did we subsequently invade other lands with the goal of permanent conquest, enslaving their populations? Did our destruction of German cities’ also necessary for victory, turn us into Nazis? Of course, you can find a few campus leftists who think so, but they have yet to reveal the location of our death camps.” The answer is yes. Besides the death camps lie in the entire rendition, torture chambers, the prisons, the rape and pillage of Iraq and Afghanistan villages by American soldiers and most especially in the tortured souls of the simple, young American souls who served these camps and who will forever retain in their heads the death of a living lie and a living life. Pity Peters and America can’t realize that, most of the time, they have never needed to go to war, other than on commercial grounds. They have not been threatened, and they have made the most gains in peace though not for their souls. Never, the material souls of America are forever lost. And so they will end up putting up with war… as long as they get their Coors beers, barbeques, and TV. Ralph Peters ends his essay with this: “Of all the enemies we face today and may face tomorrow, the most dangerous is our own wishful thinking.” How about the most dangerous thing America faces is the wrath of Mother Earth? The US is the number one consumer of goods in the world because its citizens consume more than any other

55 MARLENE AGUILAR people in the entire planet. Still America continues to rage its wars against other nations murdering millions of innocent civilians and destroying the earth in the process. America threatens every life on this planet making Mother Earth as its greatest opponent. Furthermore, she will summon all the forces of the celestial universes to strike America to defend her life. The planet must live. So America must fall. Pity the soul of America.

June 5, 2009, I sent the following email to Gabriel.

Dear Darth Vader, I know it is difficult for you to write in English considering your virgin, limited military mind plus the fact that you would rather be molesting yourself viciously with your odious fingers. But do write to me some more. Moreover, try your best to assault me next time. I will be away on vacation during the first two weeks of July. I am going to England, Wales and southern Ireland. I will travel with Steve and Maya but will visit Wales on my own and stay with Francesca Marks for two nights. What did you think of my comments on Peter’s essay? Come on. You must admit my mind is so much more superior to that of the pretzel. Is that all you’ve got? You have to do better than that you silly ape.

Kiss! Lucifer

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The war magnate replied on the same day. “I just got back from a fishing trip to Key West, but will reply soon.” The Devil on Earth went on a fishing trip to Key West. I am curious as to whether there was something clandestine about the nature of this exceptional warrior’s company and conversation during his trip. What took place aboard the pristine white fishing vessel, gliding on the ocean, proud and powerful, the days that Gabriel set his demonic presence off the most stunning coast of Florida? If the walls of that fishing boat could speak, I wonder if they would whisper to the goddess of the sea wind, secrets, secrets, shhh…shhh…shhh… Gabriel never sent me his comments on my arguments against Ralph Peter’s essay.

57 Chapter 2

White Knights in Dark Armors

Eric. I will now tell you about this fine soldier who has been in the US military for over two decades. From a distance, Eric’s warrior eyes are fierce and dangerous. Yet, upon closer inspection they are warm, kind, loving and ingrained with deep-rooted pain. His physique, presence and bearing are those of a trained fighter - he is someone one wouldn’t consider messing with under any circumstance. Push this soldier and he will strike hard, in utter contempt and with no remorse. In my opinion, he has the most angelical of faces until he uses it to try and intimidate. At that point, his face turns beastly - his thick Celtic eyebrows arching like those of the devil. His eyes turn blood red, popping out of his skull like a lunatic, his canine teeth aiming to tear you to shreds while he growls like a mad dog dying to impale. He calls himself a hellion, an unruly person. He is strong willed, defiant, argumentative and always ready to attack. He’s the kind of person who wouldn’t mind being called an asshole because he really does not care what you think. Needless to say, we bring out

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the worst in each other. Our first meetings were very difficult as we tested each other’s volition. “You can’t say, ‘I ain’t going to that place no more.’ You should say, ‘I’m not going to that place anymore.’ ‘Ain’t’ is not a word. It’s an aborted contraction of ‘am not’, ‘is not’, ‘are not’, ‘has not’ and ‘have not!’ Please don’t speak like a baboon when we are together. Please, I beg you, whilst in my presence, try not to behave like an ape like so many American men in the service do.” “Why are you always attackin’ Americans? You have issues,” he bellowed. “It’s not an assault, silly. It’s fact. What’s wrong with you? Are you so dumb that you don’t know your people have destroyed the English language? Plus, I cannot believe that the US killing machine spent so much time and money giving you the best training to destroy mankind. And yet they refuse to educate you to speak English properly. So the members of the US military upper echelon walk the earth speaking English like apes.” “What’s the problem? You can’t handle the ape all of a sudden? Is that all you can say to insult me? Is that the best you can do?” he vented, which made me roll my eyes in utter contempt. “You roll those Goddamn Gook eyes of yours one more time and I swear I’ll pop them out of your skull. Agggghhhh!” he growled. “Ohhh…you’re so tough and brave. I’m soooo scared,” I said. “Do you feel good about yourself now that you have threatened a defenseless Asian woman?” “You? Defenseless? Ha Ha Ha!” he scoffed. “Hey, ape! I’m going to tell you a secret.” “What?” he asked. “You know what Paulie calls me in Tagalog?”

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“What?” he asked again. “Kumunoy, in English it means quicksand. You know why? The more you get to know me, the more you will love me. You get stuck in the quicksand inside my being. I suck you in.” One evening we had a fight over finding a place where we could sit, drink and talk. “Damn! You’re fuckin’ impossible! You won’t let me take you anywhere. Why does it have to be your way all the time? Why won’t you let go of control?” he grumbled. “What the hell did they do to you when you were a child that fucked you up so bad?” “Stop whining! Show me a better leader than myself and I will gladly follow. Until then, I will hold my place,” I said out loud. “Damn Gook! You’re right. Your father did a number on you when you were growin’ up. Didn’t he?” “Yes he did. And I’m eternally grateful,” I hissed. “Why do you hate men so much? I was mindin’ my own fuckin’ business and I end up dealin’ with you. What the fuck did I ever do? You’re one of those miserable women with issues against men. God help me. Aaaaaahhhhh!” “I don’t hate men, crazy. Why should I hate men? They’re not important. Plus, I feel I have been so loved by the men in my life. I have no grievances against men,” I replied. “If anything, I’m probably harder on women than I am with men. Why? It’s because women complain and whine about men all the time, whereas men don’t complain about women half as much. The problem with women is not men. The problem is that they are dependent on men on many levels. Then they wonder why they end up getting the short end of the stick. I am very independent, mentally, spiritually, psychologically and financially. I can take care of myself, period. So why should I

60 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW blame men for anything. If I need something then I go out and get it for myself. Yet if I can’t get it on my own, I don’t deserve to have it. I have no problem regarding the opposite sex. I’m certainly not going to use the female instrument between my legs and scream that gender is a fucking issue! If anything, I feel I have the advantage over men exactly because I am a woman. Women have so much power over men, more than they can understand. The problem is that I believe men get tired of dependent women. Who wouldn’t? I would get tired of a dependent man. As far as I’m concerned, it’s all about attitude. I refuse to be unhappy. Plus, I decided a long time ago that I would do the best with whatever cards I’m dealt and I’m not going to whine about it. Moreover, no man could ever throw me to the curb. I wouldn’t give him that power to begin with. That’s it. Fuck men! So tell me this - Why would I ever need a man?” “You don’t,” he answered. “You know why? Because you have male DNA, you’re really a man inside that body,” he added beaming. “Finally, you’re beginning to make sense ape.” “Is it true you violate men…” he paused and hesitated for a moment. “I mean….lovers you’ve had in the past?” “What? What the hell are you talking about now?” “Answer the question. Is it true?” “That’s where my memory fails me,” I answered laughing. “I’m goin’ to ask you a hypothetical question,” Eric said looking at me sideways. “But you have to promise me you won’t bite my head off.” “Okay, ask.” He sat across me grinning like a chimpanzee. I waited and waited. And waited some more.

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“No. No,” he said cracking up looking up above. “You must say I promise,” he shouted with his hands up. “I promise. Now ask, you wimp!” “Will you let me have your pussy?” he asked. Immediately, I answered smiling the biggest smile, “You may have it, if you let me have your pussy first baby. Now bend over and show me your bare bottom darlin’ and Mommy will show you what true happiness is.” “What the fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Eric hollered with both hands on his face, shaking his head violently. “Oh my god! That’s fucked up! You’re fucked up!” “Men talk about women like that all the time. So why are you having a heart attack now? Get over it!” “Devil woman! Devil woman!” he chanted still jerking his head. “Hey! Don’t be so quick to say no sweetheart. You might like it. Really, you may enjoy it. You never know until you try. So baby, anytime you’re ready to assume the position, let your Mommy know,” I uttered gently. “Those officers before me were too blind to see. They looked at you and all they could see was a woman. I swear they’re fucked! The more I get to know you; I realize more and more that you’re not a girl. I swear to god you’ve got a dick between those legs! So help me god. Hey Gook, I’m up to chapter five of your book, Warriors of Heaven. What did you do, smoke crack? How did you come up with all that shit anyway? Jesus! How do you expect people to understand half the shit you write about? I had to read some of your narrative many times to grasp it. What are you on, glue?” “Just because apes like you don’t understand it doesn’t mean what I write about is not true. It only means you’re mentally retarded.

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That’s all,” I replied. “Plus, you believe in magic. You’re like your editor Francesca, the daughter of Howard Marks. You’re both so spaced out, you actually believe in fairies and leprechauns and all that loony stuff. How can you expect me to take you seriously when you can fly off to wonderland?” he declared. “Listen to me carefully, grunt. Imagine that there is really no space and time. In addition, imagine that there are countless probable realities. The one you and I are experiencing at the moment is but one. Think of this, for each moment and for every step that you take in this life of yours, there are several others of you in other realities. The problem is that you identify yourself only with your physical form. When you look into the mirror, you think that is you. You think that your body, your mind and your spirit are one. You don’t understand that the spirit is multi-faceted and multi-dimensional, existing in countless parallel realities and these realities are splitting all the time. The truth is that your essence, meaning the real YOU which is your spirit, has alternative selves manifesting, intersecting and interacting through space and time right NOW. If you can learn to detach yourself from physical form then you will realize that within you exists an inner world. This world is connected to other realities.” “Marlene, what have you been smokin’ now?” he asked. ‘It’s called quantum physics, dumb ass. Just listen, I don’t know why I even try,” I responded. “I believe that the numbers of probable realities are as infinite as the numbers of stars in the galaxies. But because you are only using 10 percent of your ape brain, then you can’t begin to understand that concept. I take that statement back. I’m sure you’re using less than 10 percent of your ape brain. Anyway, as there are endless

63 MARLENE AGUILAR possible realities, then why should I not believe in magic, fairies and leprechauns?” I explained. “You know how you call your older sister a nerd? You know the ‘brainiac’ who invented…what the fuck was it? The one who invented somethin’ against bubonic plague and anthrax, the scientist…” “Yes, that girl is a nerd. Her name is Zoraida,” I declared. “Look who’s talkin’. You’re a geek just like your sister. You just don’t look like one. Imagine that. You’re a psycho, homicidal, androgynous nerd! And the ego….Oh my god, your ego kills me! This is why you and your other son Colby can’t be together for more than 10 minutes without antagonizin’ each other. You and the boy are the same.” “Hey! Don’t get my son into this. Colby and I argue because we like to challenge minds that are worth the duel. Plus, we argue because there can only be one Alpha in the room. We battle for that position. I admire his mind beyond compare. And yes, the kid is a nerd. On top of that, he’s drop dead gorgeous,” I stated laughing. “Where’s he now?” “He’s taking cinematography at a university in Nevada, driving all his professors insane and giving them a good reason for living. He’s in the second semester and his grades are perfect, 4.0. He’s amazing and has become very popular amongst his educators.” “By the way, you’ve inspired me to call the next chapter, The Ape and I,” I announced, changing the subject. . “No! No! Nooo….The Ape and the Biatch would be more accurate.” Eric and I continued to antagonize each other in this manner during our first meetings. I believe this was our way of forcing each other to the unknown, testing one another for weaknesses

64 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW and strengths. Yet as time passed, we learned to gain some unusual and mutual respect and admiration for one another. A friendship between us developed as well as trust. But we continued to bring the worst out of each other. Honestly, I don’t believe that could ever change. It’s our permanent and indelible chemistry. There is something very peculiar about Eric though. There is great anger in him. This anger powers his violent nature and it comes out in very strange ways. For example, Eric would strike verbally out of the blue, even when unprovoked. It is odd because I have never known anyone like that. When Steve read what I wrote above, he said, “You’re certainly threatening the jobs of some of my colleagues regarding your views on gender.” “My god, I believe that the fact that institutions such as the Asian Development Bank and World Bank acknowledge that gender is an issue is more harmful to women than helpful. The truth is that if you can’t take care of yourself, no one else will. Independence is the key. Should we embrace gender as an issue or should we say that gender freedom is the answer? I believe these institutions support dependency and that is not good for any one,” I replied. “I can see how all institutions dictate how people, especially people they employ, must think and believe. It is self perpetuating. A contract between employee and institution whereby their joint existence is maintained by the outside world’s dependence on what the institution is selling, be this a development agency or government or a religion - they exist by their faith.” “Unfortunately, all institutions’ faith is ultimately self serving,” I added. The date was May 18, 2009. I met Eric at the same Starbucks coffee shop.

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He and I sat in the open outdoor area under a large green umbrella. The space we occupied was not well lit and through the glass wall to my left, I could see inside Starbucks. The place was crowded at this time. I saw a number of people fiddling with their laptops. Across the street to my right, sits the ever imposing Mormon Church. The sight reminds me of a very pristine detaining center. I noticed that the trees and plants in the church’s grounds are regularly pruned, preventing a natural sanctuary for butterflies, birds and other creatures in the wild. The berries of all the palm trees are constantly removed. This is so sad because those tiny, round, full red fruits are food for many birds. Why emasculate nature? There was only one other table occupied in this outdoor location where two girls in their late twenties sat with a man around their age. One of the girls, who sat directly facing me, complained eternally about someone at work. I didn’t mind her speech since she spoke in decent Tagalog and not in the ever annoying and pretentious, copycat American English most Filipinos desperately use to evoke a pitiful existence of self-importance. It was around quarter past seven in the evening. Eric ordered a sandwich with cold cuts for his dinner. I had orange juice since I had already dined with Steve in our garden before I left my home to meet this American soldier. I brought along my notebook and a black pen. Eric wore a white shirt with vertical pinstripes and a pair of blue jeans. “I don’t like your shirt. I don’t like shirts with pinstripes,” I declared. “Why? What’s wrong with my shirt?” “Pinstriped shirts remind me of banker ‘wankers’ working for development banks,” I answered as I watched him bite into his sandwich.

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“Tell me about your first Asian prostitute?” “What? I thought we were goin’ to discuss military life,” he stated surprised. “Prostitutes are part of military life, for most soldiers. Don’t worry. I’m not judgmental. Prostitution is a service so essential, which is why it’s been around since time immemorial. One person offers a service and the other pays. I see nothing wrong with it. Didn’t Jesus Christ love Mary Magdalene? Plus there are other forms of prostitution that are far worse. These women are only prostituting their flesh whereas politicians and many members of the diplomatic community prostitute their souls,” I explained. “You really want to hear that story? Ha Ha Ha!” Eric laughed with a strange tone of malevolent excitement in his voice, his upper body changing gear, moving away from me. He glared at my face now with his killer’s eyes wondering what to do with my provocation. In my head I pondered how men never expect the conversation to take this course, certainly not when provoked by a woman. I stared at the admirable soldier in silence as he contemplated and traveled back in time, in animated suspense. I studied every single movement he made, my vision fixed on his eyes at first, then probing his brain for a moment. Then my sight darted to every available corner of his body. Finally, I returned to his face. What great pleasure it brings me to witness a homicidal man squirm while bathing in the memory of sexual splendor. How deeply amusing it is to witness a first class warrior think while distracted by his prick. This I will never be able to fully explain. How delicious it is to spy into the forbidden memory of a man so well trained to kill.

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For a brief interval of time, he closed his eyes, and I thought he must wonder how the average person could possibly understand the carnal hunger of a seasoned soldier after several victories on the killing fields. Oh, the hunger that comes from triumph, the burning necessity that arises from survival. There must be redemption afterwards, he thought to himself. Oh yes, after combat, there must be fornication. Plus, believe me when I tell you that the other side of homicide is savage erotic expression. He avoided my stare but his wicked smile didn’t leave his face for one single instant as he delved into his past. The excitement he felt was transparent both in his appearance and body language, his mind now searching, reaching into the dark recesses of his consciousness. Right in front of my eyes the American soldier revisited once more the sweetest and cheapest perfumes of small bedrooms created for copulation. Oh, yes, yes, those secret, dark and dingy cubicles screaming with the aroma of erotic juices and savage fragrances, fusing wild and free. These clandestine destinations so sacred and crucial to the male glands of soldiers both young and old - were born out of the most fiery and fierce of all human relations outside of murder – sex. In his mind, he entered the domain of faceless female bodies of graceful Southeast Asian women paid to perform and deliver unthinkable sexual favors. In his vision, he began to see unknown and naked promiscuous tramps in dark brothels and his illicit relations with them. Once again, he felt their heated, long and slimy fingers violating him in obscure places, all over the most charitable parts of his manhood. He recalls the touch and the taste of edible, voluptuous breasts and dripping, spiced feminine love boxes. Yet, while contemplating his past and his sexual rendezvous, he hears the sound of the wild animals in the jungle, growling and gasping to

68 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW the beat of primeval drums, celebrating his scandalous affairs. Still now, he hears the sound of women panting and sweating, whining and gasping. Oh yes, yes, the sound of euphoric filth and dirt comes back clearer now to violate his manhood once more. And after over 20 years of service, there are now too many of these female cock assassins for him to count. Even so, the first one, the first whore, that particular one, he remembers well. Mmmmm…. he glared at me now sweating. Eric licked his lips in anticipation and prepared to speak. I watched him with delight, devouring all his sinful pleasure in my imagination. I held my pen with my right hand scribbling. He had warned me not to bring a tape recorder. So now I had to write in the dark. “What year was it?” I asked. “1989.” “Where?” “Here in the Philippines,” he announced joyful like a child pointing his finger toward the earth, his head bouncing up and down and his body moving along in harmony. Pleasure, pleasure, fallacious phallic pleasure…The thought of immoral sexual gratification is so distinct in his demeanor now. “Where in the Philippines?” “Angeles City,” he answered. “Are you sure you want to hear this? You’re not goin’ to use this story against me later are you?” he asked laughing at himself. “Oh….come on…come on, tell your Mother. Please, please tell your Mother,” I begged as I took down notes. He leaned over to look at what I had written. Eric is nearsighted so he can only see clearly up close. I took my notebook away from his sight immediately.

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“Why can’t I see?” “Because I’m not ready. You don’t have to read it now. I told you, I will not release the story until you have approved everything I’ve written. Come on, tell me. It will be fun to recall the memory.” So he went on to tell his tale. “We were trainin’ in Fort Magsaysay in Cabanatuan. Back in those days, this locality was a stronghold for the New People’s Army. I was 24 years old and I was the new guy in the team. I was in Okinawa before that. We had a weekend off, so we decided to drive into Angeles City usin’ a two and half ton US Army truck.” “How many of you were in the truck?” “About 15 to 20 men,” he replied. “And all dying to get laid?” “No,” he said still smiling. “Most of them do but some guys just want to go out and get drunk. So when we got to Angeles it was already night time. We all went to our hotel and checked in first. It’s a ritual to get the new guy in the team….” He paused and gazed at me in disbelief. “What?” I shrieked. “Well, you know, you know…” “God, stop being a pussy and just say it!” I stated. “The new guy has to get laid!” And he continued to narrate joyfully his first experience with a prostitute in the Philippines. “’We’re goin’ to break Eric in properly and get him blown to kingdom come’, the team leader announced to all the guys at the hotel lobby. And the guys cheered him on.” “We’re goin’ to pop your cherry boy’, the team leader told me.”

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“Later on he took me to this place called ‘blow alley’, a small street with shady joints in Angeles City. He walked into this tiny and grungy club. I followed him.” “‘Hey! This soldier needs a blow job!’ He yelled at the top of his voice, lookin’ around, searchin’ for a familiar face in this dark and worn out place.” “I saw girls sittin’ around at different tables. Apparently, one of the girls is known to give the best blow jobs.” “’Where is she at?’ My team leader asked.” “Finally, the girl came out and my team leader left me in her carin’ hands.” “How did the girl look?” “I don’t know. It was all blurry. She was Asian. I can’t remember,” he responded. “Bullshit. That means she was ugly! If you don’t remember, that means she was ugly!” I declared. Eric ignored me completely. “How did you feel?” “Nervous…apprehensive, facin’ un-chartered territory,” he answered. “She led me to a small dark room. I sat on the side of the bed and she unzipped my pants and pulled them down. She placed ice in her mouth and she started….licking me softly. And then…she gripped the tip of my dick so hard between her wet and cold lips. She grabbed the rest of my shaft with her right hand movin’ in harmony with the first few inches of my cock stuck in her vicious mouth growin’ bigger and bigger while her head bounced up and down, faster and faster. I couldn’t hold it. I wanted to but I couldn’t,” he stated and paused.

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Now there was silence between us. He stared at me. I stared at him. I waited for him to speak again. “Then what? Tell me,” I beckoned him. “That was it. Gook! It was done! I exploded - death in two minutes,” he answered with arms stretched wide open in the air, laughing out loud like a child. After having written the above, I sent it to Steve via email. Later on, I called him. “Did you read Eric’s story about his first Asian prostitute?” “Yes. I’ve never had anyone do that to me,” he said laughing. “You mean the part with the ice in her mouth, right?” “The world these men know is so different from the reality most people know. Did you enjoy his story?” “Yes. Yes, of course. I believe it is so necessary for men to relieve themselves from the tension brought about by the regimentation of military life, of any kind of life for that matter, let alone the need to release the adrenalin of battle” Steve said. I sent the first chapter of this book to Caesar for his comments. He replied and stated: “Very Good. It is amazing how you intertwine sexuality with facts and your perceptions. As a person reads, you stimulate so many areas of the brain. A person just can’t stop reading. I would have loved to have met Medea.” As well, I sent Chapter one to Francesca Marks, my soul sister and my editor. She wrote back and said: Dearest Marlene, Thank you for sending me your writing. There is something about your energy that is so intoxicating. I see it as one of the greatest blessings of my day.

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The chapter is wonderful, so intriguing and powerful. Though I feel that with the essay of Ralph Peters, the energy flow changed. It could just be due to the dryness of Peters’ writing. I wonder how his essay would read in its entirety.

Loving you so deeply, always, Francesca

I replied: Beloved soul sister of mine, My heart lights up every time I hear from you. Thank you so much for your insight and your kind words. I think it was best that I chopped up Peters’ essay in this manner since it is really so difficult to go through it. Like so many members of the US armed forces, his mind is extremely dry and boring. Of course the energy will change dearest. Peters’ energy is toxic. Mine is cleansing.

Loving you infinitely, Marlene

Her response was this: Beautiful One, “I love it.....the way you say “of course” about the energy change!” “Yesterday the first time I read the essay, I had just come back from London and was exhausted. Ralph Peters’ energy was an overload! So that is why I read it again in the evening, and saw that you were completely right.” “Though wow! It must be said again. Your energy is so magical and special, like the sound of a flowing river, a bursting flower’s

73 MARLENE AGUILAR scent, a waterfall of lilies, lotus flowers, a sunrise, a sunset, the milky rays of moonlight and clear stars in the night sky - breathtaking and nourishing in the same way.”

I love you beyond this world Marlene, Francesca

Going back to the hellion, Eric graduated from the prestigious Ranger School. My elder son Jason who was with the US Army Special Operations Forces also graduated from the same combat institution. The following information on Ranger School comes from wikipedia.com. Ranger School began during the Korean War in 1950. And the first Rangers graduated in 1952. It is a 61-day combat leadership class, designed for soldiers of the finest breed. The course is designed to train soldiers to become competent combat leaders while undergoing supreme physical, psychological and mental fatigue. Only a certain number of slots are allocated each year and students compete to get into the course. The program provides its soldiers with a hypothetical combat situation, a custom built scenario, using a theoretical opponent they call the Aragon Liberation Front – the enemy. So the students’ mission throughout the course is to subjugate the AFL, which is supposedly a sophisticated drug and terrorist group. Ranger School is divided into three individual phases, the woodland terrain which is conducted in Fort Benning in Georgia, the mountain phase at Camp Merrill in Georgia, and the jungle phase at Camp Rudder at the Eglin Air Force Base in Florida.

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Contrary to what people believe, completion of RS will not make a soldier a Ranger. Most of the teachers in Ranger School have never been in Ranger Battalion. Though passing the course doesn’t qualify a soldier to be a Ranger, in order to remain a Ranger one must eventually complete the program. Otherwise the soldier will be dismissed from his post at the discretion of his commander. Furthermore, it is almost impossible to get a permanent leadership appointment in the Ranger Regiment without graduating from this institution. Thus many of those in the service seeking promotion and leadership positions will want to finish Ranger School. The Aragon Liberation Front’s terrorist and drug operations must be stopped. This is the basic Ranger School training ideal. In order to accomplish this, the Rangers will take the fight to their territory, beginning from the mountains of Georgia, through the rough woodland terrain at Fort Benning, and finally to the coast and swamps of Florida. The students are asked to fulfill a mission, but they decide how best to pursue their goal. So the instructors create and stimulate an extremely oppressive mental and physical environment, critical to actual combat. The students take part in several air assaults and three airborne operations during this period. They perform reconnaissance and raid missions. They plan and execute daily patrolling, perform ambushes and attacks against dispersed targets. After which, they must travel undetected to a new patrol base to execute their next mission. The home of the 4th Ranger Training Battalion and the Ranger Training Brigade is Fort Benning. Here the students go through the “crawl” phase of Ranger School, very critical to the course since it is the foundation for the “walk” and “run” phases later.

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Phase one of the Ranger course was formulated to prepare the soldier for the next training ground. This process includes two separate sections, the city phase at Camp Darby, where the soldiers learn to execute squad combat missions, and the Ranger Assessment Phase. The latter requires demolition and airborne training. In addition, it requires a five mile individual run which must be finished in 40 minutes or less through rugged terrain and over multiple hills. This phase also includes an individual 12 mile march which must be accomplished in three hours and 15 minutes or less while the soldier is outfitted in full gear. Phase two is the mountain portion of the course. Here the soldiers learn to rappel down from a 50 foot high rock in Dahlonega, Georgia. During the first two days of this course, the soldier learns rope management, mobility, evacuation, knots, belays, anchor points as well as the foundation of abseiling and climbing. Then the Ranger student goes through a four-day course on mountaineering. This is all on top of combat missions that take place in severe weather, through unforgiving terrain while the soldiers endure hunger as well as severe physical, mental and psychological exhaustion. These critical conditions force the soldier to come face to face with his own limits, as well as the limitations of his comrades. Missions during this part of the course also include day and night operations in two parts. These are mini-battles that were designed to create realistic and highly unpredictable situations a military unit may encounter once deployed in an actual battle zone. These life and death situations push the soldiers’ skills to higher ground forcing them to make urgent and quick decisions essential for survival during real combat. These series of challenges should equip them with the training and confidence necessary to best prepare them to survive actual battles.

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Phase three is where the students learn to plan and execute missions leading units on independent and coordinated urban operations, small boat, airborne, air assault, and dismounted combat missions against a dreaded enemy. During this part of the course, the students learn to function efficiently despite grave conditions of mental, physical and psychological duress in a mid-intensity combat environment. They learn to survive in an environment of swamp and rainforest. The soldiers learn how to deal with reptiles and distinguish the difference between poisonous and non-poisonous species of snakes. At this point, the students are forced to unite as they face a higher level of combat. Here the soldiers apply techniques and tactics to execute ambushes and raids and fulfill their goals more efficiently. Finally, the last portion of this phase is a small boat mission to attack the enemy’s headquarters, well secured and fortified on an island. This procedure involves all the platoons in the class handling separate operations but working together as a team with one mission to fulfill - to subjugate the fortress of the Aragon Liberation Front. During the entire duration of the RS, the soldiers suffer several sicknesses including dehydration, weight loss of 20 to 40 pounds, heat stroke, trench foot, chill blains, frostbite, fractures, tissue tears of ligaments, tendons and muscles, swollen hands, feet, knees, loss of limb sensitivity, cellulites, contact dermatitis and nerve damage, plus cuts and bites from spiders, bees and other insects and other wild life. Still, during the entire 61-day period of combat training program, the soldiers are given absolutely no time to recover. Throughout the entire course, the students execute 20 hours of combat training each day while carrying around 65–90 pounds of weapons, training ammunitions, and equipment. In addition, these service men patrol more than 200 miles of rough terrain. During

77 MARLENE AGUILAR this whole period, the soldiers get an average of 3.5 hours’ sleep each day. They are fed a maximum of two meals a day. Only around 20% of soldiers pass the Ranger School. The Ranger School graduation is held at Camp Rogers in Fort Benning through a grand ceremony at the Victory Pond. During this elaborate and formal ritual, the precious black and gold Ranger tab is pinned on the soldier’s left shoulder, a symbol of great honor amongst military men. “Which part of the Ranger course did you find most difficult?” I asked Eric. “I’m a water person, a scuba specialist and climbin’ is not my specialty. So the mountain phase was the hardest for me. This was also when many of the guys started to drop like flies. They couldn’t handle it. You go up and down those fuckin’ hills and mountains, cold, hungry, wet and exhausted, deprived of sleep, food and water. The thing is there are times when it’s your job to lead these men, and they just don’t want to do it anymore. How do you lead men who have been pushed beyond mind, body and spirit?” “What do you think of the Florida phase? Do you lose guys during the last portion of Ranger School?” I asked Eric. “One or two but normally those who get to this point make it to graduation. It’s really the mountain phase that breaks most of the soldiers and forces them to quit,” Eric explained. “Ultimately, it’s about leadership. “That’s really what it’s all about. The school teaches you to lead soldiers through hell,” the Ranger added. “As far as I’m concerned it’s 61 days of absolute torture. While carrying up to 90 lbs extra weight, they send you through swamps and desserts, up and down rough hills and mountains and deep

78 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW into the jungle, under the worst conditions through rain and shine and storm. Oh and while you’re at it you’re expected to go down a vertical cliff the height of a five story building using a rope. After which they send you high up in the sky where you have to jump out of the airplane 7,000 feet high above the ground. “Don’t forget while you’re doing all this, you’re being eaten alive by spiders, bees, mosquitoes and god knows what else on top of being deprived of food, sleep, shower and shit!” “I can’t believe my son did this to himself!” I yelled. “The fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Eric stated laughing. After writing the above narrative on Ranger School, I called my friend Alwin Sta. Rosa and read it to him. I also told Alwin that “I was battered as a child and vowed never to inflict physical pain upon my children. And I have kept this promise only for my son to grow up to join the army. Then what does he do? He enrolls in Ranger School as soon as he is accepted in the military. What is wrong with him?” “How else is he supposed to please his mother?” Alwin answered. I called Steve and asked him the same thing. “Did I push my son to do this?” “I do not believe you impose on your children. I don’t. I believe he loves to take great risks. It’s in his blood.” All my life, I have been so fascinated by super beings that push themselves further than most men’s reach. I have always wondered what it is that drives certain psyches to be exceptional, especially those men I would consider Warriors of Heaven. Let me tell you about a very rare breed of warriors. If you ever see a soldier in the Special Forces community who stands 5’8’’ and less, then you’re looking at a man who is an exceptional warrior, someone who will cross lines others do not imagine exist, a man

79 MARLENE AGUILAR with a Napoleon complex. These men join the Special Forces to prove to themselves that they are above most men. Short men overcompensate in so many aspects of their lives, proof that their size is not a handicap. The warriors Gabriel and Robert Gates are such men. On Monday, June 1, 2009, US Secretary of Defense Robert Gates arrived in the Philippines and allegedly disappeared as fast as he came. Here below is Gates’ background which I also found in wikipedia. com. Robert Michael Gates was born on September 25, 1943, the year of the water Goat. He took office as the 22nd US Secretary of Defense on December 18, 2006 replacing Donald Rumsfeld. He is currently holding the same position for Obama’s administration. Obama is the 44th president of America The number 44 represents double death. In Feng Shui, the representations of these numbers are crucial to the future of America. Gates first served the CIA in 1966 and left to join the US Air Force in 1967 where he was posted to the Strategic Air Command as an intelligence officer. He rejoined the CIA in 1969 after serving the Air Force. In 1974 he left the CIA to join the National Security Council and returned once again in 1979. In 1987 he was nominated as head of the CIA but because of the controversy regarding his involvement in the Iran-Contra affair he believed that the Senate would not approve his nomination. So he refused the offer. However, Gates became head of the CIA in 1991 after President George H. W. Bush nominated him. In 1993 Gates retired from the CIA and lectured at a wide range of Universities; John Hopkins, Georgetown, Indiana, Louisiana State, Oklahoma, Vanderbilt, Harvard and Yale and his alma mater, the College of William and Mary.

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Gates is a member of the board of trustees of Fidelity Investments, an investment company founded in 1946 after the Second World War. The company provides mutual funds, discount brokerage services, retirement services, securities execution and clearances and life insurance among other financial services. Fidelity Investments is a merger of two individual but closely related companies, Fidelity Management and Research LLC (FMR LLC) and Fidelity International Limited (FIL). Fidelity Management and Research serves the North American market. It has over 23 million investors and as of the end of 2007 FMR claimed US $1.57 trillion worth of assets making it the biggest Mutual fund company in America. The other company, Fidelity International Limited (FIL), serves the rest of the world, managing over $280 billion of global investments. Gates is also on the board of directors for Brinker Int’l Inc., NACCO Industries, Parker Drilling Company, and Science Applications Int’l Corporation. Brinker Int’l Inc. is also traded publicly at the NY Stock Exchange and in terms of annual revenues it is the largest casual restaurant operator in the world with chains located in 25 countries and with over 1,900 outlets. As of 2007, NACCO Industries, Inc. ranked in the Fortune 1000 list. It is a holding company traded publicly at the NY Stock Exchange and is involved in mining, lift truck and house wares industries. One of its subsidiaries is the North American Coal Corp., producing 35 million tons of lignite coal a year making it the largest coal producer in the U.S. Parker Drilling Company is a Houston-based global energy company specializing in offshore drilling and work-over services in the Gulf of Mexico as well as international land and offshore drilling. The company also operates Quail Tools, a provider of

81 MARLENE AGUILAR premium rental tools for oil and gas drilling. The company provides drilling services on land and offshore, including drilling rigs, project management and rental tools. Parker’s expertise extends to every region of the world, from the U.S. Gulf of Mexico to the jungles of Papua New Guinea and the mountains, seas and deserts in between. Parker has a land fleet of 28 rigs that operates in 9 countries. The company’s offshore fleet of 17 rigs consists of barge rigs in the Caspian Sea, Mexico and the U.S. Gulf of Science Applications International Corporation (SAIC) is a Fortune 500 company on the New York Stock Exchange. The company produces scientific, engineering and technology applications for numerous federal, state, and private sector clients. It works extensively with the United States Department of Defense, the United States Department of Homeland Security, and the United States Intelligence Community, including the National Security Agency, as well as other U.S. Government civil agencies and selected commercial markets. SAIC completed over $2.6 billion in business with the United States Department of Defense during the fiscal year 2003, making it the ninth largest defense contractor in the United States. Other large contracts include a contract for information technology for the 2004 Olympics in Greece. From 2001 to 2005, SAIC was the primary contractor for the FBI’s failed Virtual Case File project. Robert Gates is also on the board of directors for Vote Here, a technology company which supplies computer software for the electronic election commerce (commission?). Additionally, Vote Here provides cryptography, the implementation and exercise of hiding information used in information technology security. I wonder what role Robert Gates may play within these pretty big international operations that have sizable investment interests

82 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW operating across the globe, sometimes in some very difficult political circumstances. I wonder if this role could be linked to vested interests within the political and military factions of the USA. Going back to June 1, 2009, the day Robert Gates visited the Philippines. At around 8:00 that evening I met with the warrior Daniel at Café Ysabel in San Juan. He had arrived earlier and I found him sitting where we usually hold our meetings with his back against the wall in the back corner of the restaurant at the end of a long hallway. I joined him. Daniel is an introvert. He is quiet and distant. And unlike many military men I’ve met, he is considerate and very sensitive to his environment. He also has a very analytical mind which I find admirable. He advised me that it wouldn’t be difficult for certain members of the Special Operations Command to find the characters in my book, considering I give the time frame of their presence in the Philippines. So he had requested that I do not give you too much information regarding his physical appearance so as not to give him away to members of the Special Forces community. He ordered fish with pasta and vegetables. I asked the waiter, Alex, if their chef Frank would prepare the dish since I find the other cooks unable to produce decent food in that place. I eat dinner very early and had already eaten with Steve at home al fresco. I ordered a glass of red wine. “When you have your hair in curls like that, I see Medusa in you. Those black locks coming down from your head are really snakes aren’t they,” he stated smiling. “Those are not snakes, silly. I’m not Greek, remember? I am Asian. So these curls are baby dragons.”

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“Because of you, I watch the people around me a different way now. And so I see more. I saw Robert Gates,” he uttered. “And…” “He’s just another man in many ways. People can’t relax around him though, it’s ridiculous. They bend over backward to kiss his ass,” Daniel said. “But that’s what they do to get up the ranks within institutions, they kiss ass to get brownie points. They sell their souls to get the position.” “I’ve seen politicians in the Philippines surround themselves with butt lickers. How do these people ever know anyone is being honest with them when all those around them kowtow to everything they say? What a lonely existence. I don’t need people to be nice to me. I’d rather they are honest with me,” I narrated. “I never saw him look anyone in the eye,” he stated. “What do you expect from someone who served the CIA for 26 years? He can’t possibly be human. Can you imagine how he got to where he is? The man is more powerful than Obama. Gates is an eminent warrior, an exceptional war lord and a master of deception and treachery. Can you imagine how complex his mind must be to achieve all he has accomplished? Furthermore, he has blackness beyond compare.” “My darkness is intense,” Daniel uttered softly. “Yes, you have great evil inside you, but you are not manipulative and cunning. That’s a totally different form of creativity possessed by a very unique kind of human being. I believe men who go up to the very top of the ladder like Gates are remarkable in manipulating people and their environment. And men like him have had to conquer impossible conflicts,

84 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW insurmountable challenges that the average person could never even begin to imagine. I also believe that men like this have been pushed to the extreme from the time they were young. And that is why they can handle the extreme. They see the future of the world through a totally different perspective. And they are very much aware of the great events that are to come. Why? Because these men plan the future and they execute the future. Do I believe the man is guilty of hideous deeds? Yes. Should I judge him? No. ” “And why not?” he asked. “Because I don’t know what I would have done if I were in his shoes, really I don’t. I’ve been put in some hard situations in the past, when afterwards I was surprised at how I acted. Do you know what I mean? I am saying that you don’t know who you really are until you’ve been pushed into some horrible and unthinkable situation, and squeezed into a very, very tight corner. Too many people are so quick to cast their judgment. And yet, how many people are willing to risk their lives on the firing line over and over again?” “I’ve put my life on the firing line many times,” he answered. “But you are a team leader on the battle ground. How about those who went up the ranks? Up there, they play into the ugly world of politics. These men make decisions you and I would never ever want to make! That’s what leaders do. They make decisions you and I couldn’t imagine making. It’s a totally different kind of hell.” “Explain,” the good knight beckoned. “You are a good man. You see the world as black and white, as right and wrong, like the rest of mankind. But the powers that run

85 MARLENE AGUILAR the world must survive a totally different version of reality. Plus, their rules of engagement don’t revolve around your very basic standards. I have seen so much disaster - the memories continue to wrench my heart to this very moment. Over the years, I have tried to comprehend evil and what it does to men. You can’t denounce the forces of infinite darkness but you can make peace with them by understanding them. I can’t judge these people. They may seem bad to you, and the rest of the world may condemn these men, but what if I told you that they do not see their actions as wrong? They do not see themselves as ‘bad’ people at all - definitely not. There are allegiances of the most powerful men in the world, allegiances who believe that mankind is vermin. They believe that mankind is garbage for the earth to bear because mankind is dumb and greedy. Therefore, these allegiances of super beings believe that mankind deserves to die. They actually believe that they are doing the earth a favor by culling mankind. Let me tell you this about these imperious men, ‘they’ absolutely believe that their actions, no matter how contemptible to you, were necessary. And because God chose them to play these special roles, and because God preferred them to be His Shepherd then they are redeemed.” “Then you’re evil just like them,” he told me. “That is so hurtful. Yes, there is great evil in me. But I believe it is there to protect the light inside me. My yin is yin and my yang is yang. I can defend one side as fiercely as I can defend the other. The problem is not the yin nor the yang, but balance. Mankind must find balance between good and evil.” “Why are you defending these politicians all of a sudden?” Daniel inquired frustrated.

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“How can I possibly understand their actions, if I do not allow myself to think like them? For example, there is the issue of the oppressed Muslims in the Philippines. And you know that I am empathetic to their situation. Hypothetically, what if I became the leader of this country and there is an extremely complicated and political situation involving the lives of many Muslims and Christians? As you know things get so damn complicated, it’s frightening. What if, as head of the nation, I was forced to choose between one side and the other and no matter what decision I made, many would die?” I explained. The white knight stared at me, contemplating, unable to conceive my train of thought. He looked up at the small lamp above us with pain in his warrior’s eyes. “This is what I’m saying. The situation of the world and politics has become so complex and there are too many players. Do I believe that certain imperious men in the US military are responsible for the 9/11 conspiracy? Yes. Do I believe that they believe their decisions are wrong? No. Do they regret it? Absolutely not.” “It is very difficult for me to digest all of this,” he said sadly. “So many people judge and they judge so harshly. But how many of them, how many of them would have survived the world that imperious killers and warriors have mastered? These war magnates lead because they are skilled and are proficient in running America’s killing machine. The institutions require their leadership. But look at the rest of mankind. Don’t you think human beings are so dependent, blind, materialistic and dumb? In addition, if you look at the situation closer, America’s killing machine is not America’s to bear alone. Who are the allies of America? Australia, Japan, France, the Philippines, the United Kingdom and most of the countries that are members of the United

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Nations are all confederates, copartners of America. Thus, all these nations have supported America’s death machine. The strictures of religion, government, the military, society, family and other institutions are boxes that mankind has created because they need containment. And these boxes work like opiates, very powerful drugs that imprison the minds and the spirits of people pushing them to follow blindly. Human beings hold on to these institutions for dear life, for guidance, for sustenance, for solutions and for protection. They can’t think. They can’t live. They can’t exist without these boxes. So who created these institutions, these boxes? Mankind did. And who created America’s killing machine? Mankind did. Yet, human beings condemn the leaders of the same institutions that they designed and have empowered.” Daniel sat quietly listening to my speech while his face grew dimmer and dimmer. “Here,” he uttered softly. “You should have this.” He placed a gold coin on the table, short of two inches in diameter, with a baby blue flag in the middle. The flag had white stars on each corner and the white eagle floated at the center with wings spread wide open, its beak pointing to the west. The edge of the gold coin was lined with a navy blue rim with the name Robert M. Gates carved above the eagle and Secretary of National Defense inscribed below. “This coin is the official seal of Robert Gates. Keep it safe for me to remember the day he visited the Philippines.” The following day, Daniel sent me the CD file of the song Epiphany by Staind via email. A portion of the lyrics to this beautiful musical composition is:

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I try to pay attention Your words just disappear

cause its always raining in my head Forget all the things I should have said

So I speak to you in riddles cause my words get in my way

Though I don’t know how I feel But I know I’ll do the right thing If the right thing is revealed…

After I wrote the above, I called a friend working for the World Bank and read the narrative on Gates and Daniel to him. I needed his opinion. “When you write it like that, it makes me realize that our concerns at the World Bank are so petty. Yet, some of the professional staff here are so self important it’s pathetic. How sad the world is,” he expressed. Below is Steve’s reaction to my right wing position. “I believe that is why artists are so important. The cultural community is so vital to us all. They give mankind another perspective. We rely on their talents to bring color into our lives and to give our existence some sort of magic despite the dreadful existence of mankind. I am fortunate because in spite of the limited existence of the development world, I can come home to you. You provide a colorful life for me, far from what my work environment offers me, and you share this life with me. It gives me balance,” he continued.

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“I believe it is very difficult for people to understand the lives of military men and the world they live in. At the end of the day, judgment is futile. Understanding offers wisdom.” “You are challenging Daniel’s mind,” he said. “You are forcing him to think outside certain parameters he wouldn’t otherwise consider. You are helping him grow. For the past ten years we’ve lived together, you have pushed my mind to think. You have challenged me mentally with such force allowing me further growth. Now you are writing this book hoping to present it in such a way that will provoke many others to think beyond their comfort zone…” Steve conveyed. A week before Robert Gates came to the Philippines, Daniel and I met at the Hard Rock Café in Makati across from the Shangri-la Hotel at around six in the evening. I arrived early and found a quiet corner near some big speakers. There was a large TV screen up above to my left. Daniel arrived 15 minutes later and sat in front of me. He ordered a hamburger and iced tea. I ordered myself a red wine, which I found utterly disgusting. Next time, I will order bottled water instead, I thought to myself. “Are you trying to poison me with this red wine?” I asked the American. “You’re just impossible. Here, do you want to taste this?” he asked pointing to his food, smiling. “Okay, let me taste what prison food is like.” I took his fork and tasted his meal. “What do you think?” he asked grinning. “The ground meat must have been frozen since the time you were a virgin. I’d only eat that crap when the choice is between that and cannibalism.”

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The TV screen started playing the MTV of the Jewish musician Bruce Springstein singing Born in the USA, a song that became a big hit in the States in the 80’s. “I don’t like him,” Daniel stated. “Why?” “He’s gay. He dodged the draft,” he replied. “Hey! I know some Jewish men who dodged the draft when I lived in the States. Not everybody believes in America’s wars you know.” As soon as I said these words, Daniel’s face changed. He looked at me straight in the eye with fierce eyes that illuminated some peculiar kind of heat. I thought he must have absorbed this fire from the battles he had fought in Hades. I sat across from him, staring back into his eyes, hoping that this hatred would not continue to burn his heart, mind and spirit through the rest of his remaining days on earth. In that instant, I realized that his strength was greatly powered by pain, betrayal and destruction. Like other service men I’ve known, this soldier’s courage is energized by death and hell. “You’re a brave person, Marlene, and you’re willing to put your life on the line and die for what you believe in. I know that about you. But have you ever thought what it would be like to risk your life for something you didn’t believe in? Do you have any idea how that would feel, how that would affect your spirit?” Daniel asked. “No,” I answered sadly. “Well, let me tell you why I’ve no respect for men who dodge the draft. I served my time in Iraq, killing for America. I’ve seen my comrades do the same, putting their lives on the line over and over again. And I’ve seen my comrades’ fall. I’ve seen America’s finest die on the killing fields.

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And you know what? Do you know what the worst part of it is? I don’t believe in America’s war in Iraq. But that’s what I do. I am a soldier of America. Right or wrong, I will defend her. It is a contract I signed and a contract I will deliver,” Daniel declared. I listened to the white knight’s every word with tears in my eyes. How could I die and kill for something I didn’t believe in? I asked myself in silence, heart broken. During the celebration of the Philippine Independence day, June 12, 2009, we raised a brand new Filipino flag in front of our house, mounted on a six meter high iron pole. After this, Steve and I proceeded to the same Starbucks coffee shop near our home. When we got there, I made a phone call to my son Jason, who was now in New York. “Hey. I did research on Ranger training. Wow! I can’t believe you volunteered to torture yourself in this manner,” I cried out laughing. I told Jason that I had read the article to Alwin and Steve asking them why they thought he would do something so radical. “Alwin says you did it to please me. Steve says it’s in your blood. And your brother Colby told me once that I push you guys to the edge.” “Hey! Tell Colby to speak for himself. I don’t agree with that.” “So why do you think you joined?” “Well…maybe it’s a combination of all those reasons. But Ma, when you become a soldier, you go into the business of killing and survival. That’s it. So why should I not learn from the best?” he stated. “A man I know who is a member of the top echelon of the army told me one day that I should be very proud of you. He said that he

92 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW has sons though none of them have turned out like you. I think he checked you out. What did you do in combat training that was so special?” “It’s probably not what I did in school but what I did afterwards, while I was in Iraq,” he replied. “Tell me.” “I don’t know specifically what I did. I believe it was all about attitude, that’s what made me different from the other soldiers. The senior officers working with my unit gave the other guys in my team so much shit because they wanted them to quit. They gave me a lot of shit too but in the end, they were very nice to me because they wanted me to stay. The major difference that I could see between my peers and me is that they use religion. They would twist and turn the words of god to justify their actions in war so they could end up telling themselves that killing the Iraqis was the right thing to do. I didn’t do this shit to myself. I know what we did was wrong. I did what I did because I was an American soldier serving the American war machine. I did it because I signed a contract and I will deliver that contract no matter what. Plus, I was paid to do it. For example, one of our missions was to attack a small village in Iraq and we blasted everyone to oblivion. All the other soldiers told themselves it was the right thing to do. They conveniently use their god and religion as their armor for death and destruction, desperate that this belief could possibly protect their conscience and wash away their sins. I can’t lie to myself. I am not going to use the words of god to justify killing people. It is wrong. But I did it anyway.” Later that evening we had guests over for dinner in my home. Celest, Carol and the artist Rafael Cusi came. A Korean woman

93 MARLENE AGUILAR who arrived in the Philippines two weeks ago to work for the Asian Development Bank came as well. She brought along her Indonesian nanny to take care of her two year old baby girl. The American soldier Henry also joined us. You do remember that I was with him the evening I met Boe at “Ka Freddie’s” club in Malate, Manila? Henry, who by the way, passed the Ranger School as well, arrived early. He prefers sitting on the floor in the foyer facing my front garden. I sat next to him. He drank his beer. I drank my chardonnay, my choice of white wine. “I wonder whatever happened to Boe?” “Why?” he asked. “How strange his behavior was. I don’t mean his sexuality. I mean… you know. From the very first day he arrived in Manila, he went to have dinner at my brother’s place every single night after a whole day’s work at the US Embassy. I think that is peculiar considering that area is a tourist belt with a wide selection of restaurants and clubs. The weird thing is that each time he came, he spent the same amount of money totaling to around US $85.00,” I stated. “There is a girl in that club named Lel. More than that, she was my chosen waitress because she is more competent than the others. So every time I’m in that place, she’s the one serving me. Boe took her out one night. Think about it. There must be 12 other girls in the place. Yet who does Boe decide to ask out? He took my waitress out on a date which is not kosher to me at all. When I spoke to her afterward, she told me that he asked her several questions about my personal life.” “Seems to me like Boe’s a very bad spy” said Henry. “I don’t believe Boe is a real spook. I think somebody in the US knew he was coming this way. Then he made sure that Boe would come to my brother’s place every night to report on what

94 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW he saw. It’s so convenient since Ka Freddie’s club is so close to the US Embassy. All he has to do is walk over there after work. Plus, he stayed at the Hyatt Hotel which is only a block away. Anyway, I believe whoever sent him, gave Boe a daily allowance which he could only spend in that club. This is why he spent exactly $85.00 each time he visited.” “Changin’ the subject, I should go to that gym where you go and train you one day. Ohhhhh…I’d like to kick your ass and make you cry. I bet your trainers are pussies,” Henry declared. “Really? You’re such a dick sometimes I don’t know why I bother with you. Do you really believe that I would hire pansies for my trainers? That’s the problem with men like you. You look at me and you see a woman. Therefore, you underestimate me.” Later that evening, we all sat at a dinner table for ten. Steve sat at the head of the table. I sat to his left and Henry sat across me next to the Korean woman who sat next to Rafael Cusi. Celest sat adjacent to me by Carol’s side. We had now finished eating our dessert. “Hey,” Rafael Cusi called out to Henry. “You know when she goes for the kill. She goes for the bull’s eye right?” Cusi declared pointing at me. “You don’t want to mess with her.” “But she’s afraid to bring me to her gym. Weak! Weak woman,” Henry jeered. “I’ve been drinking wine since 5pm so you probably have the upper hand at this point. But you’re asking for trouble ape shit!” “Then bring it on womaaaaan. Brrrrrrrrring it on to meeee! Come on! Let me see what you’ve got, your choice of exercise.” “That’s it. On the floor soldier, let’s do abdominal torture. Show me who the better man is,” I stated as I got up from my seat.

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Every one at the table watched bewildered as Henry and I left our chairs and proceeded on the floor to see who could last longer doing an advanced abs exercise called “scissors”. We propped our buttocks on the wooden floor facing each other while everyone looked smiling and amused at our childish behavior. “I’m so happy there are witnesses to this.” “Stop yappin’. Let’s begin, you pussy” Henry called. “Okay, count, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5….” I counted as we began doing the exercise. The other guests watched entertained sipping their goblets of alcohol, watching two lunatics assault each other. Henry stopped at 80 counts. I went further, glaring at him smiling while catching my breath. I stopped at a total of 150 repetitions. When I finished, he stretched out his left hand to help me get up which I gladly received. “Who’s the pussy now, pussy?” “I let you win, baby,” Henry answered. The following day after lunch, Henry and I met at the same Starbucks coffee shop where I meet Eric sometimes. He was at the counter ordering a late lunch when I arrived. He wore his grungy jeans with holes and a white shirt with short sleeves. Ben, the ever- jubilant Barista served us our drinks. Henry got me my regular brewed coffee. We sat together by the wall facing each other at a round table. The place was full at that time of day. “I’m impressed,” he said smiling at me, his eyes sparkling like a demon child. “Why?” “I didn’t realize you were so fit.” “Oh my god, you’re actually admitting defeat? I can’t believe this,” I declared laughing.

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“Hey! Remember, I let you win. Anyway, it’s not over ‘til it’s over.” “Oh yeah right, Mr. Terminator would allow a “chinky” eyed Asian woman to win. You can whine all you want but the competition ends. And I won! So there.” “You know what I like about you?” I continued. “What?” “You allow yourself to behave like a child.” “What’s wrong with you, woman? Don’t say that about me. That’s weak. Use another adjective…” “How about brainless dick, would you like that instead?” I asked laughing. “It’s true. Too many men in your world are too serious walking around grim and angry. Again, I can’t blame them for that but there must be balance. As far as I’m concerned, it is such a pleasure to see a special soldier like you act like a child even though you give me shit all the time,” I continued. “So when are you invitin’ me to your gym? We can work out together. Then I can really whip your ass.” Henry interrupted. “You just don’t quit, do you?” “You know the deal. You can push yourself way beyond limits most people can’t take. I’ve seen you do it. I just believe you can take more. That’s all,” he answered. Before I go on telling you about this meeting with Henry, I would like to give you some background on military free fall, which I also retrieved from wikipedia.com. Free fall is where, jumping from a great height, at a certain point you achieve a feeling of weightlessness as you fall through the atmosphere. Military free fall includes two techniques, HALO and HAHO when troops are generally dispatched from altitudes of 25,000 to 35,000 feet. HALO stands for high altitude, low

97 MARLENE AGUILAR opening. This is when the skydiver jumps out of an aircraft and is free falling for a period of time at terminal velocity before he opens his parachute at low altitude. The HAHO procedure, on the other hand, is when the parachutist jumps from a high altitude and opens his chute in just a matter of a few seconds after jumping out of the aircraft. HALO technique began in 1960 when Colonel Joe Kittinger commenced the first high altitude jump from a height of 31.4 kilometers. This parachuting style was first used for combat operations during the Vietnam War in Laos by members of the Navy Seals, who transformed the HALO technique to include transport of boats and larger objects. HALO modus operandi is used to drop equipment, supplies and personnel when the aircraft can travel above and beyond the enemy’s surface-to-air missile (SAM) engagement levels. A surface-to-air missile (SAM) is a self propelled guided missile with one or more explosive warheads designed to be deployed from the ground to destroy enemy aircraft. The development of SAMs began in Nazi Germany during the Second World War. Ground based SAMs can be launched from fixed locations. But they can also be deployed on either rail tracks or wheeled by mobile launchers. Small SAMs called man-portable air defense systems (MANPADS), can be transported and launched by one person. These MANPADS can be found all over the world. They were exported by the Soviet Union to their former clients. The larger units can be ejected by fixed launchers, or they can be towed. There are armored trucks specifically fitted and designed to transport these missiles called TEL, meaning transporter erector launcher. TEL is a vehicle that can convey one or more missiles. The TEL is a heavy duty truck with a large diesel engine and several axles

98 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW equipped with a traction unit similar to those tractors that move trailers. Missiles can be loaded between tractor units so the unit doesn’t stand idle while the missile or missiles are being loaded or unloaded from the system. On the other hand, a transporter erector launcher and radar (TELAR) has a complete radar system for launching the missile or missiles. These vehicles are hard to track. They are very effective and can fire at the enemy independently regardless of assistance from other vehicles. Generally, several TELs and TELARs are connected to one command post or a command post mobile vehicle. There are times when the aircraft can’t fly above enemy skies without threat of being attacked by SAMs. So the HAHO technique is used to drop military personnel, usually “special forces” at high altitudes enabling covert insertions into enemy land. This procedure prevents the loud noise of parachutes opening at low altitude and is crucial during covert missions. So the soldier jumps out of the aircraft at an altitude of about 25,000 feet and will open his parachute some ten to fifteen seconds later. He carries a compass or a GPS device to guide him to his destination. This can mean flying for 50 kilometers or more. If deploying as a unit, the team will form a pack while airborne. Here the jumper in the lowest position has to set the course of travel, guiding the others. The jumper must consider wind speed and terrain to navigate towards his destination. At a high altitude; that is over 13,000 feet, the available oxygen is very low. This can be dangerous for jumpers, possibly leading to hypoxia where the person loses consciousness preventing him from opening his chute. So prior to a HALO or HAHO exercise the jumper breathes 100% oxygen to flush nitrogen out of the blood stream. The jumper will also carry a bottle of oxygen.

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Another danger is that high altitude temperatures are low and this can also lead to frostbite, but these days’ skydivers wear special garments to keep them warm. During skydiving, jumpers also face the risk of serious injury or death if their chute does not open properly. The rapid pace of fall toward the earth can also cause injury or death regardless of whether the parachute is working or not. Other gear that the skydiver will carry during a HALO/HAHO exercise will normally include an altimeter, an automatic parachute activation device called AAD, a helmet, a pair of gloves, a knife, a pair of military free fall boots, goggles, a 50 to 100 pound back pack with combat and sustenance, and of course a parachute. Let me now go back to Starbucks coffee shop on June 13, 2009. “Now please be a good boy to your Mommy and tell her a fascinating story about your military life. Tell me about an event that you will always, always remember,” I beseeched the brave soldier. Henry’s facial expression changed instantly. “Hmmmmmmmm,” he uttered long and softly, closing his eyes for a moment. He smiled a faint smile cupping his chin with his right hand, his index finger tapping on his cheek lightly, his eyes swinging from side to side speeding. The rest of his muscular body remained fixed. Then for a moment he stared into the distance as if there was an invisible screen of images before him that was only available for his private viewing. I imagined he could see visions of his homicidal past flickering through his memory switching every second like flash cards. In his mind he was sorting, separating, classifying and carefully choosing which episode of his fascinating and adventurous life he

100 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW would prefer to share with me as the peak of his many adrenalin highs. I watched him, delighted and entertained by his presence. His distant memories recalled, the images return once more engrossing him in the here and now, and right before my eyes. I imagined that there must be so many memories stored in his brain, trials that only a few soldiers of the best kind could ever master. “Which one? Which one?” he asked himself repeatedly as he continued his cerebral process of selection. “Okay, I will tell you this one story,” he finally announced jubilant, smiling a victorious smile. “I was in ROK. That means Republic of Korea. We were sent to fulfill a reconnaissance mission. But this was only an exercise. It wasn’t real,” he began. “What is a reconnaissance mission?” “It means we’re sent to check out a site to confirm or deny certain suspicions surroundin’ that particular location,” he replied. “What were you looking for?” “We were sent to do a scud hunt, lookin’ for a place where they keep TELs,” he answered. “And if you confirm that the site is an actual TEL storage facility….how long will it take to get an air strike to attack the area with laser guided munitions?” “20 to 30 minutes dependin’ if there are aircrafts in the air. But the air strike falls under the jurisdiction of the headquarters. They decide,” he explained. “A team of five guys was sent to go to this site by jumpin’ out of a plane from a very high altitude one evenin’. We parachuted from a C130 at over 17,000 feet from the ground. We did what we call a HAHO, meanin’ jumpin’ from high altitude and openin’ the

101 MARLENE AGUILAR parachute at a high altitude as well. The higher we open the chute, the further we can drift, allowin’ us to reach our drop zone quietly without anyone hearin’ the aircraft. In this particular mission, we had to drift for 20 kilometers to get to our final destination. It was the darkest of all nights. The sky was pitch-black .You could see nothin’. The moon was up but didn’t shine enough to illuminate the earth’s surface. In cities, you would have lights, bridges, buildings, some sort of guide. In this location, I could see nothin’ down below, no lights, and no points of reference, just void. I looked down. There was nothin’ but zero, zero. The jumpmaster is the guy who directs and tells us when it’s okay to jump. He went to the door to check if it was safe for us to deploy. Then he gave us the jump command givin’ us a two minute warnin’. So we did personal inspections makin’ sure all our shit was squared away before deployment. After which we checked each other. Then the jumpmaster came back in and gave us a one-minute warnin’. At this point, we disconnected from the oxygen system on board the aircraft and everybody starts movin’ towards the ramp. Well, with all the crap we have to carry, we can’t really walk. We waddled towards the door is more like it. You know when you walk side to side, like a duck. At this time, the biggest guy among us tripped on his oxygen hose face down. The jumpmaster picked him up off the floor and got him squared away. The air force loadmaster, the guy takin’ care of the aircraft inside the plane gave us 30 seconds to get our shit together. The jump master said no and demanded for the aircraft to do a six minute race track, meanin’ the aircraft had to make a big circle and come back to the same location before the drop.

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We did all the necessary procedures all over again. We all stood up and took our positions, ‘heavy to light’. That’s what we call it. The heaviest guy jumps first.” “Why does the heaviest man go first?” I asked. “Because of gravity, he will fall faster than the rest of us. You don’t want the lightweight to jump first for possibility of mid-air collision. So we swayed side to side toward the ramp, from heavy to light. We got so much shit on us, there’s really no jumpin’ involved. All you have to do is lean forward and you fall out. Finally, everybody was good. The green light went on. The jumpmaster gave the command to go! Everybody exited the aircraft. I was the last one out. So I was the last guy out. We all go out. And when you come off, you got the aircraft…oh what the fuck do they call it…the forward-thrust of the aircraft. When you fall out, the aircraft is pullin’ you with it because of inertia. So initially you’re goin’ in the same direction as the plane. Your body is movin’ on a horizontal position with the plane, more or less. As you fall down, you go from horizontal to vertical free fall. And that’s about 500 feet before you stabilize your position in the atmosphere. So I was comin’ off the hill and for about two seconds, I was stable. Then my body started spinnin’ to the right, clockwise. In a flash, I started spinnin’ like a top faster and faster and faster. I was fucked! Instantly, I saw my life flashin’ before me. I thought this was it. I was fucked for good. I dipped my shoulder down to the left to counter the spin but I couldn’t stop. I was totally out of control, just spinnin’ with all my shit on and I’m burnin’ altitude, my head rushin’, and my heart

103 MARLENE AGUILAR beatin’ so fast. Fuck! Fuck! I told myself. I’m goin’ to die. The next thing I did was to flip on my ass. I was wearin’ a front mounted rack sack weighin’ 90 lbs. right below the belt. So now I’m fallin’ down with my ass facin’ the earth while grabbin’ my rucksack with both of my hands shiftin’ it back and forth to see if that was causin’ the problem. You have to remember, while I did this, I had my helmet on, my goggles on, and my oxygen mask on as well. So there I was spinnin’, totally fucked, scared out of my mind, burnin’ altitude like the devil is chasin’ me and with my ass goin’ downwards to kiss the earth. At one point, I thought I got it and I flipped right back on my stomach. For a moment, I just held it there. I didn’t move. I stopped. I held my breath to see what was goin’ to happen next. Did it work? Did it not? Did it work? Did it not? Oh god. Oh god. Help me. Help me. All I did was pray to god. I didn’t’ want to move anythin’. Finally, I realized I stopped spinnin’. I burned 2,000 feet just fuckin’ around, tryin’ to get my shit together. I looked to my left wrist barely movin’ my face to check the altimeter on my left hand that was illuminated by a high intensity green chem. light. At 12,000 feet, I pulled the main rip chord to deploy my parachute. That was the required altitude. My chute opened. Everything opened. I was so happy. I was alive. I did my canopy check, makin’ sure there were no problems. I made sure that it wasn’t twisted, that it had no holes and the suspension lines weren’t broken or whatever. I was relieved. Now the next task was gettin’ to the drop zone. There is a navigation system mounted on my chest. I opened it up and there was my GPS and my compass right in front of me. I turned on the light to the GPS to see where I was goin’. I began to fly towards the

104 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW location showin’ on my GPS. Yet, I saw no one. I saw nothin’. It was black everywhere. I continued to fly. I’m lookin’ around tryin’ to see the drop zone because it’s supposed to be illuminated with lights. So I finally saw it. I saw the wind arrow on the ground. And life was good! You just don’t know how good it felt. The location was a mountainous area and you couldn’t see. It’s so easy to land on the trees when it’s like that. I get closer to the drop zone, maybe 800 feet and I started seein’ people. I saw shadows in the dark sky. I saw them convergin’ to the same point, towards the wind arrow. Now I’m headin’ home, headin’ right home. I’m comin’ in on the final, 250 feet. I dropped my rucksack in front of me. The backpack is hooked on to you by snap-hooks in the front. But it’s still hooked to your back you see. You can release it by a cloth handle, pullin’ the release chord from the harness. If you don’t catch it with your feet, it will dangle 15 feet below you because it’s still hooked to your back. You don’t want the pendulum effect with all that shit danglin’ between your legs. So the preferred technique is to hold it with your feet until you’re only 20 feet off the ground before you release it. So I’m holdin’ it with my feet. Now I’m ready to release my 90 pound back pack and I can’t release it. It’s stuck! What the fuck! I said to myself. It’s too late now. Plus, I’m thinkin’ I’m goin’ to break my leg. I’m fucked! Shit! Whatever, at this time I just accepted my fate. As I’m comin’ in, you have the wind arrow, with four lights on each side. We’re supposed to land below the arrow, towards the south. But I said fuck that. After all the shit I’ve gone through, I was just happy to get to the drop zone. Anyhow, I landed right in the

105 MARLENE AGUILAR middle of the wind arrow. Once I hit the ground, the rack sack fell off. I made it! I’m alive! Oh my god, I was so happy.” “What happened to the other guys?” I queried. “From above, I could see the black areas on the ground. Those are usually trees. When the moon illuminates the ground it’s a gray color. But when the moon illuminates the trees it’s a dark color. One guy landed on a tree. Two other guys made it to the wind arrow. You know the guy who tripped on the hose? He was the heaviest guy, right, the one who jumped first? He flew into space, five kilometers away from the drop zone. We lost him.” “So what happened to the guy who went to the moon?” “He landed and instead of doin’ ‘admin move’, he continued on with the mission.” “What’s ‘admin move’?” “It’s a reality check. When the team gets to the designated area there is a security check to make sure we’ve got everybody and we’re good. You report this to the drop zone safety officer. Then you continue your mission. But if you don’t have everybody then there is a ceasefire because if a guy is missin’, you have to find him. So we went out searchin’ for him. But the guy who flew into space didn’t ceasefire. He still played tactical mode. He cached his chute and started movin’ to our drop zone. Meanwhile, they had all these helicopters lookin’ for him. This dude hid from them thinkin’ that this was still part of the combat exercise. Now he was stuck in a rugged, mountainous terrain where you can only move 300 meters per hour with all the required equipment you have to carry to sustain the operation. The guys in the choppers had the infrared imagery out tryin’ to pick up his body heat. So this guy took his poncho from his back

106 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW pack which has the same temperature as the outside. When the aircrafts came, he went down on the ground and covered himself with the poncho avoidin’ the infrared. Once the choppers were gone he’d go back to ranger mode movin’ his ass back towards the link up point. He did the right thing.” At this point, I couldn’t hold my laughter. I couldn’t continue to write down notes on what Henry was saying. I thought the guy hiding from the people trying to rescue him was hilarious. “Hey! You think this is funny? This is serious shit! I had to climb up the fuckin’ mountain with the team sergeant lookin’ for this dude. We were worried. You just don’t know. We thought he was dead. You had to be there. It was crazy. The other guys were sayin’ that his chute must have not opened. They said he must have ‘burned in’, which means your chute malfunctions. You drop and die. The second day he continued seein’ helicopters tryin’ to find his ass. He finally figured out that they were lookin’ for him. They picked him up and brought him back. The thing is we did the same exercise in Australia and this same dude fucked up all over again!” During another luncheon meeting at the same Starbucks location, Henry told me this story. “In 1992, we did this mission in South Padre Island in Texas to do a counter drug mission against dope dealers, you know the brothers of your buddy Howard Marks,” he began smiling. “This one was not an exercise. This was real. There were four of us. During Memorial Day weekend, we launched from a Coast Guard cutter, like those 50 footer boats you see in the movies, using zodiacs. These are the small black rubber boats, again like the shit you see in the movies.

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The zodiacs dropped us off on this beach at one in the mornin’ and returned back to the mother ship. The skies weren’t totally dark; some stars were out that evenin’. So we hit the beach. We did our security halt to make sure no one was around and no one saw us. When that was done, we started movin’ across the beach, movin’ across the dunes that was about 800 meters from the coast to our tentative hide-site. You lived in Massachusetts for many years and you’ve been to the beaches in Cape Cod. You’ve seen those ten foot high dunes that protect the coast right? This was created to protect the ecology so when the storms come in the sand doesn’t wash away. Well, we had to go up to this kind of man-made dune so we could watch the beach from a high point. Sometimes the local enforcement doesn’t have the manpower, so they ask the cooperation of the Special Forces to help out. So durin’ this mission, we’re lookin’ out for these dope smugglers right? But the armed forces can’t engage. We can’t do shit, unless they shoot at us. Then we can shoot back because at that point it’s self-defense. Otherwise, we’re only there to observe. When we see them, our job is to report to the law enforcement, so they can do their job and make the arrest. In another operation, we actually busted 1,400 lbs. of marijuana doin’ this. So we get on top of the dune. We dug a hole in the sand and made our hide site. We moved enough sand out of the way just enough to keep a low profile. Then we put a camouflage tarp the same color of the sand over our bodies. We laid there, the four of us, about two feet apart, in full gear, wearin’ our uniforms, combat boots, weapons, ammo, food, water that would last four to five days and the whole works.

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So you’re wearing all this shit on you. It was 95 degrees and the humidity was 90 percent. Imagine going to the beach and you’re stuck in this hole for seven days! Get the picture? It was so fuckin’ hot! It was hell out there! You just don’t know how hot it was. It was fuckin’ brutal. It was so fuckin’ hot everyday. All we did was pray for the sun to go down. People go to the beach three to five hours sunbathin’. Then they go home, take a shower, cool down and go to their air conditioned rooms. We’re stuck there for days and the heat was killin’ us! We’re just lyin’ there stinkin’ in hell, sweatin’ our balls off, gettin’ our asses fried, hidin’ out and prayin’ for the sun to go down.” “What was your position?” “I was a communicator, the radio operator in this mission.” “How did you divide your duties?” “When two guys were off, the other two guys were on with a six hour interval each time. One guy is on the look out usin’ a spottin’ scope. You know the kind you like to call the one-eyed binocular. Meanwhile, the other guy’s job is to write down spot reports.” “What do you do if you have to go the bathroom?” “Well if this was a life and death situation, you piss and shit right there in your hole,” Henry replied cracking up. “They got these bags you put over your ass to take a dump, with your buddy right next to you. Oh god! You just don’t know. And after you relieve yourself, you zip up the shit bag and put it back in your rack sack ‘cause you don’t want to leave anythin’ behind. You can’t leave any traces for the enemy to know you were there. Otherwise, once you’re gone, they come lookin’ for you with dogs sniffin’ all over the place. Then they can dig up your crap from the ground. You leave that kind of trace, you’re compromised to hell.

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They can find out how many guys were there, how well equipped they are, who they were and you’re doomed. So you make sure to leave nothin’, nothin’ behind. In this situation, we were in the U.S., a safer ground. So when we had to piss or shit, we did it at night when we’re covered by darkness. That is if we could hold it. Plus in this instance, we’re far enough back in the dune…no one went out there because people were afraid of these snakes called the south eastern diamondbacks. Rattle snakes. They’re all over the fuckin’ place. With all the water we had we could only sustain our position for four to five days. There was no re-supply available because of possible compromise. If a vehicle came out to drop off supply, people will see that. In addition, if a helicopter goes by to drop supply someone will see that, the druggies will see that. So one day, I was on shift. The guy next to me is lookin’ out there, all of a sudden this camper pulls out and parks there before us and just hangs out. Early the next morning, we see people hangin’ out in front of the camper by the beach. At about 10 am, this guy wearing shorts carryin’ a magazine walks away from the camper. He climbs over a smaller dune away from the vehicle and sits on the sand and starts readin’ his magazine. And he’s facin’ us. And I said, ‘what the fuck is this dude doin’ on the backside of the camper facin’ us’? It was odd. You know what I’m sayin’? Then he whipped out his cock and starts jerkin’ his meat. ‘Holy shit! Hey! Check this out! This fuckin’ guy is beatin’ off. What the fuck!’ The guy next to me announced. One of the guys said, ‘no way! He’s not beatin’ off!’ And my guy said, ‘Yes he is, check him out dude!’ And he grabbed the spottin’ scope from my partner.

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He looked through the binocular. Then he revolted and said ‘I can’t watch this shit! No! No! Fuck! Fuck! Let’s shoot a round near him. Give me the gun! Give me the gun!’ Now the fourth guy is sayin’ ‘you’re all fuckin full of shit!’ ‘Cause he didn’t believe us. And I told him….’Oh yeaaaah! Look man!’ I said and gave him the scope. ‘The guy is whippin’ out a batch….I ain’t lookin’ no more. You take the watch.’” June 23, 2009. I met the Heller Eric at the usual Starbucks location one sunny afternoon at around 1pm. He sent me a text message telling me that he had arrived early so I asked him to order me regular brewed coffee. I’m a coffee drinker and I like it plain. I don’t understand why people put so much crap in their coffee. As far as I’m concerned, I wouldn’t be able to taste the coffee anymore once it is diluted with so many other flavors. When I got there, Eric was seated at a low table by the window smiling his Damien smile, happy to see me. I sat across from him. Outside the weather suddenly changed. The clouds turned very dark, the plants and trees danced through the reign of an invading, gusty wind, an omen of an impending storm. Suddenly, heavy drops of tropical rain came pouring down upon the earth with winds now whipping against everything in the storm’s path. Here was nature turning dark, reminding mortal men that she holds the power to lash out against them. I sat there staring outside, feeling the essence of mother earth and her forces. And I wanted to expose myself and offer my body to her foreboding. For a moment, I projected my spirit outside to join the elements. I imagined feeling the warmth of the rain dripping from the sky bathing me, consuming me. I felt the energy and the strength of the goddess of the wind posses me.

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“Why did you dump all your lovers in the past?” Eric asked suddenly disturbing my daydreaming. “It is my fate.” “No, you left them. You’re mean and cruel,” he said. “I suppose you can say that I’m cruel. My family certainly thinks I’m the bad person for breaking up my relationships. But I left because I refuse to live unhappily with someone. Your persona is easily divided into two parts, your inner self and your outer self. Those men betrayed my inner self. And that is why I left. Many people stay in bad relationships despite the fact that their inner core is no longer bonded with their partners. They stay together for superficial reasons as you and your wife do. She makes you feel responsible for her welfare and guilty that you are always away on missions. As far as I’m concerned, a woman who marries a service man should accept the fact that her husband will be away for long periods of time. She should not be unhappy about it. She should embrace the fact that a military man is federal property, bound to his contract to serve his country. Yet, so many wives of service men whine when they go away. These women make their husbands feel bad because they’re not around at home taking care of their wives and children. They’re made to feel bad for going to work, performing their tasks as the family’s breadwinners. They have to live with the constant conflict between fulfilling their responsibility as heads of their families and fulfilling their duty to their country.” “Fuck that crap. My wife’s not goin’ to make me feel bad when I go away,” he replied. “Your wife also uses the fact that you have been unfaithful to her many times, as armor. In her eyes, she makes you feel unworthy

112 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW because you have cheated. Both of you refuse to admit that your relationship was already in turmoil before you cheated. Do you understand? Cheating is not the problem. You were unfaithful because your relationship was already diseased. So you continue to cheat and have cheated from the start. Why are you still together? Your wife continues to threaten you that she will leave you but she’s not going anywhere. You know why? She has no other place to go. No one wants her. That’s why she’s still with you. I know some dependent women in the Philippines who are in very bad marriages. They want to leave their husbands. They go out looking for other men to rescue them but no one’s out there to take them, so they stay.” “Maybe my wife loves me and that’s why she stays,” Eric said. “Bullshit! No woman with any self respect would stay with a man who has cheated on her as much as you have. Tell me this. Why would any man respect and admire a woman who put up with such garbage? Besides, why would any man have any respect and admiration for a woman who demands dole outs from her husband? Why would any man have any respect and admiration for a woman who is so dependent on so many levels? I believe that there are countless women who would like to walk away from their marriages, from their terrible relationships, but they can’t. They can’t because they are too dependent on their men. Let me ask you these questions. Did it ever cross your mind that your wife’s love for you equals how much you can afford to give her? God forbid something bad happened to you, but what if you were handicapped? Do you think your wife would love you half as much if you couldn’t provide for her anymore?” “I don’t’ need this kind of reality check from you,” Eric said sadly. “Still you carry on despite the fact that you are no longer united

113 MARLENE AGUILAR from within. Still you won’t admit to yourselves that the reason you are still together is because either both of you are too scared to walk away, or you’ve accepted the fact that you are now only using each other to continue a third rate life you have grown accustomed to. The truth is you are afraid of being alone. So yes, superficially I look like the bad person because I broke away from the men in my life. But that is because I refuse to lie to myself. I will not continue to live with a man who no longer brings me happiness. There is more to life, and I’m going to go out and get it. In the end, I am only loyal to one thing and one thing alone, my soul. Your situation reminds me of someone…a man who had been with the Special Forces for over 30 years. He never took a leave, avoided going home to his wife and children as much as he could. Later he told me that his wife wanted to divorce him. And I thought how do a man and woman get divorced when they were never together to begin with? Tell me, how do you divorce someone who wasn’t there at all? Get the picture?” “I’m not even goin’ to react to that. I told you, I don’t need a reality check from you,” the soldier said. “What do I care? I gave you my piece. Like it or not, I’ve already planted the seed in your subconscious and it’s there to stay,” I told him. “I think you left your lovers because you got bored with them. You like to take risks. You like danger and challenges. And once you absorb the minds and the spirits of your partners, the thrill is gone. Then you dump them,” Eric argued. “I left them because they ended suffocating me.” One Friday evening Steve and I went to my brother’s club in Malate to watch my brother perform. We arrived at around 7pm and

114 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW saw my bodyguard Mark Hauser sitting at Boe’s old table across the bar with a girl named Din Din, the sister of his former wife Darlene. As the night went on the place became very crowded. We gave up our table to allow others much needed space and joined Mark who was now sitting with an overweight gay tabloid journalist named Lolo. Later on, Becca joined us along with my graphic artist, Alex Pascual. My younger brother, Tony, came later with his gracious and radiant partner, Irene Radin, who also sat with us. The place was now very loud and crowded with some people standing as there were no more seats available. Henry arrived at almost midnight and sat next to my bodyguard. Becca, Steve and I continued to drink our cabernet sauvignon with Steve leading the pack. Tony, Irene and Mark drank their local Tanduay rum with Tony drinking faster than anyone. Henry nursed his beer. We all sat drinking, talking and laughing while listening to great rock and roll music until two in the morning. Steve was so drunk; he couldn’t walk straight when we got home. Later, I received a text message from Henry who said, “Your brother is askin’ a multitude of questions.” “Leave. He’s drunk,” I replied. The following day, I get a phone call from Henry, who was very upset. “Your brother said you’re usin’ me. Is that true?” “How can I use you? You’re a grunt. You don’t have much to offer me. Plus, I’m too independent, too proud and too honest to use anyone. My brother said that to you to piss you off, so you would lose your cool and your balance altogether. This way you become vulnerable. At which point, he can push you further to talk. My

115 MARLENE AGUILAR father was a psycho chief of police who fucked with our heads from the time we were three years old. My father used to interrogate his children like prisoners. He would ask random questions endlessly until we couldn’t make heads or tails with our own stories. Even when we told the truth and even when he knew we were telling the truth, he still fucked with our heads to force us beyond our limits. When he wasn’t psychologically torturing us, he battered his children physically. Believe it or not, the other side of his personality was like that of the Dalai Lama, completely the opposite, generous, protective, loving and at peace.” “Your bodyguard had asked me several questions in the past. I can handle his questionin’,” Henry stated. “But my bodyguard was trained inside the box, it’s different. You’re used to that. You know the drill. My brother confused you didn’t he? Imagine being interrogated by a psycho genius from age three. That was my father. Can you imagine how that kind of childhood affected our minds? I’ve seen my siblings argue with their spouses pushing their partners to the abyss. Nothing prepares you for that kind of psychological assault.” “Your brother seems to think I’m the bad guy. He was askin’ all sorts of strange questions. He thinks I’m a spook,” Henry stated. “My family was always concerned with the lifestyle I lived in the past because I like living on the edge. Furthermore, they are worried now because my past seems to be catching up with me. My brother had nothing on you. But he wanted to see if you were an ally or foe by calling your bluff. My brother played you. And you can’t blame him for trying to protect me. How he acted had nothing to do with the questions he presented to you or your answers for that matter. He never expected you

116 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW to answer him straight. What mattered was your body language. That’s what he consumed. Don’t worry about it. You’re not the bad guy. Don’t give up on him. I’m sure he would laugh about it after.” One Saturday morning, Maya, Steve and I went to Starbucks. As we faced the counter to give our order, the Barista who greeted us all good morning handed a small envelope to me. It said, “To Marlene Aguilar and family”. It was from Eric. He had sent us gift certificates which we were happy to use to buy our breakfast that morning. “You have another fan, don’t you?” Steve stated. “What a nice surprise. How nice of him,” I replied. One day, Daniel called me to ask if we could have lunch together. He added that he would like to see some culture in Manila, so I decided that we should go to Intramuros, the ancient part of Manila. We went to a restaurant called Illustrado situated in a centuries-old house behind Silahis Center, a store that sells a very nice selection of local furniture, handicrafts and Filipina books along Calle Real del Palacio. We sat by the window looking out into the garden. Daniel sat on the chair next to me to my right. “Why are you so good at getting people’s trust? What did you specialize in when you studied psychology?” Daniel asked. “I don’t think it’s the structured education, rather it is my inner self. Structured education gives you the framework, knowledge that is boxed. It’s only a guide. It’s like fine arts students going to school learning the foundation of art. Once they understand that, they must let go of the foundation and take off from there giving themselves freedom to express themselves naturally and openly. A painter who holds on too much to structured education is not an artist. Void of freedom of expression, he’s merely a craftsman.

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I’ve always been so fascinated by the mind and the psyche of men. More than that, I have always been so deeply drawn to understand abnormal behavior. This I find very, very compelling and interesting.” “You don’t judge,” he said. “People have no right to judge. We are all imperfect, one worse than the other. Each person walking on this earth must deal with the skeletons in their closet. Believe me most people are trying very hard to suppress something, something they hide so deep inside them. I know that the part which people suppress within is also the part that cries out for redemption. It reaches out desperately for the light, to be given the chance to live. We all hide. Even so, each of us is in a desperate state to be found. I will tell you a story. When I was attending Worcester State College in Massachusetts, I chose my own friends. I chose those in need. What I mean is that I selected the ones who cried out from within louder than the others. They came from extremely troubled backgrounds. I don’t know why I am like this. I only know that I listen to my inner voice. I eventually had a circle of friends, John, Craig, Nelson, Linda and Mark. John was the sweetest, most giving man, always in a jubilant state, telling funny jokes, laughing constantly and making everyone else around him happy. He had a big heart and was always ready to help, ready to give. I loved John. One day, he came to school so shaken. He sat with me across the table and he began to cry. He told me about his tragic childhood. He was sexually molested by his father at the age four. When he was six years old, his father sexually engaged his younger sister and made him watch. On top of grave physical abuse, his father repeatedly sexually assaulted his children, both male and female.

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Craig, my other friend was a genius. He and I both loved to read books. He and I were both exempted from taking the English I course when we were freshmen. I don’t know what Craig did but the state of Massachusetts paid for his psychiatric treatment, so he claimed. He told me he didn’t remember the first ten years of his life. And that’s really bad. That’s really bad when you don’t remember. It means that your psyche is blocking your memory from something so horrible in order to protect you. Anyway, for one whole semester, I picked Craig up from his home every morning. Every day on our way to school, he would tell me of a perfect plan to murder his mother. And every single day, he designed a different but perfect conspiracy to kill his Mom. When it rained, Craig would run to the cemetery. He told me that at times like this, he needed to be close to the spirits of the dead and that the cemetery was the only place that gave him comfort when it rained. God, these people had suffered so much pain. Nelson had a father who suffered from paranoid schizophrenia. He grew up in a very dark house with all doors closed and windows covered with heavy dark curtains, shut out from the rest of the world. I’m not even going to tell you about Linda and Mark. But since then, so many others from all walks of life have confided in me. When my two sons attended Brent International School in Manila, I counseled their troubled friends. The stories go on and on. One girl I know, whose mother was a famous movie star in the Philippines, claims that her mother violated her sexually as a young child from the age of three. This life doesn’t come without pain. We all have our crosses to bear. The point is, if you think you’re story is bad, there are plenty others worse than yours.

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So this is what I believe, and I’m talking from personal experience. I believe that most men belonging to the military’s upper echelon have suffered great losses in one form or another. They endured unbelievable obstacles as children. They were oppressed, betrayed, and they suffered from psychological, physical and, or sexual abuse. These men were born with unyielding spirits. When a child with that kind of spiritual power is traumatized, the will to survive can only heighten at a phenomenal rate. In most cases where there is physical abuse, the spirit pushes the psyche to divide into separate compartments, creating multiple personas. Then the psyche forces the warrior personality to come forward in defense. The weakest personality is buried deep inside, never to be seen, always hidden and protected. Men such as these do not like to show softness but gentleness is there, caged within, wanting to be set free. Anyway, in my opinion, these specialized military men were born with indomitable will. And when a man’s spirit is that of an exceptional warrior, the horror of childhood only enhances that person’s killer instincts. We are the same in that manner. Your spirit fights back and it continues to fight back, proving over and over that you will never surrender. That is you. That is you along with your brotherhood of special warriors, all united by two things in common, an invincible will and a violent life,” I told the white knight. “I didn’t trust anyone and yet you have gained my trust in such a short period of time. You understand so much of my world. You’re one of us, and yet you’re not. You have many faces,” he said. “You know, every time we talk in private, I can be soft with you and tell you my deepest feelings. I can tell you things I have never told anyone else. Over and above this, on more than one occasion,

120 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW you’ve made me cry. You’ve turned this hardened soldier into marshmallow. I hope you understand how I feel and how grateful I am for this time, our time. I will ride this wave for however long and however far it will take me, for as long as you’re there ready to listen with an open heart. I agree with your tarot reader Paulie. Anyone who gets close to you will love you because you’re so easy to love. I know you now. You like to fix people. You do it to all those you embrace in your life. More than that, you have fixed this broken man. You made me human again. Because of that, I will always be here for you. I only wish I could give you as much as you have given me. You’re so tough on the outside Marlene, and you can intimidate at will. On the outside, you’re so hard, armed with pins, needles, swords, fangs and all. However, as I get to know you, I realize that within, you’re so fragile, vulnerable and soft. I don’t know how anyone could ever harm that personality of yours that belongs to the light. I don’t know how anyone could ever harm the part of you that is loving, genuine and true. I only hope I don’t hurt that part of you. I would never want that, so show me how. Teach me how to protect that side of you. In my world, I used to believe in the cause until I realized that every man was out there for himself, for his own gain and for his own selfish reasons. Marlene, I have my principles. All I have are my principles. And I will not bend, because without them I am nothing.”

121 Chapter 3

Land of Broken Toys

After my father died, I lived with my older brother Freddie for a short period of time while I attended the University of the Philippines. My brother was then married to Josephine Queipo, a very sweet natured Filipina born in Jerusalem and raised in Geneva and New York, who like me, is open-minded and free spirited. Her father worked for the United Nations and because of this, Josephine had the chance to travel to many places abroad. She and I both love adventure. Back in the day, Josephine and I went to interesting places, coffee shops, restaurants, and shopping. We had so much time in our hands then. At the time, the world seemed so much more innocent and simple than it is today. She and I spent so much time talking, just talking about everything. I’ve become more private over the years and more reclusive, but I still love an open conversation with the people who are dear to me. However, I’ve gotten over shopping through the years. I hate malls and crowded places now. In those days, Josephine and I loved to go swimming and lie in the sun. We discovered two places with a swimming pool. One

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is located in the Philippine Plaza which is now part of the Sofitel hotel chain. The place had a lovely tropical garden located on the oceanfront, which gave one the most glorious view of the famous Manila sunset. In the past, it had a bar in the middle of the pool with a thatched roof, which you could get to through a bridge. In the morning on weekends, Josephine and I would wake up early and spend the whole day in this place until dark. The other place we discovered was a place, not far from my brother’s residence, called Danarra Hotel which is not as fancy as Philippine plaza. On the other hand, Danarra offered an Olympic size swimming pool with a diving board to match. So it attracted a clientele of college students who were swimmers and who wanted to learn fancy diving. We befriended some of these people including a “mestizo”, named George, an older man with a gorgeous physique who taught the students fancy diving. He was then an older man to me of course, I was a teenager. He was very patient and an excellent coach to his students and it is because of him that I learned how to jump from an Olympic height diving board. When his students were not around, George would find me lying in the sun next to Josephine and would push me to go up the diving board to jump. “I’d teach you how to fly, girl” he used to tell me. So I learned fancy diving through George. Since Danarra Hotel was closer to our home, Josephine and I spent many days in this place lounging in the sun, swimming, talking and having a great time. How innocent our lives were then. And how much the world has changed since. Once in a while, I would pass by Danarra Hotel and upon seeing the place, I would close my eyes and think of the past. In my mind, I can still hear Josephine and me talking and giggling as we sat next to each other on our cushioned lounge chairs under the bright

123 MARLENE AGUILAR tropical sun with glasses of piña colada in our hands. Happy days, I whisper to myself. Those were happy days. Marcus, I would like to tell you more about him, but I’m not sure which stories to share. Marcus is a warrior whom I have known and loved almost my whole life. As I type these words, I sense a peculiar energy surrounding me. I’m a very strange creature, one able to feel other realities, and other dimensions unknown to most of you. This is only possible because I am totally free in mind and spirit. Furthermore, as I think about my life with Marcus, I feel the essence of my unseen guardians encircle me, protecting me. “Tread gently, dearest one. Be careful what you say,” they whisper to me, floating around me now. “You are walking through a land of mines.” Marcus. Yes, I thought silently, the world of Marcus is a land of mines. I closed my eyes, embracing the silent world that lies peacefully within the center of my being, a world suspended in space- less and timeless dimension. I feel my fingers resting on the keyboard while I embrace the ghosts that have always been my guardians as I have traveled through many lives, past, present and future. And I wondered what I would write. These spirits have been with me since childhood, and I believe that they have always mentored me well. Suddenly, a tiny bug appeared from nowhere. It flew above me with amazing speed, buzzing cheerfully as it landed on the center of my forehead dancing for an instant on top of my third eye. The bug tickled my skin, making me smile. Then it flew away. In an instant, the happy creature was gone. I take this as an omen, a good one, a message from my invisible counsels that I can continue to tell you a story about my old friend. He was my soul partner, my lover, my confidante, and my damnation.

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I met the beast by chance a very long time ago somewhere in Southeast Asia when this part of the world was much more troubled than it is today. He began his time as a soldier in Vietnam at the age of 18, a sniper and a good one. He and a few of his comrades were recruited to join the Agency after the horrible war. We met after that in a restaurant by a lake, near a beautiful waterfall. We have been stuck with each other almost ever since because even after we ceased being lovers, we remained fierce friends. We were doomed from the start, both creatures of darkness, non- trusting, ever defiant and homicidal. He loved me. I loved him. He protected me from all sorts of danger and potential harm. It was a good partnership, he protected my outer self. I protected his inner self. Through him I witnessed a world, which most people never imagine exists, a world of death, destruction, deception and treachery. Many years ago, he showed me a special piece of paper, headed by the word “confidential” written in red ink. It also had “duration” written on it, which in this singular instance was a time frame of six months. The information also included the types of weapons and ammunition needed to fulfill his mission. More importantly than that, it stated a list of names, several names that were to be removed from the face of the earth. They were all enemies of an infamous dictator in Southeast Asia. Of course I no longer remember the names on the list. But I do remember that as time passed, these men died one by one. He was everything to me in my earlier life. He was my mentor in many ways, a father figure. The oracles said that this man and I would never part, that our bonding on earth would cease only through death. And so we have been together almost my entire life, this creature and I, inseparable beasts, warriors cut from the same cloth, half of

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which came from heaven and the other half, which came from hell. My understanding of America’s killing machine, my understanding of men born to kill, born to triumph on the battlefields, all this Marcus and my father taught me. But I have grown and continue to grow further as I have journeyed through life. “The first kill is the worst,” Marcus used to tell me. I was 17. “That’s when you break your cherry, and you get all fucked up in the head,” he said. “After that, the rest are just numbers.” “The world is too small for you and me,” he reminded me over the years. “There is no forest so thick you can hide in.” Once, whilst we stayed in a hotel room, he snuck up from behind me and embraced me, gripping both of my hands very tightly with his own as he secured his 9mm Beretta in my palm. “Anything that moves,” he whispered in my right ear softly. “Shoot anything that moves. It will be over in two minutes. That’s how it’s done.” I met him when I was only 17 years old. He had no home, no permanent address, traveling constantly. I loved him but the other side of me hated him. His world of darkness tormented me in more ways than I can tell. Eventually, the latter part of me escaped from him. I ran to the States. Moreover, he let me go, for some time. “If you stay with me, they will kill you anyway. So go,” he said. I lived in Massachusetts on a beautiful lake with my husband, Robert Ivler. Over the years, Marcus sent me postcards from where ever he traveled - France, Russia, China, the Middle East, Italy, and Spain, among many other countries. In his postcards he would write, “To my GOE…” meaning Garden of Eden. That’s what he called me. It is now the month of July, the year 2009. Many years have passed. Marcus and I ceased being lovers a long time ago. That was another lifetime, and yet during one lunch in Bulan two years ago and in the presence of Paulie, he claimed we never broke up. I

126 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW have tried to live a very quiet life, away from his world of death, massacre and deception. However, how does one walk away from a world like that when he continues to live inside me? No one can, not totally. Over the years, I have been haunted by the same thing I was trying to run from, memories, memories of dread and pain. So what can I share with you? Which story should I tell you? There is one that I remember more clearly than the others because it was just after this tragic event that the world of Marcus fell apart. After my husband Robert died, I continued to live in the quiet and quaint town of Sterling in central Massachusetts. One year, I was on vacation in Manila, visiting my family. I told no one I was coming except for members of my family. My older sister Zoraida, who at the time was attending the Waseda University in Shinjuku, Japan, was visiting Manila as well. We both stayed at my brother Freddie’s home in New Manila, Quezon City. I suggested to my sister that we visit the pool at Danarra Hotel one day. I missed the place so much. She agreed to my proposal and so early one morning we headed there with our swimming gear and all. At around noon, we sat joyfully enjoying our meal at a table by the pool. I saw one of the waiters run toward me. “Are you Miss Aguilar?” he asked looking at me. “There are two of us. Which one of us do you seek?” “Miss Marlene, I’m looking for Miss Marlene.” “That’s me.” “Ma’am there is an urgent phone call for you,” he announced. I got up from my chair and followed the man who hurriedly took me to where the phone was. I picked up the phone receiver and said, “Hello?”

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“Mi amor, lo siento mucho. I know you’re on vacation,” the voice spoke in Spanish, meaning, “My love, I am so sorry…” There are certain Latin Americans in Marcus’ community who like to call me, ‘mi amor’. “But you have one hour to get to the Manila international airport,” he warned. “You’re leaving today for Singapore. Go to gate two. Run!” he ordered. “It takes two hours to get to the airport from here with all the damn traffic. And I still have to go home and change. Tell the bastard I will break his balls when I see him for doing this to me!” I shouted at the man on the other end of the receiver. After that, I ran with the speed of lightning to my sister, apologized for my beastly behavior and kissed her goodbye. I gave her no explanation. I took a taxi to my brother’s home and got ready in 10 minutes, something I am able to do even to this very day. I asked the cab driver to wait so he could take me to the airport. Over two hours later I arrived at gate two, carrying a small black bag to take with me on the plane. I sat on my chair clenching my fists, heart pounding, and totally pissed off at Marcus. I thought the situation was absolutely ridiculous. You need two hours to get your boarding pass before the plane leaves and the flight was leaving in 30 minutes. I will kill him. I will kill this monster, I thought to myself as I waited for him to arrive. Then I saw the figure of a short man around 5’6”, wearing a horrible suit, coming from my right walking hurriedly, sweating like crazy and smiling a nervous smile. He rushed toward me. “Do not bite,” he pleaded with a soft face to calm me down. “Fuck you!” I snapped. “We’re not going anywhere, the plane leaves in a few minutes.”

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“He he he,” the beast smiled. “Watch what I can do.” Marcus dropped his duffle bag onto the chair next to mine and walked away. I saw him head toward the Airline counter. He spoke to a woman who then came down from the podium. They then both disappeared from my sight. I sat on my chair anxious and upset that my quiet vacation had so abruptly ended. I was also thinking of what kind of predicament Marcus was in now. As I sat quietly, containing my anger and contemplating, I heard the airport speaker make a loud and annoying sound, the kind that you hear before an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, Flight so and so to Singapore has been delayed for two hours. We apologize for this inconvenience.” Marcus came back to my seat smiling like the animal he is. “See, now we can go to the lounge and enjoy our cocktails. Happy?” Later on, Marcus and I sat inside the Airlines’ Business Class lounge. “Tell me, why are you dragging me with you?” “We need to secure a boat, 100 feet long. If we can’t rent one, we buy one,” he replied. “What else are we doing?” “Mi amor, we play chess….,” he explained. “Chess?” “Yes, with real people,” he added. “And who am I?” “My beautiful assistant,” he replied. “Oh that’s right. I’m the brainless Filipina who can speak English well…” I’ve traveled to over 35 countries now and Singapore is one of my least favorites. The place is so sterile and clean, void of depth,

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culture and soul. It is like visiting a dental clinic. However, that is only my own personal taste of course. I’m sure that many people prefer a clinical kind of existence. When we arrived at Changi airport, we walked past customs since we didn’t have any luggage with us, only our carry-ons. We were welcomed by three Latino men, all smiling at us. One was a “guido”, a man who stood 5’7”. He was in his late 40’s, the errand boy. To his right was a tall and fashionably dressed man, around 6’ in height. He claimed he worked for the designer Ferragamo. Next to him, the third person was about 5’10” in height. He was in his mid 50’s, very elegant. Furthermore, although he was soft in his demeanor, within this man was power over other men. He was a leader. I will call him Santino. They drove us to our hotel and when we got there, we sat in the lounge drinking cocktails. They spoke in a peculiar tone of Spanish as passionately as some Latino Americanos do, speaking out loud with their arms swaying in the air in all manner of motion. I sat quietly, pretending not to understand a word they were saying. The conversation ended after one drink, after which we checked in. Later that evening we met the same group of men in a posh and elaborate private club softly lit with pool tables, where the women were outnumbered by men two to five. The following evening, we met these men again. On the way back to our hotel, I could sense Marcus was nervous. After knowing him for so many years, I don’t have to look at him to know how he’s feeling. I sat next to him in the car this time, and I could sense his stomach turn. “I’m meeting someone very important tomorrow morning,” he said softly. “I don’t want you there.” “Fine, I’ll keep myself busy.” “No, I want you to stay put,” he said.

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“Do you know that…” he uttered and paused for a long time. “The head of the Triad has no son. His heir is his nephew. When the old man dies, his nephew will lead after him.” The following morning, Marcus woke up early to meet the VIP. He instructed me to stay in my room after we had breakfast in the hotel lobby. At around 10am, I received a phone call from him. “You have five minutes to get out and get to the lobby,” he ordered. After the brief phone call, I hurriedly pulled all my things together, stuffed them in my duffle bag and rushed out of the room heading to the lobby, my heart panting, and adrenalin bolting through my head. From the sound of Marcus’ voice, I knew something had gone very wrong. When I got to the hotel lobby, I saw him rushing toward me with a look of disaster on his face. He grabbed my upper left arm with his right hand dragging me to walk faster with him. “I’m getting you out,” he told me. “I’m taking you to the airport right now,” he warned still dragging me with him. “What happened?” “He’s dead.” “Who is dead?” I asked. “Santino is dead.” “What the fuck are you talking about? I saw him only last night?” “I went to his office this morning. We took the elevator down together. The door opened. Two assassins stood there, one shot him. The other came after me. I got rid of one. The other fled,” he explained catching his breath, as he pushed me so efficiently into the back seat of the car which he had kept waiting in front of the hotel door. We sped to the airport and Marcus made sure I had my act together. He always tried to take care of me as best he could.

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“Don’t stay in Manila. Go back to the States and forget about all this,” he warned. That’s it. That is all I can share with you. The rest of the story remains lost in my distant memory. You must wonder where Marcus is now. I saw him on the BBC while I was in England last month. He is still playing the game, the game of chess using real human beings. I think you have to be inhuman to be able to do that. For many years, every time I thought of him, tears fell from my eyes. Now he is no longer the man I knew. In the beginning, he wanted so much to save the world and ease the suffering of mankind. However, the institution betrayed him in more ways than one. He fought back. He fought back until one day he was burned out. In the end, the establishment took his soul as it does with so many other brave soldiers like him. However, because of his good behavior, Marcus received an award of appreciation from the US Congress, something he displays with great pride and honor on the wall in his office for everyone to see. It is now July 31, 2009. Last week, I received a message that my request to launch my book, Warriors of Heaven in the main lobby of the Cultural Center of the Philippines, had been approved. This is thanks to Ben Matias of the National Museum, who kindly organized the event with Pie Obillo, a very dedicated woman working for the CCP, while I was away in Europe during the first two weeks of July. Meanwhile, I called my lawyer Joseph Sagandoy, one of the partners of PECA BAR, a law firm co-owned by the current Senate President of the Philippines, Juan Ponce Enrile. “Did you read Warriors of Heaven?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied.

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“I’m concerned about legal issues. I may have written something incriminating.” “As far as legal issues, you’re fine. And we’re here for you,” he stated. “Are you sure I didn’t incriminate myself?” “Marlene,” he said gently. “You know better than anyone that legal issues are not your problem. Your problem is that you have endangered your life by writing this book. We are here to protect you legally. But I cannot stop the bullet for you,” he added. “I understand that,” I replied. “Heaven decides my fate.” “I just read Chapter six of your book. I wasn’t aware such events took place. I am curious about who is guiding you through all this…,” he said cheerful. “I look forward to how the Filipino people will react to your book.” Saturday, August 8, 2009. I went to my brother’s club in Malate. I now choose to sit at Boe’s old table across the bar. As soon as Steve and I took our seats, I told him I was going to go get Becca who keeps a private room on the second level of this old structure where she sleeps sometimes. She has now broken up with my brother Freddie, his loss as far as I am concerned. I believe Becca has a pure and giving soul, something so difficult to find in a woman or a man for that matter. However, my brother, being the music icon that he is like many celebrities world-wide, is usually hounded by “star fuckers” as Howard Marks calls some of the women who swarm around him blinded by his fame and the limelight that goes along with it. So Freddie is normally surrounded by soulless and mindless Filipino Barbie dolls, walking trash for the earth to bear and whose only contribution to mankind is the velvet and salty flesh that lies between their legs.

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I found Becca upstairs in her room with my niece Maegan who was one of the performers that evening. She sat in front of a mirror putting her make-up on, getting ready for her gig. When she was all dolled-up and pretty, we all went down to the club and joined Steve who sat quietly, drinking his wine. Then Nena, Becca’s sister in-law arrived to join us. Later that evening, Becca whispered in my ear, “I will introduce someone like Boe to you. Tell me what you see. Tell me if I should date this G.I. Joe.” On stage, Maegan sang with her band which includes my nephew Gian Hipolito playing the drums and his brother JC Hipolito playing the lead guitar. The place was crowded now. The bar was full of younger women who seemed eager to pick up men who would buy them free drinks. Then an American, a service man who was in his mid 40’s, with short curly hair and around six feet tall, approached the table. He wore a white t-shirt, a pair of khaki shorts and a pair of sneakers. Becca stood next to him. “Meet my sister, Marlene Aguilar,” Becca said introducing me to the man who took the chair to my right. Meanwhile, Steve had gone outside to talk to Pete Canzon, my brother Freddie’s saxophone player. The military man sat close to me staring at me, contemplating. I stared back doing the same. Becca sat to his right and turned her head away watching the band. Nena sat beside her. “I have your gift of sight,” the military man said gently. His eyes were warm, dangerous and silently screaming for salvation. My heart broke at the sight of him. This man has survived the world of evil and destruction. But in order to do so, he had become an animal, another beast. How sad the world is, I thought. How sad that the American killing machine is so full of broken men. “Where are you headed?” I asked.

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“I’m going back to Iraq in a few days.” “Are you in the military?” “Yes, but no…” “Are you a contractor?” “Yes, that’s more accurate.” “Would you like me tell you about yourself?” “Okay,” he replied. “As a child, you endured traumatic experiences,” I began. “You were betrayed by those who were supposed to love and protect you. Later in your life you sought the refuge of the military to feed your monster, to feed your aggression,” I went on. And with these words, the doors fortifying this man’s hidden world inside him began to open. His body turned into Jell-O, his eyes darkened filled with intense emotion and great sadness suddenly overwhelmed him. “That is amazing,” he stated with a warm smile, gripped with sheer suffering while his body moved away from me. His eyes were locked with mine consumed by some cosmic energy that commanded us now. “A person you love was separated from you, something tragic…” I continued. “Yes, my child died.” “I’m so sorry,” I said sadly. “Listen to me,” I whispered, my body moving closer to him, my eyes gazing at his. “We may never have the chance to talk again. There is great confusion inside you, pain, losses and disaster. I can’t find the beginning and the end of your suffering.” He gazed at me now as if I was the only person left in the room. I could feel the immense pain resonating from his heart and his soul. I continued to speak softly, gently. “You are homicidal and suicidal. When your emotions go down, you get so depressed you fall into the abyss. At this point, you want

135 MARLENE AGUILAR everything to end. You want to kill yourself….” I continued with tearful eyes. “Forgive those who caused you pain. And forgive yourself for being human. Let go. You must learn to let go.” “How do you know so much about me?” he said tenderly. “Yes, there are times when I want to end it all.” “Hey!” Becca suddenly interrupted, smiling and waving her right hand in front of the warrior’s face. “Don’t be so serious now.” At this time, the man who called himself Byron picked up his awesome camera and started to take photos of the musicians performing live. I took this chance to get up and signaled Becca to follow me outside. On the way out, I asked one of the waiters to find Steve and tell him we were leaving. “You stay away from that man,” I told Becca as I motioned to one of the club’s ushers to find my driver. “Why?” she said whining. “I like him.” “He has the ability to hurt himself and hurt others. Just stay away from him, or I will voodoo you and the rest of your clan.” “Okay!” Becca whined out loud. After we said goodbye to Becca, Steve and I got in the car. I sat next to him weeping. “Why are you so upset? What’s wrong?” “There is so much pain in this world. There are so many little boys and girls damaged at a young age,” I answered in tears. “I cry for that man. I cry for all the men like him. I don’t see the light. I just don’t see the light in him. He will kill himself.” I never saw Byron again after that evening. Sunday, August 09, 2009, I saw Eric at a fancy bar in Malate located in a five star hotel, with a view of a 25 foot high man- made waterfall surrounded by a lush tropical garden. It was happy hour and there were very few people present, all expatriates sitting

136 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW around in soft cushioned armchairs and couches. The bar, which was lined with stainless steel revolving chairs were empty, offering more privacy, so we decided to sit there. I sat to his right, taking the last seat at the end of the long counter. We preferred to have the wine buffet and asked for two glasses of chardonnay from Chile. The wine was served and we made a toast. I had suggested to Eric that it is a very nice gesture to toast before drinking wine. “I know why you like your essay, The Hunt so much,” he said. “You mean, you like it so much,” I answered smiling. “Tell me why.” “The story is about the chase. You like livin’ on the edge.” “True. I have always lived a very interesting life.” “I love your passion,” he uttered. I didn’t hear him. I thought he said ‘I love your patience’. “Patience, I have no patience at all.” “Passion, not patience,” he replied. “Oh, yes my passion burns infinitely,” I stated. “But you can control yours, I can’t control mine.” “Once you let go of the skeletons in your closet, you will begin to grow at a fast rate. This growth will allow you to connect the circle and you will be whole,” I said. “Once that happens, you attain freedom you’ve never known, from which point you gain balance.” “But I’ve shared with you my most painful experiences.” “So you’re free now.” “Do you know I was alone until we met? I wish I could to go so deep inside you so that I will never find my way out.” “Don’t cross that line. A very good friend of mine from Massachusetts, Ralf Traugot said to me many years ago, ‘Marlene,

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I want to keep you close to me for the rest of my life. So let us not become lovers; we’ll remain together longer as friends.’ Where would you like to go after here?” I asked him after taking a sip of my chilled beverage, the coolness of the liquid now flowing gently down my throat relieving my thirst. “Afghanistan.” “Really, why?” “Because I’ve never been there. It’s not that I’m a war monger. Who would enjoy seein’ his friends’ body parts scattered all over the fuckin’ place? I definitely don’t, but I want to go to Afghanistan because it would be excitin’ to go. It’s a new experience, different territory. You know what I’m sayin’, baby doll?” “Yes, I do understand the desire for adventure. I suppose it’s like writing a new book for me,” I stated and paused for a long while. There was something about his statement that triggered a thought in my mind. “I’m going to ask you a very difficult question,” I continued softly while staring into his eyes, wondering in my mind how this statement would play out. Trust, he must trust me to grant me this gift, a gift so covert, I thought to myself. I knew I was gazing into the unknown, treading softly inside a portion of his psyche so dark, so tormenting, so private, so well fortified and yet exceedingly sacred. “Then ask,” he replied hesitant, his body shifting away from mine while he gazed at me with great wonder. A sign of eminent distress is now so clearly visible in his reddish brown eyes. “I need you to tell me…...,” I paused, as he stared back at me holding his breath as I held mine, aware of my spirit reaching into his being, sensing the void in his heart. “I need you to tell me about the most painful experience you have suffered on the killing fields.”

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I saw his body drift further away from mine while he stared at me with a sadness in his eyes that was so fierce, it cut right through to my heart drowning me in a moment of sorrow. “Please….” I went on with leaky eyes, now feeling the torment of the soldier across me, the agony that is so well camouflaged by the rough exterior of his appearance. His grief had now come forth, one minuscule step into the light heeding my gentle call. But he held it, held it somewhere unknown and untouchable, absolutely determined he wouldn’t lose control. I shifted my body away from him, alarmed. Now I sat staring at the bottles of alcohol so neatly displayed across from me, feeling my stomach weaken at the boldness of my inquisition. Dear god, what have I done? I asked myself in silence. Then something changed about the air between us. Something I will never be able to explain to you, but I cry as I type these words, overwhelmed by what I saw. I think of Eric now. I think of the little boy in him holding his spirit with mine embracing him with light. I cry for him, hoping that my grief will somehow ease his torment and his burden on earth. I held my place, unable to breathe, feeling the transformation of the soldier sitting so close to me. I turned my face slowly to my left looking at him sideways, my heart pounding faster and faster. I sensed the world spinning around us, the forces of the universes engulfing us both, forcing us into the blue. I felt intoxicated. I wanted to run now, but I couldn’t move. Oh god, help us, I pleaded in silence. My spirit joined him in his raging pain, anguish that is so vehement; he will never learn to let it go. At this moment, I saw the figure of a man sitting very straight, with both hands on his lap, his feet resting on the barstool’s footrest, his neck perfectly held in place and supporting a face

139 MARLENE AGUILAR completely stripped of emotion, a machine. The man was gone. Eric was gone. He had retreated into another space unknown to you and me. The robot of Eric stared at nothing. Then and there the synthetic organism spoke with a voice so cold, so detached, so clinical and precisely empty. The ghost narrated this. “It was the year 2006. We received an emergency call that an IED, a very sophisticated improvised explosive devise went off in Kirkuk, Iraq at around 1400 hours. We responded. We arrived in the place drivin’ an ‘Up-armor’ military Humvee. There were six of us, five Special Forces and one interpreter.” I sat facing him frozen to my seat, locked in a state of disbelief. Suddenly, I uttered, “What did you see when you arrived at the place?” The humanoid answered without looking at me. “The place was cordoned off because the Iraqi Police and the Iraqi conventional force, meanin’ the regular Iraqi army, were already there before we arrived. The ground was scorched, black from the explosion which made a nice little hole on the earth. There was shit all over the place, blood, arms, body parts and flesh covered the ground. It’s not like what you see in the movies you know, not at all.” “Who perished?” I asked. “Three civilians and two members of the Iraqi intelligence…” “How did you feel?” I whispered to the android. “Nothin’, I felt nothin’. It’s not like the first time when you get all messed up in the head, and you say, oh my god. That was the daily occurrence in northern Iraq at the time. Eventually, you say to yourself, that’s enough dead bodies. You realize you’ve become numb. But I’m glad it wasn’t me.”

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Eric hadn’t answered my question. He couldn’t relive the most horrible experience he had suffered. This story was only a fraction of the source of his true pain. The reason I behaved in this manner was because he stated earlier, “Who would enjoy seeing his friend’s body parts scattered all over the fuckin’ place?” He wasn’t ready to tell me that story. Moreover, I didn’t have the will or strength to push him further. I went home that evening and wept myself to sleep. The following day, I saw Eric again at the usual Starbucks location. We had lunch together after which we decided to have our coffee al fresco under the same large green umbrella that sheltered us the same evening I had asked him about his first prostitute. We were the only people outside. Filipinos like the comfort of air conditioned rooms. He had a peculiar aura this time, mellow and gentle. “Thank you for puttin’ up with my shit.” “You put up with mine,” I answered. “Yes, I did. Oh man, I definitely did. I’ve never had to deal with such shit from anybody. I swear to god,” he said shaking his head and looking into the distance. “Some of the things you said to me pushed me so far to the edge. If you were someone else, I would have told you to go fuck yourself, or I would have sent you to the moon. But you…well no one ever got to me like you did,” he continued sadly. “Well soldier, you are an ape sometimes, crude and callous on the outside but inside is another story all together. I believe there’s a beautiful human being shining from within,” I narrated with a smile. “Some people look good on the outside you know. They say the right things and do the right things. But inside they are pieces of shit. You’re only a piece of shit on the outside.”

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“I hope I’ve been helpful to you too.” “Yes, of course, you helped me in more ways than you will understand. It never works one way. There is always exchange of energy. I feel that we grew together in the short time we’ve known each other.” “Here, I wanted to give you this,” he said gently as he placed a small jewelry pouch on the table. “I wanted to give you somethin’ no one has ever given you. This is the Special Forces gold crest. I had it made especially for you. I hope it will remind you of me.” The pouch contained a 14 karat gold pendant depicting the Special Forces crest, a gift symbolizing great meaning once given to another by a Green Beret. “Thank you for fixin’ this broken toy,” he told me softly with face pointing down but with eyes gazing at mine. “I’ll miss you. I’ll miss talkin’ to you.” That was it. He left the Philippines the following day. Dear Eric, wherever you are now, I know that you will have a copy of this book and you will read these words. Let it go. Give it to the wind. You do not decide who lives or dies. We are nothing but instruments on earth. Everything falls under the blessings of heaven. Today is August 19, 2009, a very special day. My brave father, who bestowed upon me a great proportion of the courage I possess, died on this particular day in 1977. In his next journey, may he find that which he didn’t achieve in this probable reality. I have been seeing an older female Buddhist oracle who works with a male counterpart since 1991. Five years ago, I started seeing a younger Buddhist seer, Paulie Caoili. Many years ago the older lady seer predicted that I will meet a soul mate who will change the course of my destiny. She added that upon meeting this man who is

142 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW a warrior from another time, my fate will turn. This man and I met on July 25, 2009. Moreover, upon seeing this warrior of heaven, I became immediately aware of our past existences from other places and time. I realized then that our souls are forever entwined and are connected infinitely. Over two years ago upon meeting this service man, the seers spent many hours looking through the tarot checking his destiny, past, present and future. They believe that like me, he is driven by the forces of light. I call him Caesar. He is a commander of the Special Forces. The oracles call Caesar the warrior who holds the celestial sword of fire. In addition, the oracles foretold that another warrior of heaven will come into my life, someone who is the opposite of Caesar. That is Gabriel. The augurs named him “the devil on earth”. On Monday, August 17, 2009, I sent Caesar an email with the invitation to the launch of my book Warriors of Heaven, which will be held at the Cultural Center of the Philippines on Saturday, November 21, 2009. In my email, I wrote: Attached is an invitation to my book launch. Please read and tell me what you think. A portion of the invite also stated: “Warriors of Heaven is Marlene Aguilar’s first novel. The book covers her actual discussions and arguments with some of the most powerful members of the US Military. It is supported by essays she has written denouncing America’s supremacist intent to subjugate the rest of mankind…” On the same day, Caesar responded: “It looks good except for the statement ‘denouncing America’s supremacist intent to subjugate the rest of mankind’. Choosing

143 MARLENE AGUILAR a different verb for ‘denouncing’ and the adjective ‘supremacist’ would possibly decrease negative views and your position.” I replied to him the following day. “I am not worried about that statement. Are you not aware that the rest of the world hates America these days? I wish I could explain myself to you and why I write the things I write. I will try and send you an email tomorrow. My mind is so complex. I have multiple personalities remember? I wish we could sit down and talk. It is so much easier to communicate in person.” Caesar emailed me back today, Tuesday, August 19, 2009. He stated: “You never have to explain yourself. I bring up things from a certain point of view. It doesn’t make it right.” I replied to him on the same day saying: “I will not explain myself to my critics but yes, I will explain myself to you. Our souls are entwined remember? I need you to understand where I’m coming from. It will help you grow. Do you remember when I wrote about Gates in chapter two? I could write about him so passionately because I could sense him, although I have never met him. Do you understand? That portion on Gates made that chapter shine. It offered a new perspective mankind would otherwise not consider. I can only write about things I utterly believe in. I can only write from the heart. That is why I feel redeemed inside. I’m trying to give mankind the yin of the yang and vice versa. In doing so, I hope mankind will find balance within. And maybe from there we can all heal and grow.

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The old seers have said I will become a symbol of hope and peace like a female Dalai Lama. But that this ‘female Dalai Lama’ has such fierce darkness within. The Dalai Lama floats somewhere in tra-la-la. He has embraced ‘heaven’, a state of eternal balance. That state of being is only half of the circle. I have done the same in the past, but I’ve decided to come back to earth. The question is when you get to that level will you then come back to earth and deal with pain and suffering like an average human being all over again? That is the key out of the never ending cycle of reincarnation. That’s it. That’s the answer. Like the Dalai Lama and Buddha, I have experienced a state of perpetual peace which one can only gain through meditation, astral projection and complete detachment from all earth matters. I don’t think you can be effective or be a catalyst for change on earth if you can’t see the real problems. Plus, it takes using both left and right side of the brain to understand those issues. This is why I wish we could talk in person. There is so much I need to discuss with you, which I believe will offer you wisdom. Do you understand why I am so harsh on America in Warriors of Heaven? That is how a fraction of my psyche sees America. It is also how most of mankind sees America today. It is a just and valid opinion. I can only help my readers see another perspective, if I help them deal with how they see America and the world today. I am not anti-American, even though my lower self thinks that in comparison to the more cultured Europeans and Asians, many of them are very loud and obnoxious. Believe me when I tell you, my intention is to offer unity, not separation, peace not war, balance not destruction. And outside of the Philippines, America is my second home.” August 18, 2009, here is another email I sent to the warrior with the sword of fire.

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“Paulie was here in my home today for our usual tarot reading. Sometimes I wonder why we were not given more time to talk in person. But that is heaven’s will. So much of the oracles’ predictions, has now come to pass. They say that I can choose to do it the easy way or the hard way. I can make a left turn or a right turn. It doesn’t matter they warn, my destiny remains the same. Over ten years ago the old oracles told me that ‘the stars in the sky will align to pave the way for the daughter of heaven’, meaning me... ‘to fulfill her great task on earth...’ In 2012, the Mayan calendar ends and the planets will align. They added that you had to walk into my life to change the course of my fate. My god, how my life has changed. But now I feel that our paths are beginning to split... My book Warriors of Heaven will be available nationwide by October. There are those who will love me and those who will hate me. That is the price I pay for being who I am. It is part of my destiny. All this has been foretold. And yes, there are those who will want to harm me. Whatever happens to me now is the will of heaven. What else can I say? I have detached myself from all earth matters. I have accepted my death, my physical death. If that is my fate, I will embrace it.” Here was the commander’s reply: “I hope nothing bad happens to you. Please keep me posted...” The following day, I replied to him: “I suppose people call me revolutionary because I cross lines no one would even think of crossing. It is my fate. I am compelled by celestial forces to accomplish certain things. This is the reason I was born.” He replied:

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“I realized you were a revolutionary days after I met you. Many people have the potential to become one. Yet only a few have the courage and strength to say what they feel. You have that gift. Thank you for letting me to be a part of your life.” Aug 17, 2009, this was an email I sent Alwin Sta. Rosa. “When I met Caesar, the old oracles told me of many things that will happen in the future. They said that an American with great military mind would assist me in order for me to fulfill my destiny. How strange the oracles’ words are, since almost everyone has branded me to be anti- American. I realize that Tales of the Black Widow sympathizes with America and her soldiers, presenting a very different point of view. It is the yang of the yin, different from how I’ve written Warriors of Heaven. Some people will say that I’ve sold out, and that I’m really on the side of the Americans. But you know better than most people that I can only write from the core of my inner self. More than that, it is not within my character to be persuaded to do anything that I don’t wish to do. I believe it is necessary to tell the stories of the American grunt and to bring the soldiers’ struggles and pain closer to mankind. These stories must be told. It will help heal mankind. The rest of the world and even Americans themselves are so cruel toward the soldiers who fought in Iraq. I hope my book will change that by offering understanding and another perspective. I do believe that America’s killing machine is not America’s to bear alone. That is a fact. I also understand that the needs of mankind are so complex and multifaceted. They cannot be resolved by simply choosing between left wing and right wing. Why can’t people understand

147 MARLENE AGUILAR that the earth is round and is constantly shifting? That is how complex the world is. We should learn to use our brains in the same fashion as how the planet exists. My mind and spirit are like the shape of mother earth, round and constantly shifting, adapting to the cosmic forces to maintain harmony.” August 15, 2009, I received this email from Gabriel, the devil on earth. “Just thought I’d send this to you as ‘background’. Do not print the top portion of the email. You can do what you want with the news article, but leave the top portion out of it. Dempsey was my boss on the last tour and made me sing “West Virginia” as he played the guitar during my going away party...... ” Gabriel and I used to argue and antagonize each other until we were blue in the face. For some very strange reason, we stopped. I believe we probably got exhausted and decided to take a break. We still antagonize each other a bit, though. I suppose there is no end to that. It is our chemistry. The top portion of the email contained the name of his allegiance, a faction of VIG’s, very important grunts, both enlisted and retired. I believe that is what he will not allow me to use. This was my reply to his email the very same day. “I don’t find it interesting. He talks about education and trust. The military is full of men who have never really had a genuine relationship with any human being. The only true relationship they have is their marriage to the box, the military box. Oh there is trust in the military on some level, the kind of trust a whole team would need to survive the battlefield. But that is only one kind of trust. Your psyche is divided into your inner self and outer self. So it is only the outer self at play in the battle. You my dear evil one,

148 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW have never trusted anyone totally. Your inner self doesn’t know how to do that. Thanks for sharing this, though.” He wrote back and said: “Bah bah bah...... What about the pictures of the killing machine?” Here is my reply. “Ok, I take it back. It is interesting. I just wanted to fret your balls. It gives me pleasure to annoy you. And it’s not West Virginia, silly. There is no such song. You mean you sang ‘Country Road’ by John Denver, which starts with ‘Almost heaven, West Virginia, blue ridge mountain....’ I grew up with constant live music in my home. I know plenty of folk songs. What pictures of the killing machine are you talking about now? Make sure the men are naked and bending over. Oh, by the way, I’m not done with this interview. I will dissect the mind of the four-star grunt, when I get a chance to read it better; that is, between the lines. What he preaches is different from his truth, different from what really lies within him. After all, he is a politician, a professional liar. Imagine the politics you have to put up with to get up there. Superman dodged a lot of bullets to get to the stars! He does seem to have a mind better than yours”. On August 16, 2009, Gabriel emailed back and sent me a yellow smiling face that looks like this. On the same day, I sent him this reply. “Wow! I get a smile from Darth Vader with his tongue sticking out. Dirty boy! ”

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Here is the article that was attached to Gabriel’s email. http://m.theglobeandmail.com/report-on-business/ managing/leadership-lessons-from-a-four-star-general/ article1248346/?service=mobile

Leadership lessons from a four-star general

U.S. Army Commanding General Martin Dempsey tells Karl Moore how the military is moving toward a model where trust is a currency more valuable than control.

KARL MOORE Tuesday, Aug. 11, 2009

KARL MOORE (KM): “This is Karl Moore, Talking Management for The Globe and Mail. Today I am speaking to a four-star general in the U.S. Army General Martin Dempsey, Commanding General of the U.S. Army Training and Doctrine Command in Fort Monroe, Va. The topic: The evolution of military leadership.” MARTIN DEMPSEY (MD): “Good afternoon, Karl. Toujours pret [Always ready.]” KM: “Do you see that there are differences between when you were a young leader, and what was required then, and what is required among young leaders today? Has it changed in the last 30 or so years since you started out the nature of what leadership is?” MD: “The essence of leadership, and the way you interact, the way the

150 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW leader interacts with the led, has remained fairly constant, it seems to me. But, the complexity in which the leader must operate the world was very simple, as you know, before 1990, relatively simple especially for a military leader. Contrast that with what our most junior leaders face in the fight today. I am in awe of what some of these young leaders do on the streets of Baghdad, or on the streets of Kabul, in terms of dealing with complex problems; and their ability to frame a problem and understand it is quite remarkable. And, in fact, one of the big questions we’ve got for ourselves, as an army, is how do we take these young leaders who have been dealing with complexity at the tactical level, the lower levels, and then educate them through the course of their career to be able to deal with those same kinds of complexities as senior leaders? So, the answer is that the environment has become so much more complex, and that’s the big difference I see, in the challenge we’ve got in developing our leaders to deal with that complexity and uncertainty, in a way that I didn’t have to probably until I became a colonel.” KM: “It’s interesting, because in the business school we might talk about leadership and management as being two different ideas. Do you see a need for management within the military, as well as for leadership?” MD: “You know that’s a distinction, that won’t surprise you, we’ve wrestled with for some time ourselves. From my personal way of thinking about it, a good leader has both the attributes you describe as leadership attributes, but, also, increasingly, as you gain seniority, it just is inherently a set of management skills you must have to be a leader.

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I mentioned that some of the way we develop our young brigadier- generals, for example. We send them to business school, which may or may not surprise you. Because they have certain leadership skills that have been developed over time, in them, but what they lack is some of the management skills to be good leaders. So, I don’t know whether I’ve further confused the issue. Clearly, the attributes that make a good leader over time, must include management skills.” KM: “So, you wouldn’t want a leader who can’t manage, particularly at a senior level?” MD: “That’s right.” KM: “Nor, would you want a manager who doesn’t have any leadership at all, because that would be dispiriting.” MD: “That’s correct.” KM: “It’s interesting, because you use the idea of team. When I think of military, and this may be outdated, I think of hierarchy, of saluting, of a set of officers above me. But you see it more as the reality, as a team effort. Does leadership move around the table in the course of a week’s work within a military unit?” MD: “Yes, it does actually. And, I think that is something we’re trying to understand about the… I mentioned this; we call it the operating environment. The change in the nature of the security challenges, in this century, for any number of reasons that we could talk about, whether it’s demographic shifts, or globalization, climate change,

152 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW the information technologies the environment is changing. And as the environment changes it occurs first to us that the threats we face will be much more complex, much more hybrid that is to say, multifaceted, including syndicates of irregular nation-states and criminals, in cases. With globalized logistics networks. I mean, think of opium emanating out of Afghanistan, or think of al-Qaeda, as a network. And, as result of that, the notion is that, to defeat a network and think of the threats we face and there are some nation-state threats to be sure, but we think the most likely threats we’ll encounter will be networked. And we have a phrase, that to defeat a network you have to be a network. I don’t know if you’ve read The Starfish and the Spider by Ori Brafman. He talks about networked decentralized organizations, and how hierarchical organizations have a very difficult time encountering them. And this is a business book; think Napster and the record industry. And, in our case, think al-Qaeda and the United States military. So, I think where we’re heading is to more trust than control. And we have been the quintessential hierarchical organization. And, in that capacity, leadership will move around the table. Now, we’ll always have our rank structure. We’ll always have our disciplines. But I think that you will see us evolve into an organization where trust is as much the coin of the realm as control is.” KM: “So we see the decline of hierarchy, but not the death of hierarchy. But you see hierarchy has declined significantly within the military.” MD: “I think the way you phrased it is exactly the way I would’ve phrased it, had you asked it in the form of a question. The hierarchical part of the Army is that which functions and aligns

153 MARLENE AGUILAR itself to our budget cycle. And that will never change. I mean, there’s a very deliberate process where we take concepts and turn them into requirements, and requirements and turn them into resources. And that has to happen in a hierarchical fashion, so that the government can continue to function. And we have to nest into” that process. So, at the Department of the Army level in particular, there will always be a hierarchical structure that essentially allows us to compete for resources based on concepts and requirements. But, below that, I think, absolutely we are seeing that there’s real potential in decentralizing.” KM: “We see kind of the outside view that the military is very rational, very unemotional just the facts. But what is the role of emotion in terms of leading people in the military? How important are emotions?” MD: “They are vitally important, actually, especially [for] an army that is at war, and is paying the price for promoting the national interest in terms of blood and treasure. And so emotions run high actually. I was reading one book, The Strategy Paradox, and there’s a phrase in there that says, ‘There is no thinking without emotion.’ And I find that to be very true. I mean, the arguments we have with each other and I use the term arguments not pejoratively but the arguments we have with each other internally about how to provide the best army possible, given the available resources and demands, are often emotional arguments. But emotion in a positive sense. Of course, there are times when the emotion is corrosive. But, fundamentally, I would suggest to you that an army at war ought to be emotional.”

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KM: “How do you maintain hope in tough times that you’ve faced, at times that you’d faced in your time in Iraq? It looked bleak at times; it was difficult, lots of losses. How do you maintain hope in a tough environment like that, in a time of great change?” MD: “Constantly reinforcing the task and purpose, soldiers will do anything. I mean it’s just mind-boggling, the degree to which they will seek to accomplish a mission if they understand it and especially now. Remember I said what’s different about the young men and women today, their desire to understand things, because they’ve had access, almost complete access, to information. You know these are the same kids that can look you dead in the eye and send a text message, without you even knowing it, unless you happen to glance down and see that they’re doing it. So they are connected in a way that certainly you and I were not. But as a result of that, they have this intense desire to understand, and I also believe, to contribute. So, there was a time in the Army, just 10 years ago, when we fought, that you know it’s something bad. Something bad would happen in the unit or something good, or mostly something bad, and the idea would be, let’s shut down the access to the network. Let’s shut down the Internet café so that the bad news can’t spread. Well, that’s absurd. I mean, the ability to connect their ability to connect far exceeds our ability to prevent them from connecting. And so what we’ve decided is that rather than fight that, we should actually leverage it. And so we do. We have 57-year-old, four-star generals blogging I never thought I would see the day. But we’re communicating with

155 MARLENE AGUILAR our soldiers in ways that I think maintain that sense of purpose; allow them to see what we’re trying to do, even in some cases take their advice. But I think it’s the power of their knowledge; what inspires them is their access to the knowledge. And so we’ve just got to continue to find ways to do that.” KM: “Thank you! This has been Karl Moore, Talking Management for The Globe and Mail, and today I’ve been speaking to Martin Dempsey, a four-star general in the United States Army.” Here ends the interview on Martin Dempsey by Karl Moore.

When Gabriel sent me the email with Martin Dempsey’s interview, it included comments of other people on the interview. I believe these reactions came from past and/or present members of the American military. I wanted to share two of these comments with you. These, in my opinion were the best of them. An earlier version of this chapter included these reactions but after Gabriel reviewed my narrative, he sent me this email. “You even stated it just before the article about the four-star general. I asked you not to print the email comments and then you did...... Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh. And you say what about me?” He told me not to print the top portion of his email. I thought he only meant the subject, which included the name of his faction. He didn’t specify that I couldn’t include the comments. But then, this is probably just me pushing the envelope. I emailed Gabriel right away and stated: “Calm down evil one. I’ll take them out.” In another email which I sent to him right after this last one, I wrote.

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“I just deleted those two comments so calm down, Darth Vader. God, I just wanted my readers to know that even after reading Clausewitz and Sun Tzu, these men’s insights are still so narrow. And I said that you’re psychologically retentive!!! ” So here below are my responses to Gabriel regarding Dempsey’s interview. This one was sent to him August 18, 2009. “I’ll be honest with you. Since I can meditate and leave my physical form, I can sense the spirit of men even if I haven’t met them in person. And as far as Robert Gates and Dempsey, I sense that Gates’ mind is far more compelling and interesting than Dempsey’s. This is why I was able to write about the man so well. I can only be true to myself. For example, I know I will be criticized heavily for Warriors of Heaven. In the end, I don’t care what my critics say. I will not defend myself from them. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. However, whatever they say will not change my belief. Whatever they say will not change my conviction. Do you understand? As long as I believe in what I write, I believe I am redeemed in the eyes of heaven. Anyway, regarding my opinion on Gates and Dempsey, maybe it’s because I’ve never really had much respect for men who graduated from West Point. Wait a second; let me rephrase what I just said. I am definitely not saying that all graduates of West Point are retarded. There are two kinds of West Pointers, the robots and the humans. The first classification, the androids remind me of a man I dated after my husband died. He was anal beyond repair. Whether he was standing up or sitting down, he gave me the image of a man about to take a dump. The latter category consists of highly exceptional men who become supreme beings. Unfortunately these men are

157 MARLENE AGUILAR extremely rare. Since I haven’t met Dempsey in person, I can’t be sure about him. Nevertheless, I prefer the enlisted men who started from scratch and who worked their way up the ranks. I find that most West Pointers are too catatonic. They are more psychologically retentive than even you are. My god, imagine that! This is only my very personal point of view, but I think many of these men bent over a long time ago, had a long hard stick jammed up their ass as a permanent companion for life. All the same, I do sense that Dempsey is trying to find solutions to certain obstacles that have weakened the killing machine. Plus, I sense that you admire him. I take that as a very good sign. Next time you sing Country Road with him playing the guitar, please invite me. I would definitely find great pleasure in seeing a four-star general pluck the strings. Plus, I would find even more pleasure to see a grunt like you sing. Ask him if I could interview him for my next book. Then we can argue until his face is red and his fangs come out. Ha Ha! This is just my initial reaction. I will think about the article some more.”

M

My email to Gabriel dated, August 21, 2009. “I’ve been thinking about the star-studded grunt. When you sent me the article on him, you said, ‘do with the article as you please’. This amazed me because you should realize by now that “I am one loose cannon on deck”. So I gather that your email came with some trust. You believed that I would be fair about how I would handle the four-star grunt’s interview.

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So here are more of my thoughts. The interview was quite likely orchestrated, but even with a lot of preparation and thought, this Dempsey doesn’t explain his central argument as to what he sees it is that links a new environment of networks with trust. I’m left asking what is at the core of this link-up. First, I can’t see any army diminishing the importance of hierarchy and control when in the line of fire. Imagine a killing machine reducing the significance of ‘hierarchy and control’, no way. Second, yes, the US army, most armies, especially those of the more developed world, must consist of increasingly better educated people - or they should do if the nation’s education system is doing its job within an increasingly wealthy society. So the US Government has to deal with questioning soldiers. I see this as a threat to more developed, more ‘comfortable’, societies that still need to go to war. And I see the US Generals long struggling to come to terms with this threat. But the idea of trust as the answer is not explained in this interview. This seems to me to be more a case of a very high-ranking officer ‘clutching at straws.’ ‘Trust’ - it may sound nice, but there’s no substance to the argument. Thirdly, hasn’t the more effective, time honored, answer been to: (1) Keep your grunts ignorant and angry; and (2) go hire missionaries from foreign, poorer countries, like the Gurkhas? The Brits have hired Gurkhas from Nepal for many centuries as part of their armed forces. But now in the globalized Internet era of eyes and minds – opened doubt. Even these easy purchases are no longer sufficient. Isn’t there a greater matter at issue? A more important word? That is a precursor to truth, which is respect! A related issue Dempsey discusses is the kid sitting in front of him sending a text message while talking to him. What Dempsey

159 MARLENE AGUILAR is saying is that there is now a new breed of soldiers with access to technology like never before. I say again, each person has an outer self and inner self. You must always see the two for what they are. Although, technology has changed the way people live, the nature of mankind’s inner self remains the same. He is also saying that because of technology, there is information available to the soldiers that they had no access to before the Internet. The web offers the average soldier varied sources of facts and data along with different points of view, other than the propaganda that had been spoon fed to him in the past, keeping grunts ignorant and obedient. Therefore, today with such a wide array of communication available, it is harder to brainwash the American soldier to follow blindly. This is a direct result of globalization. The world is fusing. I believe there is a way to use this education and to use this knowledge effectively. Uneducated or not, a person born with a superior will to survive and kill, will serve his purpose within the killing machine. But respect…there is your true problem. Without respect, there can be no trust. Then all else is futile. I believe that those who end up as members of the elite force of America, or any other country for that matter, are people who suffered severely as children. They endured great loss. They were traumatized as children, betrayed and battered psychologically, physically and or sexually. But these children were also born with great spirits and were born to kill. More than that, the intensity of their oppression and trauma only intensified their killer instincts. This is why men like you passed the Ranger school and can jump from a height of 17,000 feet. You were born to take great risks. The military gave these souls sanctuary and a stage to express their anger, hatred and hostility and made them believe that their

160 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW life inside the box would be dedicated to a great “cause”. I believe that the military world was designed for such psyches and such psyches need the destructive existence of the military box. These young boys with destructive psyches grew up to be men. And these men realized that the system had betrayed them. There is no cause within the military box other than to offer death and destruction. It is a place where every man is out for his own glory. After all, all institutions are evil and self serving. So these brave men later in life came face to face with the truth that not only were they betrayed and oppressed as children, but they were also betrayed and oppressed as soldiers. They were sold a lie. But on the way to the mature life they became some of the true soldiers who could command respect, who could lead. In the past, the American grunt saw America as the savior that gave light to the world. They took pride and honor in serving the military because they believed in America’s cause. Furthermore, with this faith, they looked up to their officers, and their generals as living gods on earth whom they were willing to follow blindly. Sadly, but justly, that is no longer the case. Today, the rest of the world is saying America is destroying mankind and the earth. Today America has proven to be the “bad guy”, the modern day Nazi, not just in war, but also in espionage, in the environment, in trade, in all matters global. So the American soldiers have been stripped of pride and honor. The trust that Dempsey fails to discuss in his interview is the fact that today enlisted men see their officers as a bunch of clowns who will compromise the lives of their men on the battlefield in the name of politics as they always, always have. So tell me, where is the trust there? Trust is lost. While America has to contend with a collapsing economy and a society at the brink of uprising, north against south,

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it has to deal with a militant force that has finally lost its pride and honor. So what do your “paper work” generals do? How do they sustain the life of the killing machine? I do not believe the high-ranking officers would know the answer to this very grave issue. Many of them have never been on the actual battlefield. This is really one of the main reasons why there is so much suspicion and hostility now within the military amongst enlisted men and officers. Enlisted men have been betrayed and trust is lost. Trust within the killing machine is a real problem not only for America to face, but for the UK, France, Australia and the US’ allied countries. Well, you can’t sell the “old ticket” to your boys. They are not going to buy it. You have to figure out how to design a great “new ticket” if you are to restore pride and honor within the killing machine. That will take time. But how do you rebuild respect and trust within the American killing machine? I don’t have the answer. Ask the true soldiers of America. Ask the battle-hardened soldiers who have put their lives on the firing line over and over again for their country. Ask the men who have suffered the loss of their comrades on the killing fields. Ask the men who experienced the agony and the torture of seeing their friends’ body parts scattered all over the bloody earth. These men have the answer, not your four-star grunt. Be that as it may, if the “paper work” generals do know the answer to instilling respect and trust in the killing machine, few would admit it as the answer is to replace them, at every single level of command, with the real leaders who can command respect, respect earned by the seasoned soldiers of America who gained it on the battlefields.

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Don’t let this get to your already oversized ego. There are those who hate your guts too. But I heard that you are admired and respected among the Special Forces’ community and that you made a real difference in Iraq and Afghanistan. Plus, I heard that you could have gotten further up the ranks but you were not willing to sacrifice your principles. There are very few men in uniform like you. Most of the members of the American military elite would prostitute their souls to protect their promotion. You know the answer to this respect and trust issue better than anyone. So speak out! Hey! Where are the photos of the killing machine? Don’t make me beg or I’ll bite your head off. Kiss to Darth Vader!”

M

Gabriel did send me a very impressive collection of photos depicting America’s killing machine, intimidating and perfectly deadly. You will find some of the photos at the end of this book. August 23, 2009, I sent Caesar the above portion of this chapter and asked for his comment. He is now in the US after his mission in Iraq. He replied on the following day saying: “The substance is phenomenal. Reading it makes you want to read more.” I replied to him the same day. In my email I said: “I only hope I am objective. I am nobody’s enemy, you know. I look like the bad guy because I’m a reality check for so many people. I say things they don’t want to hear.” He replied with this: “You only state fact. It is peoples’ perspective that interprets your dialogue as subjective or objective. An open-minded person takes

163 MARLENE AGUILAR it as fact and ascertains whether it requires further investigation or not.” In an email I sent Caesar earlier this year, I wrote: Dear warrior with the sword of fire, “How does it feel to contain your wishes, your desires and your demons all your life? When will you realize that all this time, you have been surviving and not living?” This was his answer. “I have realized this since I met you. I just don’t know how to start living instead of surviving.” After a small argument, on December 31, 2008, I received an email from one of the major characters in my novels, who I consider an imperious warrior of heaven. The oracles say I am his spiritual mentor on earth and that I must guide him so that he may fulfill his monumental task on earth. In addition, the augurs say that he will only fulfill his destiny once he gains freedom from the box. Henceforth, nothing will stop him. Thus, he will help restore the damaged soul of his people and his nation. This is what he wrote to me during the last day of the year 2008, the year of the rat. “Fear of leaving the box is extreme. After spending 27 years working for an institution, how does one find the strength to leave the comfort of the box? Gaining the confidence and strength to leave is difficult. There are so many uncertainties. Help me. You know, I have been sitting here for a while trying to figure out what is going on. I can only ascertain that it is something I said. The only thing we have talked about is me not seeing the growth you spoke of. Is that what is bothering you? Why? If that

164 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW is what it is, then that’s stupid. Why do you ask? Let me give you my point of view. First, I find it interesting that you want me to be honest with you and tell you what I feel but you don’t or can’t handle it. I expressed my self-doubt because I need your reassurance. Tell me, Miss Smarty-Pants, how do I realize an intangible? How do I recognize my growth as something you bring to me or is it just the normal course of events through my own experience? I have spent my entire life inside a box. I know that. When I step out, I only do so in baby steps. YOU guide me to make bigger ones. You can’t expect me to just jump out. It is difficult for anyone to move out of one’s comfort zones. You have to realize that I don’t yet have your gifts. I can only see the now. I don’t know what the future holds and I don’t know what the past accomplished. I just try to get by daily with my bond with you and the path that awaits me. Do I know what it is? NO! Yet, you fail to realize where I am. I am just holding on to you like a young child on a trip to an unknown place. Of course I have doubts. Although I am old in real life, I am extremely young compared to your knowledge and experience. You can hold my hand until I can stand next to you as an equal or you can pay attention to my growth and realize I need your guidance and assurance until I grow up. I may have pissed you off with what I am saying but you said be honest.” My reply to this warrior of heaven, Dec. 31, 2008: “Listen to your inner voice, it will guide you well. How opposite we are in this manner. I fear going inside the box - you fear leaving it. On the other hand, I know that in order for me to fulfill my mission on earth, somewhere down the road, I will have to meet

165 MARLENE AGUILAR my fate between good and evil, between life and death, between confinement and freedom, between heaven and earth.” I am no longer afraid of the box. Before I end this chapter, I would like to tell you how I celebrated my birthday during the month of June this year. At the time, Steve was away in the Pacific for a mission he had to fulfill for the Asian Development Bank. Many years ago, I dined frequently in Old Manila, a fabulous restaurant located on the ground floor of the elegant Manila Peninsula hotel in Makati City. Marcus loved the food there which is why he took me there to eat every time he was in town. However, since I left the Philippines to go to the states over twenty years ago, I had never returned to this place. Not once. I returned to the Philippines in 1991 and I have resided in Quezon City since then. I have been back to the lobby of the Manila Peninsula many times; dining and drinking, listening to the live string quartet perform in the evening. However, I have absolutely avoided going into the Old Manila, despite the fact that I love the food there. Yet on my birthday which fell on a Friday, I woke up that morning with the strangest yearning. Upon opening my eyes, I felt that there was nothing, nothing I wanted to do more that day than go to Old Manila. It was the most outlandish of feelings, as if something I have hidden for so very long and so very deep inside my psyche suddenly confronted me face to face. I felt as if I had forever yearned to go back to that same place, a place which to me is filled with the ghosts of my past. I knew that on this peculiar day, the day I was born to earth so many years ago, there were powerful unseen forces pushing me to go back to that old place and there was nothing I could do but abide by these forces. But who do I bring with me? Who could

166 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW possibly understand what all this meant to me? This would be a day of reconciliation, a day of pain, a day of terror, of love and hate, of truth, of forgiveness and of acceptance. This would be a day of letting go, another day that would bring me closer to absolute freedom. I needed another warrior of heaven to come with me. This was the only way I could go. I needed someone who could understand the world of Marcus. Because that is where I’m heading, I’m going back to confront the world of dear Marcus, a place of death and destruction. I thought of Henry, he was close by on this day, thanks be to the heavens. Early in the afternoon, I made a phone call to him. I told him about Old Manila and what it meant to me, and that it represented my old life. I also explained that he had to accompany me since Steve was away. I added that I had to go there on this particular day, on my birthday, so I could face the demons of my past. I asked if he would come with me. He said yes and we agreed to meet at the lobby of the hotel at 5.30pm. I was anxious all day, nervous, and wondering how the evening would go. I was afraid, afraid to confront my past, a past that was fiercely bonded to Marcus. I left my home at quarter to five in the afternoon. As soon as my car left the gate of Blue Ridge, I called Henry. “I believe there was something important that happened there in Old Manila on this singular day many years ago. But so much of my memory regarding Marcus causes me pain which is why I refuse to remember,” I told Henry over the phone on my way to the Manila Peninsula at around 5pm that day. “Tonight, I will tie loose ends. The time has come,” I added.

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I walked into the soft lit lobby of the hotel at 5.20pm and saw Henry sitting at a round table drinking his chilled light beer. There was soft classical music playing in the background which sounded like it was coming from heaven. He wore a very fine, white short sleeved barong. As soon as he saw me approaching, he got up from his table smiling. Every step I took at this point came with a heavy beating of my heart. Here I was so close to something I had feared for so long. In my mind I heard voices from the walls of Old Manila located only a few steps away from the lobby. They were beckoning me to come. When I came close to Henry, he kissed me gently on my left cheek to say hello. I sat down with him and ordered a glass of cabernet sauvignon. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath for a moment. This is one of those instances from the Twilight Zone, I thought as I felt the world spinning around me. I held on to the presence of the warrior sitting across me. This gave me some light, a light that would guide me into the pitch black tunnel I was about to engage. “I’m so scared,” I stated with tearful eyes. “Come on now,” Henry said gently. “Just ranger up and you’ll be fine.” “Thank you for doing this. I couldn’t have done it without you.” “Come on, chink. Don’t go soft on me. You’d do the same for me,” he replied. “I’m afraid if I walk in there, I will fall apart and lose it.” “You’ll do fine. Don’t worry I’ll catch you when you fall.” “When you do, promise you won’t feed me to the sharks,” I said smiling still in tears. “There you go. That’s better,” he uttered softly. My glass of wine was served. I held up my goblet and made a toast. “Cheers,” we said to each other.

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I sat there staring into the distance, contemplating while drinking my wine. There was a silence that separated Henry and I now, a silence for what seemed to me an ocean of eternity. My vision brushed the entirety of the large, open room with its very high ceiling. There was a large vase filled with the most breathtaking arrangement of freshly cut birds of paradise perfectly placed in the middle of the lobby. Somehow, the people sitting in various locations of the huge hall and the several hotel patrons marching up and down and in and out of the place, didn’t concern me. They were all blurry and meaningless. I looked up above, and on the ceiling, I saw the exquisite sunburst, the huge brass sculpture of my beloved national artist Napoleon “Billy” Abueva giving light to all of those down below who would take the moment to view it. Billy has supported my book projects promoting Philippine art and culture from the moment I began my publishing career 12 years ago. The first time we met he said, “Thank you for doing the Philippines a favor.” This was after I told him that I believed our country needed books highlighting our noble art and culture. Every year, on Valentines Day, he has sent me roses with a card wishing me well and urging me to continue my fight to defend Filipino art and culture, the soul of my nation. He had also so kindly and generously donated his original works to help fund my books on some occasions. And if not for the kindness of this beautiful man, I would have long ago quit my fight. There were many times I felt unable to withstand the politics that came along with my work and the grave cruelty of those who were threatened by my position. Even still, this blessed man, my national artist, stood behind me shining like a magnificent star, giving me courage to pursue my conviction. Thus, Billy Abueva will forever live in my heart here, now and beyond.

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I turned my focus away from the ceiling shifting my eyes lower. It was then I noticed the beautiful tapestry of Filipino artist Ephraim Samson hanging on the massive wall by the staircase presenting the exotic image of a thick and luscious tropical rain forest, towering over the lobby of this graceful hotel. I thought of Ephraim for an instant and imagined his landscape watercolor painting which will be featured in my next coffee table book, Philippine Watercolor. Suddenly, I thought of Old Manila and in my head I began to see old faces from time long gone. I tried to reach out closer into those faces trying to find Marcus in the crowd, but he seemed lost, gone. Tears fell from my face, overwhelmed by the memory of the man. “You know you’ll be fine,” Henry said once more. I continued to cry in silence, sipping my wine. “Damn, for someone who can slay the toughest man alive, you cry like a baby.” “Hey! Watch it ape!” I yelled at Henry, glaring at him now with eyes fired by another personality inside me who had bolted out into the open and was now taking over. “Don’t call me a baby or I’ll make you regret the day you ever laid eyes on me,” I declared wiping my tears. “See, I told you. You’ll be fine,” he said laughing out loud. “You goin’ to stop cryin’ now?” “Who was crying?” I asked with a straight face. “I wasn’t crying,” I stated. Later, Henry paid for our drinks. We both got up quietly from our cocktail table and proceeded to walk to Old Manila. We were greeted by the maître d’ who took us to a very quiet corner table for two which is exactly what I had asked for when I had asked my secretary Mary Jean to make the reservation earlier that day.

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The restaurant was softly lit and decorated in earth tones. No strong colors were used. The chairs were covered with a thick beige cotton cloth, hand-painted in the back with portraitures of Filipinos in ancient times wearing nostalgic traditional costumes. The modern oil paintings hanging on the walls with soft shades of reds and yellows, although very commercial in style and void of spirit, as one will find in almost all restaurants all over the world, seemed to distance their presence from the viewers, thank god. I dislike paintings with loud colors in dining rooms. All in all the dining area had an understated ambience, cool and calm, soothing and relaxing to the senses. In addition, since it was early, we had the whole place to ourselves. What magic. Heaven smiled upon me during this time of uncertainty. The food and beverage hosts and hostesses, who wore tailored black uniforms, all seemed very tall for Filipinos and were very gracious. We were handed the wine list and I chose a bottle of the same Molina cabernet sauvignon which I enjoyed drinking in the lobby. Later we were handed the menu. Henry ordered steak, medium rare and asked for roast potatoes and green asparagus to go with it. I selected the grilled prawns served with a selection of vegetables, baked potato and lemon butter sauce served on the side. Afterward, the brave American soldier and I began to engage the two goblets of red wine before us. The place seemed so quite and surreal now. I sat against the wall where I had a clear view of the place while Henry sat directly facing me. I drank my wine and I felt the warmth of the alcohol comforting my being in a way I don’t know how to describe. I find it amazing that red wine has been a constant companion for me during the moments of trials such as this. It was at this moment I decided to have a lifetime love affair with

171 MARLENE AGUILAR the goddess of vineyards producing fine red wine. Slowly, and as the world turned around me, I felt my kind and unseen guardians, imperious ghosts of past, present and future gently tug my spirit back into the distant past, another time in the Philippines when my former president Ferdinand Marcos was the most feared dictator in Asia. It was then I heard voices in the room. I heard voices in Old Manila of yesteryears, too many to count coming from dark faces with eyes gleaming wild in the room, filled with treachery and lust. I could see them now sitting at tables with Marcus; politicians, military men and businessmen, dining and drinking their alcohol, some with their bodyguards sitting in separate areas, whispering and conniving through the years, intoxicated by the great promise of false victory. Moreover, these souls whose essence were powered by fire and darkness and who played dangerous games with Marcus, shared one thing in common, greed for power. I feel absolutely nothing for these people, nothing whatsoever because I believe that they have nothing good to offer the earth. But what about the others, those who were genuine, those who were powered by light? Yes, I remember that there were the true soldiers of America, the great Warriors of Heaven whose courage I so admired beyond words and explanation. What ever happened to them? They fell. They perished over the years, one by one. My mind was flashing images to me at this time, images of Marcus. I saw us now during one incident. It was April 21, 1989. Here is what I remember of that tragic evening. Marcus bolted through the door one evening, trembling with sheer anger and disgust. “He’s dead,” he announced overwhelmed with grief when he walked in, his face purple with dread but he was unable to cry. “Who is dead?”

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“Nick Rowe,” he answered grieving. “He’s the last one…” he stated. As I write this, I can’t help but stop typing, giving myself a moment to cry. How difficult it was for Marcus to mourn Nick Rowe’s death. Nick was the hero. Nick was the icon, the magical being that was loved and admired by all soldiers of the Special Forces command. “What really happened to Nick Rowe?” asked Bob with the saddest look in his eyes. Bob was a former POW of 13 years in Vietnam whom I counseled for a brief period of time two years ago. He was a prisoner at the age of 18. By the time he was freed, he was already 31 years old. He repeated the same question to me several times with great pain coming from his soldier’s heart. He couldn’t come to terms with the hero’s death among other issues related to his tragic experience in Nam. To this day, I do not know why the death of Nick Rowe was most painful to Marcus. There were others who perished before Nick and others who died after him, as well. Yet, Nick Rowe’s assassination was the most painful to him. There was something very strange about Marcus that night, something I can’t put my finger on. I wonder now if Marcus could have prevented his friend’s death. Why was he so angry? I will never know. However, I believe with all my heart that Filipino rebels didn’t kill this most valiant of soldiers. More than that, I believe that the explanation to Nick Rowe’s death given to the public is a polished version of the evil truth. After I wrote the above narrative on Nick Rowe, I trembled in grief, sick to my stomach. I took a break and sent messages to my friend Alwin Sta. Rosa telling him I wanted to vomit as the memory of the past came back to my present. It comforts me to think that

173 MARLENE AGUILAR the soul of Nick Rowe rests in bliss and peace in heaven until the end of time. Here is a poem I found on Nick Rowe written by CW3 Roque Gonzalez from this site, http://www.psywarrior.com/rowe.html.

Fallen Soldier

A Soldier has fallen He will not be forgotten His spirit dwells in those Whose lives he touched He has lead us He has taught us He has shown us the way He gave us all of himself Because he was made that way He gave birth to an idea That will never go away He did this all To save us some day As all heroes do

In addition, the site declared the following: “Who was Colonel Nick Rowe? He was first and foremost a Special Forces Officer. He was a West Point graduate. He was a former POW, having suffered for five years at the hands of his North Vietnamese captors before escaping and making his way back to US forces on his own. He was a teacher in that he founded and taught the U.S. Army Special Forces Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape (SERE) Program which trains military of all branches

174 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW how to survive if they are separated from their forces, how to evade the enemy and make their way back to friendly forces, how to resist the enemy if captured, and how to plan an escape. He was a devout Christian. He was a real live hero of our times who became a living legend in the Special Forces community until his untimely assassination by guerilla insurgents in the Philippines. Best of all, I had the opportunity to call him my friend.” “During his lifetime Rowe received the Silver Star, the Legion of Merit, two Bronze Stars, two Purple Hearts, the Meritorious Service Medal, the National Defense Service Medal, the Vietnam Service Medal, the Army Service Ribbon, and the Republic of Vietnam Gallantry Cross Unit Citation. His nonmilitary awards included the American Patriot Award of Freedom’s Foundation of Valley Forge (1969), the Outstanding Young Man of America award, the George Washington Honor Medal of Freedom’s Foundation of Valley Forge (1974), and the Legion of Honor, International Supreme Council of the Order of DeMolay.” Going back to Old Manila, the past seemed to play back so clearly now as I sat in front of Henry in this restaurant. There is so much, so much to tell about the world of Marcus. Nevertheless, I can only recount one portion of his world at a time. There were times when the pressure of his world got to him and during these periods, he would freak out. I would like to say that I wasn’t afraid of the man although he could bring out the worst in me. In addition, I would like to remind you that I am the most impossible person when I choose to be. Nonetheless, Marcus never, ever lost his temper with me over the years, except for one occasion. I was sitting next to him in the back of his car one evening. Unfortunately, my sister Tess was with us sitting to my right. Marcus and I began a terrible argument. Over the years, I knew exactly

175 MARLENE AGUILAR what to say to the man so he would lose all his sanity instantly. But in this particular instance, I struck a chord that went beyond the limits of the seasoned warrior. As I told you earlier, I had had great practice fighting with my father when I was a little girl. I also drove my father mad. So Marcus and I verbally assaulted each other in the back of the car while traveling along the highway. At some point during the fight, I turned into a wild beast, my fangs came out, ready to impale. “What did I do against god that I ended up with a monster like you? I spit on you! You’ve been bought and sold a thousand times!” I yelled at him. That was it. He lost it after that. He took his 9mm Beretta and pointed it at me with the tip of the gun’s barrel pinned against my head. “Maybe I put a bullet through your head and shoot you,” he shouted. “Then I kill myself after. That way we’re stuck with each other in hell forever, mi amor.” Remember, I sat to Marcus’ right. So as he pushed the gun to my head, I took my right hand and pounded on the right side of his cheek with all my might, as hard as I could and as fast as I could yelling and screaming like a wild animal. “You fucking asshole! You stupid, ugly, miserable fuck!” I yelled while beating him. “You think you could shut me up by putting a gun to my head you worthless piece of shit! Aaaaahhhhhhhhh!” I continued. Then Marcus took his gun away and started laughing as loud as he could. “You’re not Filipina,” he declared. “Thank god, you’re on my side,” he added still laughing. “If you

176 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW were on the other side, you’d give us such a headache, I’d actually have to shoot you.” My poor sister Tess has four grown children today and she still can’t forget that evening when she sat in the car watching Marcus and I smoke each other. During another occasion, when things just got to be too much for Marcus, he came to see me, loathing his superiors. He took me by the neck and pushed me hard on the wall, screaming and screaming. “Don’t you trust anyone,” he yelled. “If you do, you will be dead. Dead! Do you hear me? Deeeeeaaaaaad!!!” As I sat in front of Henry, I could hear Marcus screaming in my head, his voice echoing in the distant past, reminding me of the ugly world he had entrapped himself in. What torture. What agony to live as a prisoner. Yet, here I am at peace with myself. My mentor is gone. My former confidante is dead, dead in that world. He perished serving the evil institution. I realized now that this was the reason I didn’t want to come back to this place. It is a place of reckoning. And I wasn’t prepared to face it until today, my birthday. In my mind I saw my life with my mentor over and over, flashing before me. Marcus the soldier, Marcus the brave, Marcus the tool, Marcus the pawn, Marcus the machine, lost, lost in the dark and endless abyss of global play for greed and dominance. “I made it,” I whispered to Henry who stared at me now like a father empathizing with his daughter’s loss. “He didn’t,” I added in tears. “Now I understand why over the years, his memory has brought me so much pain. I realize now that it’s because I felt bad that I escaped his world. And he was left behind.” “But there’s nothing more I can do for him. It’s finished. I have to let him go,” I told Henry.

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“I will not cry for Marcus anymore. He has chosen his path. I’ve chosen mine. May heaven show mercy upon his soul in his next life. Tonight, the monsters of my past will haunt me no more. I am free.” “Then, happy birthday M,” Henry said softly, smiling as he raised his glass of wine offering a toast. “Thank you soldier.”

178 Chapter 4

Creature of the Mind

August 25, 2009, I begin this chapter. I had gone to the gym in Eastwood City at 8am this morning, after I had my coffee from Starbucks, which my driver Frans had brought home after taking my six-year-old daughter Maya to school. Maya left the house earlier with her tutor Marge who also picks her up after school. When I got to Fitness First, I saw my dance trainer, Jackie de la Peña, waiting for me at the reception area. She was smiling the biggest smile, just like an innocent little girl. Steve constantly comments that she has the face of Geena Davis when the stunning actress was actively making movies in Hollywood. I saw a photograph of Geena on the Internet lately and she’s gained so much weight. I find it very sad when people let themselves go because you can’t possibly feel good when you’re out of shape. I’m certainly not going to let my body go. I will fight tooth and nail to keep my body toned. Jackie is 5’ in height, keeps her hair short and has the most angelic face. The girl is permanently in a cheerful state. This is one of the reasons I enjoy her company. In addition, I love our one-on- one dancing lessons beyond words. These sessions I do at least four

179 MARLENE AGUILAR times a week. Several female members of the gym who have seen us dance together have enrolled in her class thinking that what we do is easy. I tell Jackie to start slow with her new students because most of them end up frustrated and then give up after the first few sessions. When I enrolled with her, I was determined to do it. I didn’t care how long it would take. I was determined to learn, whatever it took. So I did. It never even entered my mind to quit. I took our lessons so seriously that in the beginning, even in my sleep, I programmed my mind to condition my muscles to cooperate so I could do the moves. I especially had difficulty doing belly dancing. My goodness, you can’t do belly dancing unless you’re fit. However, I swear dancing is so much fun and addictive - I want to do it for the rest of my life. You should try it. So far, Jackie has taught me modern jazz, Latin bounce, hip hop and belly dancing. After training with her religiously for the past seven months, I now feel that I’ve reached the level I wanted to achieve. So I asked her to teach me a new discipline, ballroom dancing. I never wanted to learn this dance in the beginning because I felt most of the people I saw taking the lessons looked so un-cool. Plus, they looked so awkward. According to Jackie, these people refuse to learn the true art of ballroom dancing which is why they look funny when they dance. They don’t want to learn the proper form. I suppose that’s okay if their reason for dancing is only to lose the calories. However, I want to learn the art of dancing on top of the cardio work out. What amazes me is that those who don’t want to put in the extra effort and time are women who I call professional housewives. Their husbands are the sole breadwinner of the family allowing them more time to spend in the gym. Before I began my lesson on ballroom dancing, Jackie and I had this conversation.

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“Most people who come to the gym want a quick fix,” she stated. ““I notice a lot of overweight people coming here looking for an easy answer, thinking that working out for a few months will result in miraculous improvement. But, staying fit is a way of life. You have to make it a part of your life. Looking good and feeling good takes not only a healthy diet and sleeping habits but a good work out routine. Nothing good comes for free,” I said. “They see you belly dancing with me and they think it’s easy,” she announced smiling. “Hey! It took me six months to get to where I am,” I uttered. “But how do you learn the discipline if you don’t have the patience to learn the proper form?” “Most people want the easy way,” Jackie said. “I don’t want the easy way. I want the right way.” “Then I will teach you ballroom dancing for the Olympics,” Jackie announced laughing. So I started my ballroom dance training with Jackie two weeks ago, doing it the hard way. I thought belly dancing was difficult, requiring a lot of strength but ballroom dancing is a new kind of challenge for me. I like it. I like it that it’s not easy. That makes it exciting for me. Otherwise, if it was easy I would get bored. More than that, I believe dancing is a great way to keep fit since you’re moving every single part of your body. I’m very pleased with what Jackie has done for my physical form so far and I feel blessed to have her in my life. Outside of dancing, I continue to do weights training three times a week with my other personal trainer Christian Campos, who I believe is one of the best trainers in Fitness First along with Carlos de los Santos. As I entered the gym this particular morning, I saw Jackie standing by the concierge. She had absolutely no make-up on

181 MARLENE AGUILAR and her hair was still wet from the shower looking so pure. I can never understand for the life of me how women can go to the gym wearing full make-up and jewelry. But that is not so bad considering really strange looking clowns and creatures abound in the gym. Once I saw a young woman with a butt so huge it had a life of its own. I asked my trainer Christian why this person looked like she had just stepped out of a cartoon show. He told me she had reconstructive surgery done to make her fanny large. Imagine that. People actually pay so much money to look like a circus performer. But the gym is just a small replica of the world. There are other characters in Fitness First who are similar to characters you will see in Science Fiction movies. Imagine a middle-aged woman with over half a dozen plastic surgery jobs done on her nose, lips, cheeks, chin and eyes. Then imagine a wild and crazy fusion of the most expensive liquid foundation, blush, bronzer, powder, eye shadow and eye liner mixed with screaming sweat dripping down her hi-tech face! Add to that the fact that she’s wearing her three-carat diamond earrings so you can’t miss her from a mile away. You must have noticed by now, that I am not politically correct. As far as I’m concerned, that is one of the downfalls of the modern world. The world today is too concerned with being politically correct. I choose to be honest rather than to lie. Going back to sweet Jackie, she wore a pair of white Nike sneakers lined with a dash of pink near the sole, a navy blue pair of Nike pants and white golf t-shirt with Fitness First embroidered on the upper left side. This is her trainer’s uniform. She held a strange and round looking object that looked like a large over- stuffed hamburger. This is where she keeps her CD collection which she plays during her lessons.

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As I walked toward Jackie, she hollered, “Good morning Ma’am!” “Good morning Jackie!” She walked toward me, kissed my right cheek lightly and grabbed my hand tight like little girls do. As we walked toward the small room where we do our dance lessons, she continued talking to me. “Ma’am, remember the other day when I told you, a man saw us talking outside of the gym and he came to ask if the person I was talking to was Marlene Aguilar?…” That was the day when I had gone to see her to re-arrange my dance schedule whilst on my way to the store. We must have stood talking in front of the gym for two minutes. After I had returned to my car, a strange man, whom Jackie described as Middle Eastern, approached her. “Was that Marlene Aguilar you were talking to?” the stranger asked. “Yes, sir,” she replied. When she told me about the incident, I told her to ask the man his name or if he lives close by. I asked her to get any information she could get from him. Apparently, the man came back looking for my dance trainer. This is what Jackie told me. “He came back asking me your work out schedule with me,” she expressed. “And?” “I told him that you don’t keep a regular schedule.” I used to keep a tight schedule at the gym early in the morning, but Gabriel had warned me last year to make my schedule random. “Did you ask his name?”

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“Yes Ma’am, I did, but he refused to give it to me.” Strange, why wouldn’t he give her his name if he came as a friend and not as an enemy? “He also spoke to the guard, Ma’am. And he’s been back three times asking about you.” Jackie and I danced for an hour like we were on a heavy dose of cocaine after that. When I got home after my dance training, I began to smile as I walked into the main lounge because I could hear Paulie’s voice talking to someone on the phone. If you didn’t see Paulie and only heard his voice, you would think it was a girl speaking. I found him sitting in my office. He ended his phone conversation as soon as he saw me. He wore a pink t-shirt and dark jeans. We greeted each other and proceeded to the garden where we do our usual Tarot readings every Tuesday. The table was already prepared and lined with a red exotic fabric from Myanmar. There was a large copper pitcher from India, filled with ice water and two matching goblets that were placed on one side of the table. Paulie asked me for two numbers, from one to eight. Then he asked me to shuffle the deck of cards three times, before he started his reading. Some of the forecasts regarding the future of my country, the Philippines and the US are too sensitive to write about. This is why I didn’t feel I could share the predictions of the oracles with you before; that is, until now. Here are the words of Paulie. “There will be chaos in the United States. Both you and Gabriel are traveling on the right path. Caesar remains in his cocoon. Even so, he will gain his freedom and when he does, he will be your equal.”

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“Gabriel wasn’t supposed to be an essential part of your life. You were only meant to meet at the cross-roads. Yet, he made a conscious effort to pursue you. When he did, it changed his fate. You have protected the devil on earth and saved him from himself. You made him human. He will fulfill his destiny. He will bring hope to his people.” “Henry was supposed to die soon. He is another loose cannon on deck like you. Like Gabriel, he wasn’t meant to be part of your life but he was compelled to become your ally, altering his future. Thus, he has been given a longer lease of life. Heaven grants him a new purpose for being.” “There is a man, a very powerful man who is consciously seeking you out. He has everything the earth could offer, but within him, there is a piece missing. You are that piece. More than that, you will bring out his greatest potential. Whereas Gabriel sees you as someone he needs to protect, this new man coming into your life will see you as a vital part of him.” “There is a new and subtle power. This energy is the force of the divine and it works within you. No man will have the power to destroy it because they will learn to venerate you. You will win over the hearts of your enemies. They will become your allies.” “Your book Warriors of Heaven, which is your soul, will cause a chain reaction that will reach the hearts and minds of men all over the world. It is like a magical stone thrown into the vast ocean. The ripples it creates will go on and on for many millenniums to come. A new form of enlightenment will embrace mankind. The search for truth will begin as mankind awakens to a new dawn. A collective meeting of the minds all over the world will be born through your book bringing a shock wave that will counter wars.”

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“No man will command you. No man, no matter how imperious he may believe himself to be could ever own you. A man cannot own radiance. Men can only admire you and love you from a distance.” “You have the great spirit of a warrior, the mind of a sage and the compassionate heart of a mother. You will rise and all those close to you will rise with you. Moreover, all your enemies will fall for no man can deny the will of heaven.” “You will become an icon as radiant as the sun. You will break the darkness of disillusionment and fears consuming mankind. A new order will commence.” “In the end, you will have absolute freedom.” Paulie’s reading ends here. “I hope you wrote all that I said,” he warned. “You can’t expect me to remember all of that after my trance. I will share with you something that was written by Lao Tzu, the father of Taoism. According to him, there are some people who were born with greatness. Then there are some people who achieve greatness. Still, there are those who were thrust into greatness.” Then he asked me, “Which one are you?” “I am all three,” I answered at once laughing. “That is the fourth category according to Lao Tzu. He said that such a soul is only born every few millennia,” the oracle stated. Paulie and I began to eat chocolate chip cookies with nuts from a coffee shop called Le Coeur de France. They are my daughter Maya’s favorite. I tell her that the mountain fairies make them especially for her. Out of the blue, Paulie suddenly declared, “You should wear amethyst!” “What did you just say?” I asked surprised. “You should wear amethyst.”

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“That’s very strange you should say that to me. For the past two weeks, my unseen guardians have been telling me the same. I have a large amethyst pendant which I seldom wear.” “I don’t know why I said it,” Paulie stated. “A voice inside my ear told me to tell you. Amethyst is the sorceress’ stone. Only you know how the moon, the stars and the planets affect this gem. You have access to the power of this stone. It will protect you from harm. Wear it.” Going back to Daniel whom the seers call the white knight, I saw him recently. I rarely see Daniel. He is like a ghost. Traveling along Roxas Boulevard around noon one day in mid- August, 2009, heading toward Intramuros, the old part of Manila with its ancient churches and structures, Daniel noticed the yellow banners depicting the image of former president of the Philippines, Corazon Aquino, who was loved by the Filipino people and who had recently passed away. The photo of her late husband Benigno Aquino stood beside her banners. Ninoy Aquino was shot at the Manila international airport on August 26, 1983, on his way home from the US. “I was here during the coup attempt against her in the late 80’s. We were part of a Green Beret team standing by to rescue her from the palace. You know that her family were Japanese sympathizers right?” Daniel stated, referring to Cory Aquino’s family. “My grandfather was a guerilla in Isabela, which is located in the northern Philippines during the horrible Japanese occupation. Several of my mother’s family members were brutally raped and butchered by the Japanese; men, women and children. My father was a prisoner of war. And my uncle was a survivor of the tragic Death March. Yes, I heard that they were supporters of the Japanese Kempetai. How did you know that?” I asked him.

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“I studied Philippine history as part of my Tagalog class in military school. How can Filipinos see a woman as a heroine when during the 2nd World War, and not too long ago, her Chinese parents were traitors to the Filipino people. As well, I heard that this is how the family acquired land. The Japanese paid them with land for turning in Filipino guerrilla leaders to the Kempetai, who were equivalent to the Nazi SS. So Filipinos were ruthlessly slaughtered by the Japanese because of this betrayal. Their wealth comes from the blood of your people,” he explained. “Are you implying that the child should assume the guilt of the crimes of her parents? That is so unfair,” I uttered. “Isn’t there karma of the blood in Buddhist belief?” he asked. “Didn’t you visit their home in Massachusetts when they were showing the blood drenched clothing Ninoy Aquino wore when he was shot?” “Yes,” I had visited their home in Boston. “I heard that her husband was terminally ill which is why he had decided to come home. He knew he was facing his death coming back to the Philippines, but he decided it was better to die a hero than die in a hospital bed.” “I heard that he was terminally ill, but I can’t be certain whether that was true or not,” I answered. “Are you aware that when her husband flew from the US to Manila, during that tragic day when he was shot, there was a CIA agent on the plane with him?” “Yes, I am aware of that, a man who was born in Southern Europe.” “According to that agent, during the Marcos’ regime which lasted for 21 years (1965 to 1986), there were no commercial drugs imported in bulk into the Philippines,” he announced. “This is

188 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW because Marcos told the drug cartel they could use the Philippine ports to transship the drugs, but they could not bring them into the country. Your infamous dictator banned international drug lords from selling commercial drugs to your people. He may have been guilty of many other crimes, but Marcos never, ever in his entire reign allowed the drug cartel to destroy your people.” “You should be aware of this. Ask your buddy Howard Marks, the famous global drug baron, who imported tons and tons of marijuana and hashish into 15 countries. Wasn’t he offered a great chunk of land in the Philippines by some government officials to farm cannabis after Marcos was kicked out? He talks about that in his book, doesn’t he? Why do you think Marks’ book Mr. Nice is banned in the US?” “Because he talks about the involvement of governments with the drug cartel,” I answered. “And so in the past, you only had home grown drugs in the country, marijuana and the kind of petty crap you get from the pharmacist,” Daniel continued. “You had a little bit of cocaine traffic brought in by individuals. But later on, “shabu” which is equivalent to “crack,” started pouring in to the country like crazy. Today, the Philippines consume 150 kilos of “shabu” a week. Trace this back and you will see that this began after the Marcos’ regime. Someone opened the gates for the drug cartel allowing them entry into your country to trade. The question is how many millions of dollars did it cost to open the doors? And which of your former leaders after Marcos took the bribe allowing the drug lords entry? All you have to do is go back into time and you will see when “shabu” started to come in.” “I will tell you who I believe your next president will be. He is someone who has not even declared his candidacy yet, someone

189 MARLENE AGUILAR who was once very close to your heart, one of your saviors. This man is someone you greatly admire and respect. According to you he is a wide reader and uses both left and right side of his brain extremely well.” “I know who you are talking about,” I said. “The oracles have predicted his rise since the time two years ago when I met Caesar.” “What else did your time gazers say about this man?” “I can’t tell you,” I answered. “It is not good to discuss those things.” “Did you know that your current president is very ill?” “Yes, I heard she has cancer and it’s spreading.” “I am leaving the Philippines before you launch your book, Warriors of Heaven. Be careful, there are those who will want to hurt you. Don’t go to your brother’s club every Friday when he performs. People expect you to be there. Keep a varied schedule.” “I hope you have a contingency plan. Why don’t you just run from all of this?” Daniel asked. “I can’t. It is too late. I’ve crossed the line. I can’t turn back.” “Yes, you can Marlene. Walk away. It would break my heart to see you in the hands of evil men. You will lose yourself in the process. You know that.” “I am no longer afraid. Whatever happens to me now is the will of heaven. If I fail to fulfill my task on earth then I will probably be punished severely. I will be reborn blonde with a pair of cow boobs and ashes for brains,” I stated smiling. “I will leave a number. Make sure you leave this number to someone you trust. Have that person call me if anything bad happens to you.” “Why? What would you do? Come back and pull me out?” “I would try.”

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“No man can protect me from my fate. I will not use the number.” And that is how my conversation with Daniel ended. You probably wonder why I’m not afraid. I am not afraid because I believe that my physical death is only a superficial death. It is only one kind of death. My soul is eternal. In that sense, I will live forever. I would like to share with you an essay I wrote eight months ago. I call this composition, The Mystery of Infinity. I hope this helps you understand another part of me.

The Mystery of Infinity

It is amazing what is happening to me now. At night before I go to sleep, I close my eyes and I enter a totally different dimension. In that state, I am aware of two realities, the “here and now” as you know it, and the abyss which I have crossed over. In this other alien atmosphere, my unseen mentors educate me further with regard to the complexity of the cosmic universe. Can you imagine? There are unseen forces teaching me quantum physics with my eyes closed. But it is only when my power of visual perception is denied me that I see different worlds. Do you understand? In the dark, I see other footage of existence through my third eye. Please give me a moment and take this journey with me. The center of the earth is the core of its life. There you will find the central point of yin and yang. The planet is clearly divided into two worlds; one dark, one light. But they are dancing and fusing in perfect rhythm, interchanging at times. One part of the whole is feeding off the other in a circular but flawless harmony going back and forth. As the earth spins, the part that is light captures the essential energy of darkness coming from infinite space. Moreover,

191 MARLENE AGUILAR the black side of the planet also captures the essence of the energy of light. And so as the earth rotates and spins, it is inhaling the energy of yin and yang. As one side absorbs yin, it exudes yang. And vice versa. Last night, “they” (my unseen mentors) showed me that the earth also consists of different layers representing a complicated and very sophisticated mathematical combination of endless dimensions. They also taught me how the yin and yang forces connect to these realities through the movement of “chi;” that is, energy. Imagine the earth as a large ball. Then imagine the center of the earth as another ball. Think of the five directions in the diagram of Tao. That is the basic foundation of this cartogram. Between the outermost layer of the planet and its core there are several discs, too many to count. They are connected from top to bottom, north to south, right to left, west to east, and they correlate in all possible angles, from point to point eternally locked. These tiny particles or balls are in constant motion, spinning and whirling around, catching the energy of life and death, of yin and yang in perfect rhythm and tune. In addition, each round shape represents a dimension of probable reality encompassing its own life. Now stretch your imagination and envision that each singular ball represents one soul in this planet. Therefore in this master plan, there are billions of circles, representing each soul on earth, connecting to an incalculable number of viable realities correlating in suspended time and space of past, present and future. That is the existence of the soul. It is pure energy and it is multi-dimensional. The realms of possibilities bordering the existence of the soul are as vast as the numbers of stars in the galaxy. The earth alone sustains an elaborate multitude of possible dimensions or realities, an endless fusion of life merging into this

192 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW one sphere. The sun, the moon, the planets and the stars, each of them underpins the same mathematical equation supporting an infinite synthesis of probable realities, of a legion of “little worlds of existence” unknown to you and me. And each of these “little worlds” is as real and as genuine as the world you and I are presently living in, in the “here and now”. At some point in my life, I knew I wanted to write a book. I have also always wanted to write and tell you how all this started; that is, how my cosmic education began. It started when I was a little girl, and from those beginnings I started to learn about “The Mystery of Infinity” and this I have wanted to share with you.

Marlene Aguilar November 6, 2008

The date is Wednesday, September 9, 2009. My son Jason arrived back in the Philippines a couple of weeks ago. I hadn’t seen him for a few years. He finished his B.S. in Psychology, graduating with honors from the Hawaii Pacific University. We had lunch together today sitting at the dining table in our kitchen. It was raining outside so we couldn’t dine where we usually do at the table set in the garden. “Which part of the course did you enjoy best?” I asked him. “The best part was studying abnormal psychology and the Mayers Briggs personality test. It divides the psyche into four different categories which makes up your personality. It simplifies people’s personalities, making it easier to understand the individual based on the categories they’re put in to. One of the categories is where they classify a person as being either introverted or extroverted. If you’re an introvert, in the class

193 MARLENE AGUILAR we call you an ‘I’ personality and if you’re an extrovert, we label you as an ‘E’ personality. Introverts are people who feel alone even when surrounded by people and excel when they’re by themselves. Extroverts are the opposite. They feed off the energy of the people that surround them. And they excel when in large crowds.” “What about me? I am both.” “But you lean more toward being an introvert. You’d rather be alone than be surrounded by people. Except that when you are, you can excel once surrounded by a crowd.” Jason joined the US Army Special Operations Forces after university. When he arrived home, we had discussed when we would sit down together so he could share with me his experience as a soldier. We had agreed to do it yesterday, Tuesday, September 8, 2009. I had gone to the gym at 8.30am to do cardio exercise and work out with my weights trainer Christian. When I got home at around 10am, I found my brother Abhe, my sister Tess and their two daughters, Mikaela and Nika in my home. We all had lunch together in our garden along with Paulie, who came later to read my tarot. After the tarot reading with Paulie, which easily takes an hour and a half, he took off for another appointment. I asked Mary Jean to call my son so we could talk. Jason came into my office wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans. He sat to my left while I faced my computer typing as he narrated his story. “What do you want to know?” he asked. “Iraq. I want to know about your missions.” “I had too many missions…” “How many missions did you do in Iraq?” “More than 50…”

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More than fifty, I repeated those words silently to myself. And then the same words echoed somewhere in my mind whispering to the beating of my heart over and over. That means he was sent to do a mission every other day while he was there for four months. How awful I thought that he risked his life so many times. I wanted to cry but I contained my emotions. I thought of my losing his father when he was barely three years old. I was twenty three. How time had passed into thin air, I thought again. I closed my eyes, while sitting in front of my computer, searching for Jason’s energy, searching for his spirit in Iraq. The immortals watching over me guided my soul to the place, traveling in the distant past, defying space and time. Then I joined my son in the Middle East, back when he was there. The energy in the room had changed. Now I was aware of being in two places at the same time. “Then tell me when you want to begin the story that brought you to Iraq.” “It’s hard to find a place to start,” he stated. “Do you want to begin when you were in Ranger School?” “No, I didn’t go to Ranger School.” “What?” I freaked. “I thought you did. I wrote a whole story about Ranger School. Now I have to change it.” “Don’t change it,” he uttered smiling. “It’s good that you made that mistake. People don’t ever know the difference. Ranger School doesn’t qualify you to join the Ranger Battalion. I went to the indoctrination.” “Ranger School earns you a little patch on your shoulder. It doesn’t matter what unit you’re in.” “You could come from the Philippine Army and go to Ranger School. But it doesn’t mean you have served under the Special Operations Command.”

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“So are you saying that what you did is actually more complicated?” I asked. “No, not more complicated, but they are different. Ranger School and the Ranger Indoctrination Program, otherwise called as RIP are two different schools.” “What’s the difference?” “Like I said, graduating Ranger School doesn’t qualify you to join the Ranger Battalion. RIP is almost like a selection process for all those below the pay grade of E5, so they can become part of the ranger battalion.” “So you have to be selected?” “You can choose to go to RIP, and that is the selection process. When you pass RIP then you will serve under ranger battalion unless you decide otherwise.” “Did you join Ranger Battalion?” “Of course.” “How many were you in RIP when you were admitted?” “My RIP class had 120 students in the beginning of the class. And on graduation day, there were only 34 who passed it.” “What was it like?” “RIP is a highly intense infantry school with greater emphasis on how to be a ranger or at least for the first few weeks in the ranger battalion.” “How many were Asians in your group? “None.” “How many were Latino Americano?” “Three or four maybe.” “Were there any African Americans?” “Yes, three or four.” “What was the age group?”

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“17 to 30, I’m not sure.” “How many Latinos passed?” “Fuck. I don’t think any of them passed.” “How many African Americans passed the course?” “None.” “So you were the only minority who passed RIP?” “Yeah, I think so.” “How many were college graduates in RIP?” “One other guy was… “Did he pass?” “Yeah, I think…” “You’re E4…How about those who didn’t graduate from college… what were the ranks of the rest?” “In our class there were four E5’s who came from other units and wanted to join Ranger Battalion. One was a former Ranger who tried to go into the Special Forces but didn’t make it. And if you’re out of Ranger Battalion for over six months, you have to go through RIP again.” “Did he pass?” “Yeah.” “So why did he fail SF course?” “Maybe he changed his mind. I don’t know. He’s an E5. I wasn’t going to ask him why he fucked up!” “So the others begin with a rank of E1 right, E meaning enlisted?” “Yes.” “Unless you graduated from college and you have a degree, then you go in with higher rank right?” “Yeah, but they still treat you like shit, like they treat all the other rookies. The rank just gives you better pay, that’s all. It really means fuck all ‘till you get to E5, as far as I’m concerned.”

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“What do you think separated the men who passed RIP and those who failed? What do you think made the difference between making it and failing it?” “Everybody failed for different reasons. One guy couldn’t swim so he failed the swim test. Some people failed the written test at the end. If they studied harder they probably would have made it. Some people just quit and decided it was too hard. And they tried to make excuses for themselves to make themselves feel better that they quit. Some people were there because their friends were there. When their friends quit, they quit. Some people were just not physically up to the test. They couldn’t run fast enough, hard enough, long enough. Some guys didn’t hydrate properly so they just passed out. Then there were those who suffered from heat.” “Anyway, after RIP everybody splits up and they go to different Ranger Battalions.” “Where did you go?” “I went to the 1st Ranger Battalion. There’s 1st, 2nd and the 3rd battalion. They are the only ones with an infantry unit. So I went to first and after a week of processing at another base…” “What base?” “I can’t remember I think it was Fort Stuart but I could be wrong. I was there for a week which was the most laid back time I ever spent in the US army. I’d say that I probably was not under the direct supervision of any special operations command or unit or any infantry unit for that matter. Unfortunately that week of relaxation made it harder to adjust once I arrived at Ranger Battalion.” “And then?” “I arrived in Ranger Bat…” “How did you feel? “Anxious, scared, excited, eager and happy all at the same time.”

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“Where was it?” “Savannah, Georgia.” “Were you alone?” “There were five or six of us.” “Did you fly?” “No.” “How did you get there?” “Fort Stuart is only about an hour away by car from where I was.” “So you drove?” “Yes. Anyway, when I got there, I walked into the headquarters with what I thought was all of my paperwork. And almost instantly I felt like I was back in RIP.” “Why?” “Suddenly, I was surrounded with a sea of tan berets far from the regular army black berets.” “What’s the difference?” “Tan berets are for rangers, green berets are for Special Forces, black berets are for regular douche bags and maroon berets are for airborne.” “What do you mean airborne?” “Technically, everyone under special operations has to be qualified for airborne but if you don’t go to Special Operations Command and you just go to a plain old airborne unit, you wear a maroon beret.” “So all they do is jump?” “No, it depends, that is a whole other story. Airborne units are qualified to jump. For example during D-day back in WW 2, only the airborne would have been asked to jump because any black beret unit wouldn’t be qualified. Let’s go back to Ranger Battalion,” Jason stated.

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“So there I stood at the S1 shop. It’s not really a shop. It’s an office. And I don’t know why they call it a shop. I was with a few other fresh graduates. I got there a little after 0900. Slowly but surely a high-ranking ranger officer walked into the office, singling out the guys I was with and smoking them one after the other. After a short smoke session, they were taken to their respective companies.” “You were not smoked?” I asked. “We’ll get into that…At about 1400, I was the only one left at S1. Randomly a couple higher ranking rangers came in and smoked me for a short period. But they were interrupted by something more important. So I was ordered to recover. “ “Finally, a little after 1700, when everybody was getting ready to leave the office and go home, a squad leader from Charlie Company, walked in the door wearing nothing but slippers and what we call Ranger panties and a loose faded grungy tank top.” “He proceeds to take me to Charlie Company and show me around. He appeared to be a nice guy at the time. I’d like to add that once everybody at S1 realized I was being assigned to Charlie Company, they immediately felt bad for me.” “So, luckily for me, I got there on a Friday and had the rest of the weekend off to do what I pleased. I was told by somebody who had spent more time than me at RB but was still the same rank as me…” “What was your rank?” “E4.” “How come you were already an E4?” “Because I had a degree from college, anyway, I was told by this guy to just lay low. He told me not to talk to anybody and just stay out of sight until Monday at 0600. But in the military 0600 really means 0545.”

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“I’m going to skip a lot now. So after being assigned to my squad position, given my weapon, my platoon within Charlie Company, so the training, adapting, learning, and all that other bullshit took place,” he said, shaking his head, smiling. “What weapon were you given?” “They gave me the M4A1 assault rifle which is a pretty standard issue for an infantry riffle man. For which I was suppose to memorize that it was a shoulder-fired magazine, close bolt, gas operated, semi to full automatic weapon. This was along with all other types of information about every weapon and every movement we would use. Everything from the weight, width, length, muzzle velocity, maximum effective range to anything else you can imagine.” “So I was trained repeatedly with my squad, for anything from clearing a room the size of a bathroom, to a room the size of a ballroom, to a hallway, to a staircase and so on. In addition, we were trained how to breach entry ways and how to move out in the open during the day but with heavy emphasis on moving in the night. For every mistake I made, I was smoked repeatedly, and relentlessly.” “What do they do when they smoke you?” I asked. At this point, Jason took a very long deep breath. “The most popular exercise is the elevated push up which when told to do, you better find something fast to elevate your feet on and start pushing. And when I say fast, I mean fast. You better look for that fucking piece of furniture or that wall to elevate your feet on like it’s the cure-all to every goddamn disease in the world! Plus, you better start pushing like that’s all you ever wanted to do in your entire fucking life!” “How many times were you smoked?” “How many times have you had sex? I don’t know.”

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“You don’t count that kind of shit.” He stated, laughing. I laughed with him. There I was laughing with my son. However, within, I dreaded hearing the rest of his story which I was absolutely certain would bring me pain. I thought of the nights I lay in bed unable to sleep thinking of him while he served America’s killing machine in Iraq. How I feared every minute of every day that I would never see him again. I remember talking to the forces of the galaxies, whispering to the goddess of the wind. She who brings the energy of chi from here to eternity and I said to her, “I accept my son’s death if that is your will. But if you send him back to me alive, then I shall treasure it as a great gift from heaven all my life.” When Jason came home, I wanted so much for him to tell me about his life as a soldier. I wanted him to tell me everything. However, in my heart, I dreaded it as well. How can a mother face the reality of her own son’s existence in the killing fields? Images of the past flashed so clearly in my mind. I could see him when he was eight-years-old and my younger son Colby at age three, the three of us wrestling all over the carpeted floor in the living room yelling and laughing. To this day the sound of children’s laughter brings so much joy to my heart, reminding me of happy times with my young sons. “Mom, we’re playing Star Wars, I’m Luke Skywalker,” Jason yelled. “Colby, you’re the brainiac, the gay robot! And Mom, you’re Princess Lea! Colby, go tickle Mom from the side, that’s her weak spot. Go! Go!” And both of them would attack me, with Jason trying to impale me, holding my arms down and Colby’s little fingers tickled me to make me laugh. I pretended to go down, defeated, while screaming and laughing.

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“Hey! Wait!” I yelled back. “I’m no Princess Lea! I’m Darth Vader!!! Raaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!” We played that Star Wars game over and over when they were children with me insisting I was Darth Vader each time with Jason protesting I should be Princess Lea. This is probably why both boys do not fancy cute looking girls that resemble weak-minded Barbie dolls. Going back to the present. “It’s a good way to grow up, isn’t it?” I suddenly asked him. He ignored my question. Jason is not the type that would ignore a direct question. He continued speaking. “Anyway, after a few months of all that bullshit and of course some good training, excluding many instances of mistreatment… which I really don’t want to get into.” “Can you read that again….can you read to me what I just said?” He beckoned me, so I did, after which he went on with his story. “We were finally ready to deploy so you would think…” he laughed. “Then?” “So after packing, repacking, unpacking, and being packed, unpacking and repacking again, we finally put all our shit on the goddamn airplane, excluding of course some of the more important things; i.e., my weapon, my night vision goggles and a couple little things to make the plane ride a little faster. These things were already loaded ahead of time.” “I forgot to mention, some time in November 2007, I broke my fifth metatarsal on my left foot. Come deployment time, of course, I lied and said it was fine. “ “That’s stupid,” I said.

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“What, I’m not going to go after all that shit? Of course, I lied. I took off my secondary cast, put on my field boots and I took off limping my ass into that plane.” “By the time I arrived in Baghdad, it was a little after 2am Iraq time, January 7, 2008, and lucky for me it was my birthday. What a fucking gift! A foot that didn’t work right surrounded by a country full of Muslim extremists that wanted nothing more but to kill me. And of course the people that were suppose to protect me were the same people who treated me like shit on a daily basis. To top it all, I volunteered for this!” “Wow!” I remarked. “So there I was limping off the plane and I expected it to be hotter than Satan’s vagina. And yet, when I stepped out, I was freezing my fucking ass off in the middle of the desert.” “They didn’t warn you about the weather?” “I’m sure it’s the last thing anybody gave a shit about. It’s not like we’re pilots.” “Where did you land?” “I don’t know if you should mention that. I’ll tell you but you shouldn’t write it in your book.” “Okay.” I said. “How many were in the plane?” “I want to say two or three platoons. A platoon is made up of roughly 36 guys, plus medics and snipers, mortar men, anti tank guys, what have you…Normally, there are two representatives of each of these guys for each attachment in your platoon, if you’re lucky.” “What’s an attachment?” “Medics are attachments. Snipers, mortar men, anti-tank guys are attachments. They are an indirect support system to your platoon.”

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“What was the place like?” “It was dark and cold. I couldn’t see shit. I was on an airfield.” “Then?” “We packed into a small bus, as many as it could fit. So we took the bus ride traveling on shitty roads heading toward the base where I was to spend the next four months, give or take a few days. So, as we were driving along, I remember I saw a mitch helmet (modular integrated combat helmet) on the ground, on the road as we were driving. This was my first impression. Well, obviously it meant the man wasn’t wearing his helmet anymore. In my mind, I instantly dispelled the thought of a dead soldier no longer wearing his mitch. I focused my thoughts on wondering where I was going to sleep that night instead. After a confusing drive on the muddy roads, the bus stopped. We piled out of the vehicle. I looked in front of me. I saw one huge block of cement about four feet thick and two stories high. It stood alone. Behind that were two shitty wooden doors to the left and on the right were similar big blocks of cement. Later I found out this surrounded the entire building.” “So the buildings were fortified by a four foot thick cement wall? “ “Yes.” “So when I walked through the hallway, I noticed there were names on the doors of the people who were members of my platoon. I walked down to the end of the hall and found my place. Needless to say, it wasn’t the nicest room, but it wasn’t as bad as it could be. There was no running water or bathrooms in this building. But if you actually wanted to sit in a real toilet or take a shower, or basically be in a building where there was running water, you’d have to walk five minutes outside of the compound. That’s also where the cafeteria was.

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Anyway, so there I was trying to get accustomed to the new living situation. Everybody was eagerly waiting for the rest of our bags to arrive as they were still being unloaded. Finally, the bags arrived and we all rushed outside to remove our luggage from the pallets. Then they started distributing them to their rightful owners. “ “Who took care of the cargo?” “Anybody below the rank of E4,” he replied. “Once we got all the bags to everybody, then we began to get combat ready.” “Immediately?” “Yeah.” “But you arrived at 2 am to get in the bus,” I said. “This must be now what… 4 am?” Jason ignored my lamenting completely and continued to narrate his story. “So we unpacked body armor, grenades were distributed, ammunition was distributed, all this was happening in what we dubbed as the ready room.” “What’s the ready room?” “The ready room is where everybody keeps anything you need to fulfill a mission,” he stated. We were assigned a cubby hole, one per soldier.” “Like one sort of locker per solider?” “Yeah, but some guys like to take up more than one, usually the guys who do that are higher rank, E5 and above.” “I can’t believe you’re doing all this immediately after the flight, the horrible ride through the mud at a time when you should get some much needed rest and sleep.” I protested. “We just took over somebody’s work on a rotation basis. Somebody had been there for the past four months and we had to take their duty at once.” “Did you kill anyone?”

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“No. We did. But I didn’t. Does that make sense?” “You mean your platoon did…” “Yeah, the platoon did. To be honest with you, I’d say about 90 percent of the people we captured were better off dead anyway. I’d probably be doing them a favor if I had just shot them in the head.” “Why?” “Because of how they treat people like me. They treated me like shit so imagine how they would deal with somebody they see as the enemy. How do you think they’re treated?” “To the most ignorant of soldiers, they see these people as the source of what is wrong with the world, some of whom are not even proven to be actual terrorists. But until proven otherwise, you can bet they are treated like animals,” he stated. “What do you mean treated like animals?” “Dragged into the mud, thrown into the helicopters like baggage… treated like they were not even there, trampled upon, sat on…” “Where are they taken?” “Interrogation.” “Did you ever see how it’s done?” “Yes.” “How?” “I accidentally walked into one. You see, when we capture somebody we put them in flex cuffs which are oversized zip ties instead of using real cuffs. Then we also put hoods that blindfold them so they can’t see where they’re going. They can’t see where they are. “A few weeks into deployment we ran out of masks, so logically they must be in interrogation because everybody wears them when we send them there. So I decided to be a good soldier and thought I would re-supply our platoon with much-needed masks. So I assumed

207 MARLENE AGUILAR these masks were in the interrogation room. I was told that there would probably be a big box just sitting there.” ‘So I took a ten-minute walk down into interrogation. As soon as I walked in the door, in the background I saw a couple of guys on their knees being yelled all kinds of obscenities, which obviously they didn’t understand. Before I could really figure out what was going on, I was approached by what I would assume to be a navy seal because of his navy style special operations uniform, and was asked if I needed anything. I grinned and said, “I need that box of masks on the floor right there.” “I bent over to get the box. As I was doing so the other man who was doing the interrogation stopped to turn to look me in the eye as I was getting the masks. He looked at me and gave me a smile as if to say, just watch what I’m going to do next. Of course I couldn’t stay long because my platoon would start to wonder where I was and would think that I was shirking my duties as a soldier. So I hurried back with my box of masks, hoping the reward of getting new supply was to get through a day without being treated like shit.” “I can’t believe you did this to yourself,” I told Jason. “So what else do you want to know?” “Tell me about your first mission.” “We ….” he paused for a long time and started to laugh softly. “Let’s see…” he took another pause. “I can’t tell you,” Jason declared. “Why not?” “It’s classified. Ask one of your buddies about their first mission. I’m sure they can tell you something that’s been de-classified.” “So why did you quit Ranger Battalion?” “I expected to be treated like shit when I joined, all throughout basic training. I expected to be treated like shit all throughout

208 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW infantry school, airborne school, RIP and the first couple of weeks at Ranger Battalion. But I did not expect to be treated like I was part of some private contracted maid service. And then when I wasn’t doing that shit, I was soldiering which is fine with me because that’s what I signed up for. I didn’t sign up to be a fucking maid for an E5 or anyone else that outranked me. Tell me to kill people in Iraq and I have no problem doing that because that’s my job. Tell me to clean up all the air condition filters, vacuum a floor that is un-vacuumable, and pick up cigarette butts when I don’t even fucking smoke, then they can go fuck themselves. Now most people would say, why don’t you just be a good ranger and do what you’re told. And so I would, at least for the time being until I could figure out a way to get out of this fucking institution. Very few people I worked with were actually happy being with the first Ranger Battalion. Most of us were unhappy about the way the Ranger Battalion was being run. Some people blamed it on our new sergeant major. Some people just thought it would have gone in that direction no matter what. Either way, there were a lot of unhappy rangers at the time. Needless to say, morale was at an all time low. But everybody was taught to ranger the fuck up and deal with it. And so the people that were committed to the job did just that. Some did it temporarily. Some just did it. Others who had years left in the army found ways to get into other special operations units and got out of Ranger Battalion.” “Whose fault do you think it was?” “I don’t know. I didn’t spend enough time there. Who knows?” “Why do you think those men stay?”

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“Some people had so much riding on their career by way of children and family. The army actually takes pretty good care of the wives and the kids as far as housing, health and education. So these guys get addicted to that and it becomes their security blanket. Plus, for those men who came out of high school into the military, they’re too afraid to live a life outside of that comfort zone.” “That’s so true,” I said. “And after several years, they don’t know anything else. There’s no other life outside of the military. Fortunately for me, I didn’t have a family to support. I knew what life lay outside of the military. And I never intended to make a career out of the military to begin with. In addition, I have no qualms with any Ranger thinking I’m some kind of shit bag because I decided to go from unhappy to extremely fucking satisfied by way of getting out of Bat.” “Why do you think there were so many casualties in Iraq?” “That’s perspective. I don’t think we had ….” “First Ranger Battalion hadn’t lost a soldier in combat since 2002. We hold that record on not losing any of our men. We took some injuries but didn’t lose anyone. While we were in Iraq, the seals lost a few guys, the Brits lost a couple of guys too.” “The Brits were Special Ops?” “Yeah, we don’t work with anybody but special ops,” he explained. “The seals could have avoided their casualties from the stories I heard, but that’s why Rangers make fun of seals,” he added, smiling. “Can you clarify to me what the Special Operations Command of the US military consists of?” “Army Special Forces, Navy SEALs, Air Force Special Tactics, Army Rangers and the Delta Force.” “And the Marines?”

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“I thought their special ops were removed.” “It’s been put back.” “Well, I don’t know what they call themselves,” Jason said. “A former ranger told me that he thought there were too many casualties among the regular army in Iraq that could have been avoided.” “I blame the American people for some of that,” Jason said. “Why?” “The American people are at fault for the bullshit that the soldiers go through. They don’t realize it but in some respects it’s their fault.” “Really, why?” “For example, the soldiers are getting shot at overseas. The soldiers are getting injured. The soldiers die. How do you solve that problem? People hear that soldiers are getting shot at in Iraq so people in society with no military experience whatsoever complain to the government and say our soldiers need more protection. So of course, some politician who wants to make good to the people somehow gets it approved and now the soldiers have to wear more body armor. Guess what? More body armor means less mobility. It means now I can’t move that fast or even move that much. Luckily, for the guys in special operations, we don’t have to wear all the extra body armor. The regular army grunts do.” “So you’re saying that politics is causing casualties?” “Partly, yeah.” “So why do you think the Ranger Battalion is so anal?” I asked Jason. “The Ranger Battalion was created initially to be a unit consisting of men who would be the shining example of what the US soldier should be. And so they would set the standard by going above and

211 MARLENE AGUILAR beyond the existing standard. That is the reason why being a Ranger is so goddamn miserable.” “Is that why some Rangers join the Special Forces?” “Oh yeah, SF guys, like you said, are more relaxed. But so are the guys in Delta. By the way Delta guys are the only ones the Rangers would admit are better than them.” “But they’re not as anal as the Rangers…” “Yeah, off course, because they’re not supposed to be an example for the rest of the US military. Technically, they don’t even exist.” “The weird thing is, in Ranger Battalion, you’re supposed to believe that you’re the best. And yet you know there is this other group of soldiers in the Delta Force that’s better than you.” “Do you think the Delta Force is better than all the others in special ops because they are given freedom no one else has?” I asked. “Possibly…” “Didn’t you want to join the Delta Force at one point?” “Yeah, until I realized I had to be in Bat for four to five years before I could join.” “I still don’t understand why a friend of mine, a high-ranking officer in special ops admired your skills. What made you so different?” Jason started to smile a very huge smile. “Here, write this down,” he said. “Out of all the guys I was with when I was in Iraq, I was the only one who behaved in this manner. Before we went out on missions and they were all done at night, we were given an hour or two to rest. All the other guys would be tense, jittery and nervous and they would just hang around waiting and waiting anxious to be deployed.”

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“I would sleep,” he continued still smiling. “I thought the other guys’ reaction was funny since I believed I was better off if I had some sleep.” Tuesday, September 15, 2009, I went to my brother’s club in Malate to watch my nephew Jonan’s gig that evening. He is an established rapper in the city of Manila. I wore a very simple white tank top, a pair of camouflaged shorts, a leather black belt covered with round silver studs and my funky elevator open shoes. I wore a big 14k white gold loop earrings to match. “This is why the kids love us,” Becca said to me when she saw me. “We don’t dress like we have grown-up children.” I heard that Jason was opening the show that night. This is the first time I’m seeing him perform live although he had many other gigs in the past before he attended college in Hawaii. Becca and I sat together surrounded by a younger crowd wearing hip- hop clothing. Many of them had fiercely attractive tattoos all over their bodies. Jason, who keeps his head cleanly shaved, wore a red and white oversized shirt with short sleeves and a baseball cap with colors to match. He wore designer jeans and a pair of light brown boots. “Your son looks so honest. He doesn’t have a personality for showbiz,” declared Becca smiling a wide smile. She comes from a family of famous entertainers and movie stars. “No, Jason is definitely not polished for show business.” “His cousin Jonan is very good at public relations, you know?” “I know, and that’s a great gift to possess. But I raised my sons so different from the way other mothers raise their children. I told them at a young age that they should always be honest with me no matter what. In return for this openness I promised them that I will always try my best to hear their side. I insisted that this is the only

213 MARLENE AGUILAR way to have a genuine relationship and that this is the only way for all of us to grow.” “Jason is like my youngest daughter Annicka to you. She’s so spiritually connected to me, it’s unbelievable,” Becca said. “Like Annicka, Jason’s inner self is stronger than his outer self which makes it difficult for others to relate to both of them. They are connected to another realm of reality most people are blind to,” I said. Suddenly, we saw Jason get up on stage surrounded by three other musicians including my longhaired nephew Jeriko holding his electric guitar, smiling at the audience, giving his most cheerful smile. They were ready to play. “To my Mom,” Jason announced. “She’s right there,” smiling the most generous smile, pointing where Becca and I were sitting. “This song is not about you. But it’s for you,” he declared and started to sing a rock n’ roll song I like entitled Have Love by the Black Keys. Becca and I got up from our table and danced right in front of the stage while Jason and the band performed. Three photographers surrounded us taking photographs of Jason, the other musicians and the audience. How wonderful it was for me to see my son perform live on stage. What a wonderful evening it was which I shared with my dear soul sister Becca. When the song ended, Jason gave the biggest smile while the crowd applauded him generously. “That’s my Mom right there!” he yelled, pointing at me. On my way home, I sent Jason a text message. He was still at the club. “Thank you for dedicating that song to me. It made me very happy.”

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“Cool. That was the desired effect,” he replied. “I feel so blessed to have your love.” “You feel blessed? Shit, if it wasn’t for you, I’d be lost,” Jason wrote back. Here ends my conversations with Jason. So I asked another Ranger about his missions as Jason suggested. We will call this special soldier, Roberto. He’s married to a Filipina and served the Special Ops for several years. Here is his story about his first operation while he was in Iraq. “We took a helicopter…” he paused, thinking, thinking. “We went down the river from the target, loaded up into a boat, and took the boat up the river to some shitty little town, I guess. It looked like we were in the fuckin’ province, you know what I mean? This was all at night, about 2300. And we jumped off the boat, reassembled in our order of movement, as we like to call it. We walked through the town toward the target as quiet as we could, at a pretty decent speed. My team leader stood at the front door and I quickly realized that I was to be the 2nd person in the door, which meant I would be the first person in the room I chose to encounter in the house.” “What does that mean? It’s not clear to me.” “He’s the first soldier in the room he would walk into, meaning if there’s someone armed there, he risks getting shot at and vice versa. But I am also the first person in the room I walk into, meaning I would face the same risk.” “So he breaches the door. It’s a corner-fed room, meaning the door is in the corner. He turned right towards the door of his choice. I turned left to confront the next room, my room. I’m now assessing the breach, checking the entrance, trying to make minimal sound. I realized the door was locked. I checked behind me to make sure

215 MARLENE AGUILAR that there was at least one person coming with me into the room as that is standard procedure. I go to open the door. I tried kicking it in repeatedly. I couldn’t get the door open. Unfortunately, my team’s breaching tools were with my team leader and he was in another part of the house. In the interest of saving time and personal safety, I proceeded to the next doorway. I came to a corner, where there was one closed door in front me. Then to my left was an open doorway with just a bed sheet hanging as cover. So I decided that instead of trying to get into a closed door, I ripped down the sheet and proceed to clear that room instead. I was accompanied by my team’s saw gunner.” “What does that mean?” “Squad automatic weapon, that’s what saw stands for. I found myself on the left side of the room because that was the path of resistance. And the saw gunner cleared the right side of the room. It was an empty room with nothing but a carpet, which I assumed to be the prayer room. Then I noticed an open doorway to my left and quickly told my saw gunner, “open doorway left”. He then stacked up behind me. Then he proceeded to clear that section. After that, I noticed the closed doorway to my left and an open doorway to my front. I preceded forward to the open the doorway and it turned out to be nothing but a bathroom. Once I realized that, I turned my attention to the closed doorway. I then checked to see if the door was opened. To my surprise, the door was not locked. My saw gunner gave me the signal that he was ready to enter the room.” “Were you scared?” I asked. “Yeah.” “Was it dark?” “Yeah, but our weapons come with a light.”

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“I then forcefully attempted to open the door. To my surprise, the door just opened. I then realized that the door was obstructed by a huge fuckin’ closet. I somehow was able to push the closet with the door enough to barely squeeze through the doorway. I saw a man in the bed so I then turned on the tactical light attached on my rifle and pointed it at him. I noticed I didn’t have to wake him up because he was already moving around in his bed. Simultaneously, I was aware that my saw gunner was having difficulty getting through the door. This is because his gun is bigger, an automatic belt-fed weapon. The man in the bed jumped up and was now standing on the bed smiling at me. I tried to tell him to get down, instead he pulled a cell phone out,” Roberto stated. I felt my heart beating faster at this point, thinking of Jason. How many times did he do missions like this and risked his life over and over, I asked myself silently? “At that point, I then realized he could have remote detonated an explosive device,” Roberto continued. “Then I realized my saw gunner made it through the door. I then ran towards the man and ripped the mobile phone out of his hand, and muscle thumped him in the chest. In other words, I took my rifle and shoved it down his chest to knock him down. Once he got the message, I cuffed him and masked him. I then realized the door that I had tried to enter the first time I walked into the house also led to the same room I was in. So then I opened that door and made it obvious that this room had been cleared. And that nobody needed to worry about it. Then I was ordered to go to another room. The whole house was already cleared at this point. As soon as I entered this other room, I saw nothing but blankets and pillows all over the floor, and

217 MARLENE AGUILAR women and children. I was then ordered to make sure that none of the women and children got out of hand. So I stood there looking at these people whose home we had just destroyed. In my head I wondered how much these women must hate the fact that we’ve ruined their house.” “I stood there on their blankets with my mud covered boots, dripping sweat like crazy. I thought the children must think that I came out of a sci-fi movie with all the weird gadgets attached to my body armor and my head.” “How many women were in the room?” “There were four or five women, aged 30’s, 40’s and 70’s…the old woman must be the grandmother.” “How many children were there?” “There were a shit load of kids, a dozen, babies from a few months to eight-years-old.” “Why was there only one man and so many women?” “I don’t know.” “Oh, maybe it’s because they’re allowed to have more than one wife in the Muslim religion,” I said. “Maybe, but I’m not sure about that. You could walk into a Filipino home and may find the same situation, you know what I mean? Especially during Christmas time when relatives in the US come pouring in for the holidays.” “Describe the faces of the women and the children to me.” “The women’s heads were covered with that burka or something. All I could see were their hands and their faces. Everything else was covered.” “And what was their psychological state?” “They looked angry, scared, tired…” “Traumatized?”

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“I don’t know if I would use the word traumatized, since I’m sure they’ve seen their fair share of extreme situations given the fact that their husband is involved in something that requires heavy artillery. You know what I mean? These people have been hardened by circumstance. I was then told to take all the women and children out of that room into another room because that room was to be searched top to bottom. In other words, by the time we’re done, their room was completely trashed. And the other room I took them to was also totally fucked. It had already been searched top to bottom and now looked as if had been struck by an earthquake. The women were very angry and were yelling things to me I couldn’t understand. So I got on the radio and requested an interpreter. Finally, the interpreter came and tried to calm them down. One of the women was holding a baby and the baby kept crying. The infant was totally freaking out. This woman was quite frantic. I can only assume that because of her feelings of being completely disturbed, she wasn’t thinking straight at all. So she held the baby in front of her with both of her arms stretched out, while she shook the shit out of that baby violently…” Roberto stood up from his chair and pretended to hold a baby right before him and started shaking his arms and his hands frantically. “Here, this is what she did to the baby,” he stated, as he acted out before me how the frantic Iraqi woman treated her infant during that moment of tragedy. “What?” I freaked. “Oh no, the woman lost it. Of course, she lost it.” “I told the interpreter to tell her to stop shaking the baby violently,” he continued. “During this time, other members of my

219 MARLENE AGUILAR platoon discovered a cache of weapons in the house filled with all types of explosives, AK7, AK47 ammunition, and other things of that nature.” We have to collect some sort of evidence to be able to put these guys in jail. So we took all the weapons out, neatly put them on the floor and put the only male member of the household next to the weapons and took a picture of him and the weapons. After that, we proceeded to take the weapons, ammunition and explosives with us and left the house. We took the man with us. We split up into two teams. We took the weapons, the ammunition and all that shit. We neatly piled them all with different variations of C4 explosives. Then our team took the man and waited to be picked up by a helicopter. The other team blew up the cache and linked up with the rest of us. We got into the helicopter and flew back to base.” “Did the other team go to a different location to blow up the cache?” “Yeah.” “How far from the house?” “One kilometer.” “Was it a special place?” “No, just a place they knew wouldn’t hurt anybody.” “What happened to the Iraqi man?” “We handed the guy over to interrogation. God only knows what happened to him after that.” “Tell me about the mission when someone was killed.” “We left the base a little after 2200 one evening to go to this town, somewhere outside of Baghdad by helicopter. We came with the whole platoon plus the attachments. A few guys probably stayed

220 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW back since we didn’t need them. There were at least 40 guys with us that night. “So you do the missions at night, in the dark?” “Yeah.” “My squad wasn’t on initial entry that night. We shift out every week. Everybody changes position every week because everybody wants to be the first person in the door. The reason being, the first person gets the first kills. Each of us wanted our chance because the rest of the guys will only respect you once you have your first kill. Anyway, by the time the secondary gets in, everybody is pretty much dead. So, out of fairness, we shift out every week. Anyway, we weren’t first. I think it was the second squad who were there first in line. They were in charge of breaching the door. They decided to use explosives. So they planted some variation of C4 on the iron door to blow the locking mechanism on the entry. They blew up the door. Once they were in they found out to their surprise that there had been a 14-year old girl sleeping in the living room. Her body had been hit by pieces that had blown off the door. She was taken immediately by medevac to the base for treatment. But by the time she got there she was already pronounced dead.” “Unfortunately, we hit the wrong house, the wrong target that night.” “What does the Special Operations Command do when they make that kind of mistake?” “The interpreter says sorry and gives them some money.” “That’s it?” I asked. “That’s it.”

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“There must be no lawsuits since they’re in the middle of war,” I stated sadly. “Who are they going to complain to, The Geneva Convention?” “How did your team feel about this? “We were pissed off because we hit the wrong house. It was a real bad night for all of us. But we weren’t told she had died until a few days later.” “One night, I was joking around about how the only person we killed so far was by accident. And I was saying what kind of special operations force we were…And one of the guys in my team asked, “Who died?” I said that girl died. They didn’t even know. Changing the subject, so the Rangers have this conflict with the seals, ay? Google, Tackur Gahr Afghanistan. The seals fucked up and the rangers had to go save their ass. Because of this a ranger died.” Here is what I found in Wikipedia, which I showed Roberto. “Operation Anaconda is the code name for an operation in early March 2002 in which the United States military and CIA Paramilitary Officers working with allied Afghan military forces, attempted to destroy al-Qaeda and Taliban forces in the Shahi- Kot Valley and Arma Mountains southeast of Zormat. This operation was the first large-scale battle in the United States war in Afghanistan since the Battle of Tora Bora in December 2001. This was the first operation in the Afghanistan theater to involve a large number of U.S. conventional (i.e. non-Special Operations Forces) forces participating in direct combat activities. Between 2 and 16 March 2002 1,700 airlifted U.S. troops and 1,000 pro-government Afghan militia battled between 300 to 1,000 al-Qaeda and Taliban fighters to obtain control of the valley. The Taliban and al-Qaida forces entrenched themselves in caves

222 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW and ridges in the mountainous terrain and fired on U.S. forces attempting to secure the area with mortars and heavy machine guns. Afghan Taliban commander Maulavi Saifur Rehman Mansoor later led Taliban reinforcements to join the battle. U.S. forces had estimated the strength of the rebels in the Shahi-Kot Valley at 150 to 200, but later information suggested the actual strength was of 500 to 1,000 fighters. The U.S. forces estimated that they had killed at least 500 fighters over the duration of the battle.” “That’s bullshit,” he said. “The Special Operations guys were there. People don’t ever get to hear the real story.” My conversation with Roberto stops here.

I receive emails from strangers sometimes because my email address is posted on my website. Although I have never met the person I am about to introduce to you now, I have thus far shared a very fascinating conversation with him via email. He had acquired a copy of my brochure promoting my book, which my office sends to officials working for international institutions. He is from Argentina and works for the United Nations. I will call him Miguel. Our engagement began on June 10, 2009, when I received this email from him. Here below is the series of email exchanges between us. His correspondences are in italic.

Hi, I would like to say thank you for sending me the brochure of Warriors of Heaven. I am very interested in your book. Congratulations for the presentation. It’s really impressive.

Waiting to hear from you, Miguel

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Here are the chapters to my book Warriors of Heaven. Please let me know what you think.

Cuidate mucho, Marlene

Muchas gracias. Estoy ansioso por leer los capítulos que me has enviado… (Many thanks. I am anxious to read the chapters that you sent me...)

Regards, Miguel

June 17, 2009 Good morning. Definitely, you should learn Spanish, because I am articulate and spontaneous in my own language. These special skills I only have when using my mother tongue. So you are losing the best part of me. Ha ha! I want you to get to know me better although that concerns me. And why should I worry about that? Because I started to read your book and when you do that, you start to know the writer. Moreover, when the writer is so captivating (obviously I had to look for that word in the internet word reference) you feel the necessity to be the same for her, above all because it’s not usual to have the opportunity to “meet” her. But one side of the spontaneity is showing yourself as you are, without worrying about what others think. So, I will write my poor English, without complaining and moaning.

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The book. The first chapter. I won’t flatter you, because it will be simple. I will just tell you that you are interfering in the bilateral relations between certain countries and the Philippines: I can’t work this morning because I started to read your book and I couldn’t stop. Only one question: Do you really think that all interesting men and women have evil inside? Or do all of us have evil within and it is only those who show it who are more compelling than others? I know I could split the writer side of you from your human side. But what is a writer but a human being giving herself to her writings? “Thanks for sharing with me your book. I hope you will share your thoughts.

June 17, 2009 same day. Good afternoon, Marlene. I have just read the 2nd part of your 1st chapter. I have to recognize my limits for arguing with you. But sometimes when you are limited, your view is important as you represent the point of someone else. Although he wouldn’t dare open his mouth and share his opinions considering he is overwhelmed by the wisdom of the writer. However, wisdom may see the forest whereas ignorance can show only the trees. I don’t mean this to be the case but it could be. I don’t understand the American people and the American society. You lived there. I attended several demonstrations against America’s wars but I am starting to think that we should look within our own societies and share part of the blame. It’s like a husband who beats his wife. I would kill those men if I could get away with it. I die inside with remorse every time I hear about a battered woman. But maybe we are spending a lot of time hating them, without results. We should start to educate the women

225 MARLENE AGUILAR so they are not so dependent on men. It’s the same with the US because we are spending a lot of time hating them but at the same time we need them. I feel it is important to point out the negative things but it’s even more important to take an active part with the whole situation. In the meantime, while we are lashing out at them, we are not really taking care of ourselves. This is a thought I wanted to share with you and it seems I am criticising you, but I am not. I really liked all I read, and I agree with you about a lot of things. Additionally, I like how you connect the inner part, the soul with global issues - soul against money. I so agree. I so wish that I could offer you a great amount of money (if I had it) to buy your soul… Oops. That was my attempt to play with words, and it sounded like an indecent proposal. Ha ha! So, tomorrow I expect to have time to continue reading your book and give you my opinion, even if you don’t read it, I like to write to you. See you.

June 18, 2009 Dear Miguel, Here are my insights about you after reading your emails. I can see from the way you write, that you are very articulate. You must write so beautifully in Spanish. I can also sense that you hunger for more out of life which is why you reach out. You are a very good communicator. You are very passionate, expressive, temperamental and volatile but you are also gentle, caring and very romantic. Still, you are intelligent, but it is your courage I question. I believe that there have been certain events in your life that pushed you back, pushed you to

226 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW remain inside the box, but not completely. I mean you are not completely inside the box. This is why you are communicating with me. You could have done other things. You wanted to but you stopped yourself. That is the major difference between you and me. I always did what I wanted to do. No matter what, I faced life head on. And I have no regrets. Yes, easily you have two split personalities, good and evil, dark and light. But it seems you hide from your demons. You contain and control your darkness. Thus, you have a job that demands containment prohibiting you from total freedom of expression. Please tell me if I am wrong.

Besos, Marlene

Yes…you are right. I suspect you are frequently right. So, you have this advantage. I will tell you this. I am the best person you will ever meet. Ha ha! I can’t stand injustice at all and I loathe the hypocrisy of society. But I love myself a lot, and I decided some time ago to care about me, and to not to worry about things I can’t change. I’m really a rebel at heart although I get minimum results, and I get very disappointed by the people around me. I realize that with certain issues, I can’t even deliver half what I want done. And I feel that I am not so strong because I can’t deliver the whole thing. So step by step, my passion is dying. It’s like fatherhood. I think you have to be convinced that you are 100% a good father. I am not, although I think I’m a better father than most men.

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All these thoughts may be conditioned by the fact that one of the reasons is that my father was a rebel and achieved minimal success. His rebellion made him ill and I believe he died fighting in vain. I am proud of him but obviously I would prefer to have him in my life. Anyway, at heart I am a rebel and there are people who loathe me because I question the system as well. I can’t believe that I’m telling you all this since I’m a very reserved person. Ha ha! I like to share this with you because I believe that you will be very discreet. My job, I will tell you how I ended here. Ha ha! Below is a summary. I lived a very intense life. If you like I would tell you about that life someday. Then, I got a job a very, very interesting job working for the government. Later on I asked for a posting abroad because I love to travel and learn about new culture. So here I am working in Manila. I have to get back to work. I will email again later. Thanks.

Hello again, Miguel. I just got home after spending an hour in the gym with my weights trainer. Honestly, the most boring parties I have ever had the misfortune to attend are those given by embassies. You want to see a group of catatonic people sipping their alcohol, then go to those diplomatic parties. What a death sentence. But then again, that’s just my personal opinion. What I’m trying to say is you are probably like a fish out of the water in that kind of environment. About myself, as you read through my book you will learn more about me. And if you have the chance to visit my website, I suppose you will learn more about me there too. I was born free. And I will

228 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW die just the same. Life is too short and too precious for me to allow my mind and spirit to become a prisoner of any institution. Unlike you, I have expressed my angels and demons with full freedom. Like I said, I regret nothing. As I mentioned in my book, I am psychic so I am able to sense more about you from talking to you in this manner. By the way, what chapter are you reading now? And yes, I too am enjoying this communication between us very much. Are you at all aware about metaphysics? Do you believe that all mental acts are just as valid as physical acts? I do. Our thoughts are energy we project into the cosmic universes. So let us continue talking in this manner.

Until the next email, Marlene

I continue a little more… I could argue in my favour, that as you say, you need to comprehend a situation for being “against” America. You lived in the US, for example, and now you criticize its society. But it’s not the case with me since I don’t have the same understanding you have on their culture. I was not interested in working for the UN, but it did offer me a way to live an amazing life. You see, I can meet people so amazing like you. But I agree with you, I don’t like most of the people working for the diplomatic community. However, some of them are amazing too. More things about me, although I may seem a little vain, however, I am. But it’s also my way of inviting you to talk about you, without being impertinent:

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I am married. I am not made for being engaged, I promise, but I had the “great luck” of finding my soul mate, my perfect mate. Nevertheless, I have some thoughts about my dark side while reading your book. Although, I never ever talk about those things, ha ha! I am liking this so much, it’s becoming addicting...yes, the best part of me is my sense of humour. Trust me. You would have to learn Spanish to really see how funny I am. I just read the first chapter, but I am eager to continue today; I would like to know more about you, and about metaphysics. And now, I am going to go for lunch, and later I will continue telling you more things, about metaphysics and about the cover of your book. But metaphysics first…tell me more, if you can, and if you like.

Talk to you in a while, Miguel

Thursday, June 18, 2009, same day. Tell me Miguel, is your president as dumb and lifeless as the other leaders representing other international institutions?

It’s not fair to single out one person when you are in a situation like mine. I think this is one of such situation when the profession kills the person. I believe that institutions kill the soul of people. Yes, many of the people working for the embassies are catatonic, lifeless and dumb. In addition, I am very disappointed about the human race in general. But there is hope, thanks to people like you. I can see you loathe foreigners.

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I like what you say about the human race. I cannot understand why Mother Nature made mankind so dumb. And that’s not true about foreigners. I am only against the institution. I am not against mankind, well, except I really dislike ignorant, materialistic, false and dumb people. Thank you for your honesty, Miguel.

You make me smile. Marlene

Friday, June 19, 2009. Do I make you smile? That’s good. Ha ha! But you wrote, just because “you are polite and giving” doesn’t mean you like me. You said in your book that “Filipinos don’t show their true feelings to foreigners”. I don’t know if I should believe you.

Miguel

So that is why you’re wary of me. That is why you doubt my sincerity. One of the reasons Filipinos do not show their true feelings is because they don’t want to offend. They are like the Brits in that manner. Don’t worry I’m not like other Filipinos in that manner. I have no problem being the bad guy.

Marlene

Why are you telling me I am wary of you? Not at all, I am enjoying our conversation a lot. I can even say that I am getting aroused, but I won’t tell you that because it would be not polite.

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About the human race, I have to say that I am disconcerted. For example, I am going to tell you what I think about my own people. I am disappointed in general with my society: They are (We are, of course, but I am an exception. Haha!) selfish, lazy, not punctual in general and always gossiping about other people’s lives. They like to drink a lot, and there is a lack of responsibility. I don’t mean that professionally, I mean that with regards to how we treat our friends and family. I could go on and on, but I will stop. But, one day, there is a great earthquake in our town, hundreds of people died. Then I saw on TV a lot of people trying to help, risking their own lives, rescuing people away from harm, desperate to save lives. I found this behaviour impressive. I don’t know how I would have reacted in that kind of situation. However, people will sometimes surprise you. In the worst of circumstance, mankind can project infinite goodness and courage. It’s a pity though that we had to face disaster to bring out this kind of generosity, kindness and bravery from our people. I appreciate it and will always remember it. But I also appreciate the regular days too. Every moment is special, every moment is very important, every moment is terrific. I wish I could project that kind of goodness to people every moment.

Hi Miguel. I’m sorry for the late reply. I’ve been out all day and am getting ready to go out to dinner at a special restaurant called Old Manila at the Manila Pen. I enjoyed reading your email so much. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me and your insights on human behavior.

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It amazes me that you were a professional football player. Then you join the box which is the Embassy. And yet, you express yourself with so much passion like an artist. How interesting.

Marlene

I have almost finished the 2nd chapter of your book I just want to tell you, I love it. “There are no accidents in this life. There is only the inevitable”… it could be an excuse for not blaming ourselves…but I love this sentence, and I agree. But I don’t like to get in your path, cause every person who tries will perish. So, I agree with everything. Hahaha…Although I wouldn’t mind to get in your path and be your zhong te kung. How about “your dark side dominates the intensity of your sexual capacity and vice versa?” Can you extend a little more for me? (In the explanation, not in your sexual capacity, haha...) Another question: do you really think (I know, I could split the writer side of your human part but what is a writer but a human giving himself to his writings?) that all the interesting men (and women) have evil inside?

Miguel

OH MY GOD! I’m laughing so hard, I almost fell off my chair! You are so, so funny. Yes, I wrote “There are no accidents in this life. There is only the inevitable”. You do have a choice though. How do you deal with the inevitable? Do you see? There is your choice.

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I should tell you that I am a very, very private person. And I allow so few people into my life. I hate parties and gatherings because I have absolutely no patience for “false conversations”. But you have added a new kind of color to my day. And I have enjoyed our engagement deeply. Thank you so much for making me laugh. In addition, I want to answer this question of yours: Do you really think ( I know, I could split the writer side of your human part but what is a writer but a human giving himself to his writings?) that all the interesting men (and women) have evil inside? Absolutely, a person can only be truly beautiful and compelling if he allows his dark side to come forth into the light as well as his good side. This makes a person mysterious, captivating, totally unpredictable and in my case fiercely addictive. Ha ha! There has to be balance, of course. Balance is always a necessity. So tell me Miguel, did you know that the devil is a woman?

Lucifer here

I don’t think so. I don’t find many differences between men and women outside of their physical form. Evil is within everyone, because they need it. That is the great part of humanity. We are given the challenge to manage the devil inside us. If we didn’t have evil, then to be good would be so easy, life would be boring without the fight between darkness and light. Some of us find the evil inside us, some are too afraid and they say they don’t have it. I visited your website during the weekend. I wanted for you to get a break from our mental engagement, which is why I didn’t

234 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW write you…but I thought a lot about your writings, your arguments and even your pictures. Ha ha…

Miguel

Amazing, a man with a mind working for the UN, there is hope after all. I get emails from strangers sometimes. But I find most of mankind is not worth talking to because they are insincere and afraid to express their thoughts openly. I really do not like false pleasantries. I find this behavior absolutely exhausting. There was something about your mind, your words that I found compelling. And like you I like to engage mentally when the mind is worthy of the rendezvous. I think without the mind, all else is futile. I believe that minds need to be fed in order for growth to occur. And mental stimulation is absolutely necessary. So thank you for sharing your mind with me.

Thank you. I am very glad. I think we have a lot of things in common. I prefer talking one on one also. I loathe false conversations in diplomatic parties as well. I can’t stand them. But sometimes it’s funny, like a sociological study for me. I walk into those parties and I think, “What happens if I don’t smile? How will they react to me?” Then I think, “What happens if I don’t flatter the person who is obviously needing the false attention?” And then I ask myself in silence, “Well, how much flattery does she want?” Does the person have any idea that I am exaggerating intentionally?” So I tell myself, oh well, I will just be happy and enjoy myself anyway.

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By the way, talking about flattery… I am so flattered because you are telling me a lot of beautiful things…continue, go on. I will listen. Please, don’t stop. Also you talk about a sexual essay in your book which you read to a group of people. But you didn’t include the essay? Can you send it to me?

Miguel

I don’t think you’re ready for that essay. Ha ha! But here I will send you an essay I wrote called Sex with Ra. It’s about metaphysics. Tell me what you think. You continue to make me smile.

Thank you. Marlene

After reading the essay “Sex with Ra,” Miguel sent me this email below. “Awwwwwwww….don’t do this to me. I have to enter my colleague’s office in a few minutes. And he’s going to say, “Where are you keeping your pens? In your trousers?” The essay is arousing.” Anyway there is an expression in Spanish when somebody, grandmothers in general will say to their grand children, ‘You are a heavenly creature’. My grandmother used to say this to me. So can I become your celestial creature if you reject me as a human being?”

Miguel

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Ha ha ha! You are outrageously funny! It’s okay to get aroused or turned on. After all you are a living human being. It’s only metaphysics anyway. Don’t worry, I cannot touch your manhood through the computer screen. That means I cannot violate you. You are safe and will survive our engagement in one piece. I promise.

Marlene

“Maybe that is the reason I worry is because I cannot be violated by you through the computer screen. Ha ha!” “Tell me more about metaphysics.”

Miguel

I believe the best explanation for metaphysics is that “all mental acts are valid”. Your thoughts are energy you project into the cosmic worlds. They do not disappear into the void as you may think. In addition, you and I are energy. The physical form is nothing.

Marlene

“Remember, I am your heavenly creature.” Miguel

I end my email engagement with Miguel here. Hey, Miguel wherever you are, you still make me smile. Thank you for sharing your mind with me so openly. I thank you from the deepest part of my heart.

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And now I present to you, my essay entitled Sex with Ra. By the way, the following essays are the creation of M and Mariana’s imagination. M represents my spiritual persona while the latter represents my sexual persona. As I’ve said before, I believe that all mental acts are valid.

Sex with Ra

Below is a sample of what the mind can achieve when it is free. As the study of metaphysics explains all mental acts are just as valid as those physical. But such experiences require total freedom of mind and spirit. For many years, I would meditate and use the energy of Ra, the sun, to cleanse the negative energy within me. There were times when I wasn’t feeling well and I would meditate to the sun, and this would heal me. This kind of meditation involves my communicating with the consciousness of the sun, through my subconscious, and this is only possible once I have put this world aside. After a few years of this meditation my relationship with Ra changed. I believe this is because of my new awareness of other existences lived in Egypt. One day I was meditating in my garden all alone. The light from the sun was so intense, engrossing and corrupting. I called out to Ra and in my mind I implored him, “Father Ra, Father Ra, hear me, cleanse me, rejuvenate me...” And as I repeated and repeated the same words, my spirit brought me back to another time, another time in Egypt. In this plane, at that time, I could see myself and others perform a primitive ritual in his honor. As I held on to the vision, I continued to speak to Ra. “Ohhh…Father Ra, Father Ra …I offer you my body. Do with it as you please but grant me my wish….”

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While this was happening, I held on fast to the same vision in Egypt. I was aware of being in two places at the same time. The light was so intense and consuming embracing every inch of my flesh. Still the people in Egypt were chanting savage sexual incantations to Ra. I was one of them. And so, as I presented my body to the Sun god in Egypt, I had the pleasure to do just the same in this life, in this reality, right in my own garden. I felt elated. I felt my body move gently and gracefully, my legs spread open, my feet planted on the ground, while my body lifted and arched backward, rising closer toward the sky, exposing my most delicate feminine parts to Ra. In conjunction, the youthful Sun god smiled upon me, vehement and agitated. He surrounded me with a strange energy, a celestial heat I have never felt before – provoking and feasting upon my flesh. I felt the Sun God touch me tenderly, caressing my entire being within and without. Yet I hungered for him to ravage me completely taking control of all that I am… my mind, my body and my soul. At the same time, I witnessed the Egyptians and I in Egypt intoxicated by our own jubilation as we grew wilder and wilder, out of control, screaming to the heavens, demanding immediate ecstasy unknown to mortal beings. The androgynous God listened to us, attentive, stimulated by the affair. His beautiful face radiated with pleasure, excited by the tempestuous sound coming from his children below. He got up from his throne. He stood now, watching joyful and euphoric. He watched me in Egypt as he gazed at me now on earth, in my garden. His body was glowing, gleaming stronger and stronger, embellished with eternal light so immense and empowered by the chorus of singing barbarians in Egypt. Oh, I can feel my brothers and my sisters of the past, children of Ra shouting their uncontained carnal desires.

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At the peak of their wild devotion, Ra stretched his arms wide open, his eyes flared and in an instant he cast his magic upon the chanting Egyptians. His brilliance illuminated through their bodies, and through their souls, quenching their fever, their fervor and their lust. The Sun god placed the same spell upon me in Egypt that he cast upon me in my garden in this time. And as his light covered the earth, I felt my body burning into a state of convulsion and total surrender, dripping wet, shaking and trembling, falling amidst the cheers of his worshippers in Egypt shrieking in euphoric disorder drowning in their lecherous deed, reaching their most desired climax. So my body in Egypt, together with my body lying in my garden in the here and now, fell together into the unknown. I fell into the blue of ecstasy, in multiple turns of laughter and tears, of joy and pain, of life and death lost in the abyss, gasping and satiated, devouring the seed of Ra. The Sun god watched me triumphant. Then he retreated, exhausted but jubilant from the devilish affair. How can I possibly be interested in having intercourse with mere mortals when I can pester and plunder celestial beings through space and time?

M and Mariana November 28, 2008

The date is August 27, 2009. I’m going to see Henry later today. He is leaving the Philippines soon and I need to ask permission to share with you an incident that occurred between the two of us. I had mentioned it to him before but he said he didn’t want me to discuss it. However, I believe that it would be helpful to so many soldiers like him if I could write about it.

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I believe that there is something within the psyche of Henry that can’t allow him to get close to anybody. Therefore, a part of him seeks to repel and harm those who get close to him. At around 5pm, I saw Henry at the Gran Caffe Cassanova, an Italian restaurant adjacent to the usual Starbucks coffee shop where I meet these guys. I arrived earlier than him. He came 10 minutes later. I had already ordered the Pizza margarita which they serve with a generous layer of mozzarella cheese and fresh basil on a crunchy and thin crust, exactly how I like it. Henry came brooding about work. This wasn’t a good sign. We asked the waiter who seemed tall for a Filipino to bring two glasses of their house wine, a light cabernet sauvignon, dry to the taste. “You look like shit,” I said. “You don’t know the bullshit I’ve to put up with at work.” “Get over it. Tomorrow is another day.” “I still can’t believe I’m talkin’ to an intellectual,” he declared shaking his head smiling. “What’s wrong?” I said. “Nothin’, it just amazes me that you even talk to me. I’m just an ordinary man.” “That’s not true. You’re exceptional in what you do. The last thing you are is ordinary,” I stated. “How well did you do in Ranger School?” “This is somethin’ I don’t tell people but since you asked, I graduated with distinguished honor.” “Christ! That’s why you have such a hard time with me not being able to let go of control. I will not be led.” “Yup! You do have that problem,” he said. “So are you giving up, soldier?”

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“No. I will just keep tryin’ and tryin’ and goin’ ‘round the flank until I find your weakness.” “You can’t. There is none. I am not part of the earth anymore. I’m round like the shape of the planet, remember? A round object will just keep rolling. It has no corners and no sides,” I explained. You’re so good at mendin’ broken things. Why don’t you convert them gay friends of yours to become real men,” he said. “I like my gay friends just the way they are. Do you believe I can convert you to become homosexual?” “No.” “Then what makes you think that gay men can be converted otherwise? What makes you think they would want it any other way to begin with?” “Why do you like gay men so much?” “Because they’re free and because there has to be a better version of men!” I said teasing. “Hey, I want to write about the incident that occurred between us.” “No. You can’t.” “Come on. It will help you. I promise I will be objective about it. I’m not even angry anymore,” I explained. “I want to write about it and submit the narrative to my mother Barbara for her professional psychiatric evaluation.” “How you see the incident is not how I see it. You’re going to make me look like the bad guy and nobody wants to be the bad guy.” “I play the bad guy all the time,” I stated. “Besides, you can write your own version of what happened and I will put that in my book too. Isn’t that fair enough? Your opinion is just as valid as mine. However, my account of the same story would be slightly different. I already told you what I would say anyway.”

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“Fuck that. You know, people would take your side,” he said. “I would look like Gabriel in your book, Warriors of Heaven, where you annihilated him and made him look bad, really bad.” “Hey! I like Gabriel. He is my greatest challenger and has earned my deepest admiration. Without him, Warriors of Heaven wouldn’t be as interesting as it is. He gave color to that book, color that no other man could have given; that is other than the devil on earth himself. Just because someone doesn’t agree with my opinions doesn’t mean he is the enemy. How are you ever going to conquer your monsters if you don’t confront them?” I added. “NO,” he answered fiercely, shaking his head, flashing his eyes at me. “You can’t write about that incident. And you said you would only write about things I permit you to write about. “The answer is NO!” “Pussy!” I hissed. “I am what I eat,” he stated. “You’re a chicken too, then.” “Call me what you want but you can’t write about that day.” “Fine.” Later on, we discussed the incident again and ended up fighting. This is absolutely my fault. I have a problem of not being able to take no for an answer sometimes. I am aware that my strong will leads me to pushing people to the edge. So this meeting between this soldier and I ended with me walking away with my hands up. He and I made a promise that when the argument was going nowhere, instead of us verbally killing each other, I could get up and walk away. So I did. Around noon the following day, I met Henry again, somewhere in a hotel lobby in Malate, Manila near the coconut tree studded

243 MARLENE AGUILAR bay. As I walked into the building, he came toward me smiling and in better spirit. We took a quiet table facing the garden and ordered coffee. By the way, he likes to call me M. “Hey M, I read your essay this mornin’.” “Which one?” “The Vampire M,” he replied. “The Vampire M!” I stated laughing. “What’s the matter with you boy? I thought you were a good Christian? You could get ex- communicated for reading that kind of explicit material. You look so straight; I didn’t think you had a dirty mind. Where did you get it?” “Maybe you sent it to me, chinky, you just don’t remember.” “No, I didn’t send you that one,” I stated still laughing. “What did you think of it?” He smiled a childish and devilish smile with his face tilted to the ground slightly, blushing and avoiding my eyes. “Do you believe there is a child in every man?” “Oh yes, definitely. There is a little boy within the psyche of every man. However, I believe there is also a little girl within the psyche of every woman. But most people don’t express this part of themselves,” I answered. Henry turned lobster-red in the face as I spoke. “The ape is blushing. I can’t believe it.” “That’s my New England tan chinky,” he declared, jubilant. “I don’t blush. I’m a man!” he growled, exaggerating the beastly tone of his voice. “Make sure you write that down in your notebook,” he declared, tapping my notes with his index finger. “Make sure you say that in your book as well. Oh, and while you’re at it, tell your readers I’m drop dead fuckin’ gorgeous, totally well-endowed, a walkin’ Adonis on earth and god’s greatest gift to women,” he added, laughing some more.

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“Should I also say you’re losing your hair, Kojak?” “Hey!” Henry uttered, touching the balding spot on his head with his right hand. “Oops! Ten pieces of precious hair just fell out. You keep rubbing your head like that, you won’t have any left by the time we end this conversation.” “La la la la la! I can’t hear you,” he said. “It’s okay to be bald, silly. I like bald men. It’s fashionable these days,” I told Henry. “Imagine yourself totally bald. All I have to do is draw an eye in the middle there right above your forehead. And you’d look like a real dick on two legs!” “Very funny, chinky, goddamn pan head! No wonder, some people want to shoot you.” “Stop using the wrong slur for the wrong race, you retard. Google it next time. You haven’t answered my question, white monkey. What did you think of the essay?” I stated laughing. He continued to smile a big smile, still avoiding my glare. “My other personality Mariana wrote that essay. I mean the sexual context of the narrative,” I stated, still cheerful. “That’s only a product of my wild and crazy imagination, catharsis for one of my personalities. That’s how she writes and expresses herself.” “I’m writing a novel, a fiction this time entitled Forged by Lightning. I meant to include that essay in that book but I changed my mind. There is another essay actually, entitled Playing with Venus. It’s demonic isn’t it? I mean the essay.” “I wouldn’t call it demonic M. It’s not demonic.” “I do. I think it’s demonic, definitely coming from the dark side of the coin.”

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“No. It’s not demonic. How can you call it evil? “See that’s the difference between you and me. When I say demonic, you think it’s wrong. Whereas, I think it’s just the dark side of me coming out in the open,” I said. “Then what is it?” “I don’t know. I can’t explain it, crazy woman,” he announced, still smiling. This time he looked at me sideways, still red in the face. “Of course I’m crazy, silly. You think you could insult me by calling me crazy? I take that as a compliment. It is my great pleasure to be abnormal, you see. Come on, stop being a wimp and give me one word, one word that would describe it.” “Erotic,” he declared at once. “Ooooooooooooooooooooooo…..erotic, so did you get a hard- on?” I asked giggling. “No! No! You’re not goin’ to get me to the gutter M. Devil woman!” he said out loud. “But your mind is already in the gutter. Come on, soldier humor me, please, please…” “NO. NO. NO. I swear you don’t want to challenge me in this manner. You don’t want the ape to leap.” “Okay, I’ll back off. I’m scared. Happy?” I said gently. “But don’t you think it is something beyond people’s reach? I mean, people fantasize about those things but they don’t…” “People have normal lives and normal sex, Marlene. I think for the most part women are afraid of sex. That’s why they don’t enjoy it. If they took a more active outlook then it would be better for all parties concerned. Come on, the narrative you wrote is somethin’ you just can’t find in the goddamn newspapers,” he explained. “God, you’re so insane.”

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“And you’re absolutely right. You say things people only fantasize about. Most people wouldn’t dare express themselves in the open like you do. They can’t,” he continued. “But don’t you think people would be happier if they could express themselves with more freedom and not be so afraid? Don’t you think it would do them a great favor to escape the confinement of their boring lives in the box?” I asked. “Marlene, there are people who are afraid of freedom. All they know is their existence inside the box. That’s it. That’s all they know. That’s all they’re goin’ to get! People live in fear, get it? And they will bring the box with them to their grave.” “I think the box is already their coffin. The box is a living death.” “Changing the subject,” I stated. “According to a top American government official, the US Embassy in the Philippines is one of the worst American Embassies in the world is that true?” “Yes, I heard that too.” “I think that’s because your ambassador is incapable,” I stated. “And why does your ambassador go to the south every time a USAID project is completed to have her photograph taken in front of some building or other alongside local politicians as if she had anything to do with it? Time and time again, she jumps to have her photo taken, claiming kudos for something she had absolutely no involvement in. Plus, I was told by a US embassy officer that no other American ambassador in the world behaves in this manner.” “That’s because Kristie Kenney a politician,” Henry said. “You know what amazes me? I have yet to meet an American military man who has met her or an American who worked with her who has anything good to say about her.” “Marlene, most people who work for the institution have sold their souls to the box. Get it? They have absolutely no life beyond

247 MARLENE AGUILAR the walls of the institution. Believe me, there’s no hope for them. Like you said, they’re trash for the planet to bear. And their mere contribution is to fertilize the earth with their rotten bodies once they’re dead. Hey, my turn to change the subject, I’m leavin’ soon and I want to tell you somethin’,” he expressed with a serious tone in his voice. In my head, I thought, oh god. I hate goodbyes. “Go home to Massachusetts M. Stop this, whatever it is you’re doing. You’re goin’ to get caught in the middle of the fire, you know it. You spend so much time tellin’ me about New England and how much you miss the Cape. You’re Massachusetts homegrown. It’s not even funny how American you are in so many ways. You’re the only Filipino I’ve ever known who can speak with a Massachusetts accent when she tries,” he added. “I belong to the Philippines,” I replied. “But promise me, when you go back and visit your sister there, you will eat all the good stuff, corn on the cob, lobster, steamers, home-made clam chowder, apple pie and fried dough. And when you do, you will think of me.” “Do you know why I think, it’s so easy to open up to you?” “Tell me.” “Because you’re a broken toy like me,” Henry said. “Yes. There’s a part of us that was damaged because of our tragic childhood.” “You and I have had similar experiences. And that’s why I could sense I could trust you from the first time we met. Maybe mutants like us project some kind of aura that can only be sensed by its membership. I don’t know but I’m glad it happened,” he stated. “It’s like bein’ in combat with our buddies. No one else can begin to fathom what’s committed and endured unless they’re

248 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW there. So how can others possibly relate to soldiers like me? They can’t and they never will unless placed on the same deadly ground. You don’t have to do anythin’ else for me Marlene. You don’t know what you’ve done for me. All I needed was for someone to understand me. All I needed was to find someone I could trust and I found that in you. You and I carry the same burden from the past. We carry the same pain of betrayal. In that aspect we are the same.” I sat in front of Henry with tears in my eyes. How magical to see him express himself openly and without fear and hesitation. He was coming out of his shell right before me. “You broke my cherry. I used to be a virgin mentally and spiritually,” he finally said, smiling. “Okay, enough of this soft shit. Let’s go shoot guns!” After my meeting with Henry, I went to meet Steve at an Italian restaurant along Nicanor Garcia Street in Makati City called Café Carusso. We had a long and quiet dinner. The following morning, Henry sent me this text message. “I guess heaven decided it was time to mend this broken soldier. It was time to mend my broken heart. So the gods sent this special soul (you) to earth to take on this arduous task. Thank you M.” I sent him my reply: “Your freedom is my freedom. Remember, when we change, the world changes with us.” After Henry left the Philippines, he sent me this message: “The oracles said, ‘You bring the blood of life to those close to you. You give them life they have never known…’ Yes. You have done that for me.” “I have seen how you relate to your family and friends and you’re so generous of your love. To you it comes naturally. The whole

249 MARLENE AGUILAR package of who you are is so fascinating. This is why your former partners had a hard time letting go. You let people into your life. I mean the few you allow into your life. Plus you open your arms and bring them in closer and closer into your being. But with your lovers, you let them in so completely into your inner self. I see that with your relationship with Steve. I see how you take such good care of him. The question is how are these men ever supposed to find their way out of your system once you let them in? They can’t. In Ranger School, the toughest trial is the jungle and the mountain phase. That is you. You are the highest mountain and the thickest jungle. Once someone gets into your core, he or she will never find their way out. They’re stuck there. That is the glory and the curse that comes with loving you.” And here my dear reader, is the essay I wrote last year entitled, The Vampire M, Creature of the Mind, written by M and Mariana.

The Vampire M, Creature of the Mind

Do not judge me by this one singular story. I promise you this reveals only portions of two of my several personalities. And I swear to you, as heaven is my witness, that my soul is older than the earliest creatures that arose from the bottom of the ocean before the time for life began on earth. And who I am, is beyond your imagination. I would like to tell you about my new lover. This tale relates how he lost his innocence and how he thereby began to gain freedom from his box. This is the same prison most of mankind has conveniently built for themselves, surrounded by walls of doubt and locked fast by fear. He came into my life a virgin, this fresh soul mate of mine. That’s not a great concern, most men are virgins. I don’t mean that

250 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW physically. To lose ones virginity physically is easy. But how do you lose your virginity mentally and spiritually? How do you do that? He had been with a number of lovers before as you probably have. But they were all humans, as all those other mortals who walk on this planet, polluting the earth with nothing substantial to offer in return. The earth doesn’t need these beings. Rather they need the earth. And yet these are the same people who take more from the earth than she is willing to give. Eventually, the planet will slaughter each and every one of these individuals and claim their rotten bodies as nourishment for her breasts. This is the only real offering they could ever give mother earth for their petty and material existence. There are very few of my kind sent to the reality as you know it and we have been dispersed discretely through all the four corners of the planet. We are the few warriors of heaven on earth, gifted with the great spirits of dragons, the children of the sun god Ra. I am the green dragon of the east in human form. And those who have experienced who I am have felt the light that shines from within the very depth of my soul. The oracles believe I am, “the reincarnation of one of the mightiest Buddhist saints, a living deity that walks amongst man in this particular time on earth”. The seers said, “I will give the blood of life to those close to me. I will give them life they have never known. And that I will do the same for my people.” In addition, they say that “I am the true daughter of heaven on earth. Thus within me lie the four pillars of heaven and hell, and of life and death”. With my special gifts bestowed upon me by heaven, I have the ability to summon the five elements giving me the power of light and darkness. Many human beings fear vampires because these creatures of darkness feed on the blood of man. If you are afraid of these beasts that subsist on human blood, then you should be wary of me. To

251 MARLENE AGUILAR love me is to die. If you don’t believe me, then ask any of my lovers past and present. My oracles will also tell you that every man who comes close to me will never escape me. In my many pasts, those men who confronted me, especially those who wanted to subjugate me, ended up loving me with every fiber of their mind, body and soul. I killed them all. And after their deaths, I gave them new life. That is the true creature of mind that I am, a peculiar kind of predator, a different breed of vampire. I did to them what the heavens have done for me, you see. But do not fear. I do not care for blood. It is only the great mind and spirit of men that I feed on. I suck the mind and the spirit of those dear to me. Then I absorb it, process it, digest it and when I am done, I release it into the galaxies granting it freedom forever, giving their souls wings to fly. Thus I give these people “the blood of life, a life they have never known”, as the oracles foretold. That is how it is done. Now, in order for my lover to gain his full potential on earth, I must set him free. And in order to open all the doors to the different compartments of his complex psyche, I must claim his innocence. But in order to help him lose his virgin mind and his virgin soul, as I did with my previous lovers, I must invent a whole new world for him. I must customize a new dimension calibrated just for him - a world of multiple dimensions and dynamic possibilities that leads to the great divide. And he, as those before him, has given me his blessing to mentor him spiritually. In this particular domain, which now I have created only for our sensual existence, we can transform into any shape or form and any age we choose. We can multiply in numbers using the powers of our mind to rule over our bodies and program another reality just as valid as the reality you are living in. Anything is possible in this

252 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW plane which I have shown my willing lover, as I have done with my former concubines. And he has learned to confront this void with total trust and freedom. That is the only way to live, you see. This is the only escape from the loneliness human beings endure. I should remind you that in this secret world of forbidden fantasies which my lover and I have occupied, time and space is irrelevant and right and wrong does not exist. In this dimension, we can become anything we wish and we can do anything we desire, a wonderland for our minds, bodies and souls. What most of you have forgotten is that as long as the mind is open, there is no fear. And from this point of freedom, one can accept more, absorb more, do more and achieve more, and more and more. Only in this way can a man lose his virginity and realize the true powers of all his senses. And so each chosen night, my lover and I play a game of good and evil and we travel to purgatory, to hell and heaven, swaying back and forth with ease and comfort. I lead him and he follows, moving sensually from soft to medium to hard and back. So after all these years, my lover is still the unknown to me and I am still the unknown to him - an agreement we sealed tight from the beginning and upon my demand. In bed and in the dark, we have no names. I told him that in order to confront the world of pure sex, “you and I should forever be the unknown.” That is the only way to experience sex. Going back into time, I will tell you how my lover lost his virginity in wonderland. One evening, he entered the dark-lit room softly, a dark shadow looking for lust, smelling for sex, his boyhood aching for expression of animal desire. “Come here”, I told him. “Tonight, you will service your mistress.”

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I summoned him to come closer to the bed where I lay. He stood near me anticipating what was about to come, excited like a child. But he didn’t know. He never knows what I will do to him next. “Baby don’t be frightened. I promise I will not even touch you, not really. I’ll just play with you and watch,” I whispered while I brushed his left hand gently with my right. “I will tell you what to think and you will obey and follow,” I said to him tenderly. And with these words, he closed his eyes and floated away leaving this reality. I continued our game with a dose of hypnosis, and a magical spell. “You are my virgin. And I love you. You know I love you don’t you baby,” I whispered to him some more. Now the child in the man retreats deeper into my void. He is beginning to drown now in a quicksand so red and alive with lust, taking him gently, softly, reaching into his spirit, corrupting his basic and most urgent carnal desires. “I saw you,” I said. “I saw you lying in your bed last night. You were touching yourself between your legs.” As I spoke to him, I pulled down his shorts, gently exposing his boyhood, staring straight at me, awakened by my words of impending fire. “Show me, Darling. Show me how you play with your little dick. Touch it for me...,” I beckoned him. “Let me see you touch it.” The boy took his love stick and started to caress it, embarrassed and excited by his sinful play, gasping softly with his eyes closed, knowing I watched his every move. And his penis grew larger and larger, turning red, getting more aroused with every stroke. “That’s it, Darling. You look so good doing that. What a good child you are.” I told him, watching him violate himself, intently

254 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW listening to him breathe heavily with a pronounced pleasure coming from his aching crotch. “Stroke it harder, Baby. Now, imagine your sex between my lips, my tongue caressing every inch of it, sucking on it. Stroke it! I said. Harder! Harder! Harder! Oh God! Oh God. It’s getting so big.” I told him as he continued to beat his shaft violently now. He is gone, gone into the wild, like an animal hungry for prey, hungry for blood. His entire body shaking as he vibrated himself into insanity, his heart pounding in ecstatic confusion and distress. In the midst of this performance and anarchy, I said, “Now imagine your sex toy inside me, baby, yes, yes, right there...blow, blow your hot juices all over me. Show me. Show me how you do it! And the boy was lost with these words as his male gland wept tears of cream, wetting himself, all over again and again and again. I stood there and watched him, consuming his being. Today, after many years, my lover says to me, “To please your sex is to be better than the best. Otherwise, you will lay me out as a conduit to the rest.”

M and Mariana December 17, 2008

While we’re on the subject, here is another one, entitled Playing with Venus. This one was composed by M, Mariana and Meilee, my warrior personality.

Playing with Venus

She felt her way through the dark room and crawled under the sheets to where her lover lay last night. She found the naked boy

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laying flat on his back, resting against the bed. Surprising him, she turned on her side, placed her face on his shoulder and her right arm on his body. Then her fingers started to caress his chest, gently. How fragile he felt, this youthful prey. His tiny body tightened then shuddered, excited by her touch and the warmth of her nakedness. She whispered to him, ever so softly, in the middle of the darkness, “Fear nothing.” She said. “I will take care of you. Tonight you are mine. And I am yours…Besides, I promise, here we will begin your obsession with a journey to the unknown….” His entire body gave in to these words as she continued to fondle him, her fingers brushing his thighs now as he spread his legs, silently begging for more. His body now taut, all muscles attuned to his sex. She heard him breathing heavily, in anticipation. She spoke to him, leading his mind to where she wanted him to go, to a place of eternal fire powered by lust. “Baby…Baby…” she called out gently as she pressed her imposing breasts firmly against his body. Ohhh…the smell of innocence hidden in the body of a man – her illicit lover, her sex toy, playful confidante, her boy, her father, her partner for her lust. “You want me to play with your dick, don’t you? You want me to touch it,” she said tenderly as she placed her demonic yet merciful fingers between his legs, touching the very tip of his boyhood. “Ahh…” He moaned lightly, giving the sound of guilt that could only come with forbidden pleasure. He trembled now in excitement, breathing harder. “You want more don’t you, Baby? You want me to stroke your little dick.” She whispered again to him as she took his tiny joystick into her hand. She felt it and squeezed it, massaging it up and down as his entire body surrendered with feverish enthusiasm, his body then arching, demanding more. He is lost now, lost in the blue haze

256 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW of what is taboo. There was no turning back. His nerves were alert, sensing, and electric to every stroke that she gave his penis. Then she went down on him, her face between his legs and she placed the very tip of her tongue to the slit, then the pulsating head, of his manhood. He floated, floated away into a dimension alien to man. His spirit was now beyond, in the darkness of other space, as she took possession of his body on earth. He was hers now, hers for the taking and hers to be used. She could do with him whatever she desired. And she continued to give herself oral gratification, abusing his male gland, now totally erect and caught between her swollen lips, wet all over from the licking of her tongue. He was gone, gone, his mind, body and spirit licentious and corrupted by this fallacious game. Then she stopped. She led his heated body to hers, to lie on her, intoxicated, urgent and compliant to her rule, his penis full, overblown and desperate to be used. She took his neck with her right hand and brought his mouth to her left nipple. “Suck my tit, Baby….” She beckoned him. And he followed her order, benevolent to her desires. He took her erect nipple, sucking like a child as she played with his gland, stroking it hard against her female box, her gift from the goddess Venus and the lady of the sea, now covered in juices, delighted by this obscenity. So the boy in the man entrusted his entire being to her, enraptured, exhilarated, as now her spirit called on the wild beast within him to come forth and confront her Lucifer. Suddenly, she grabbed his head and pushed it down between her legs. “Taste me,” she said. “Drink from the box of Venus. Yes… right there. That’s it. That’s the place. Lick it. Take it. It’s yours… Ohhhhh…..” Now their bodies shook as one, feeling the same primal rhythm, and the same pleasure, as she moaned and groaned, letting him

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lose control, as he consumed her….Ohhh…the graceful pleasure of the wild. She repeatedly pushed herself forward against his face while he lapped on her like a hungry wolf. Emerging from within, they turned into the savage animals they are for sex, untamed, barbaric and primitive. “I’m going to explode in your mouth…” she screamed. “Take it. Drink my cream. Oh God! Oh God!” At once with her scream the wild beast in him came forth and he took her, took it all in, fueling the monster from within him, giving it the full power of true darkness. Her whole body tightened arching toward him now dizzy and delirious. Again, she said, “Drink…Drink, my little vampire…Drink from the well of Venus… Suck it dry.” And he did. He did, ravishing her, feasting, drinking and sucking the cream of eternal life. It seemed without end, this bonfire of disorder. Her spirit left her body, blending into thin air exuberant from the affair. Thus, a part of her now dispelled itself into another plane to witness and absorb these two souls transform into raging vampires lashing at every fiber of human flesh. And while she was physically engaged, another part of her watched from a distance, a living spectator to the sin. Finally, the creature released the raw flesh of her sex, triumphant and satiated but only for a little moment. He left her swollen cleft, dripping wet, and he mounted her. The boy was gone, no longer in control. The beast within him, fully awake, had taken command. His threatening, oversized, manly organ, thick, hard, and throbbing forced its way, every inch of it, into her aching vagina, dripping wet from his drinking. She surrendered now, indulging her mind and her body, her spirit floating between heaven and hell as he ravaged her, terrorizing her sex, bullying her with his hard uncivilized shaft, furious with its intent, dictating a series of explosive disasters.

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Their bodies burned midst an eternal fire, flaming beyond words, shaking and turbulent, vibrating and rising higher and higher…And the cosmic forces willed by the sun God Ra joined them and claimed their spirits. Thus, they lost their souls to the galaxies, exploding over and over like supernovas, falling into a black hole while dislodging their sex juices on earth through a multiple series of convulsions as they reached levels of ecstatic sanctification, in heaven, in hell, and on earth, greater than the wildest dreams known to mortal beings. Worn out and victorious, her lover whispered, catching his breath, “How could there be more after that?” Meanwhile, her spirit had fallen tenderly into a plane of eternal blackness, a place unknown to men and into the sacred arms of her immortal lover, the god of sleep. “But…this is just the beginning,” she uttered with the faintest voice to the mortal who lay next to her in the here and now. The goddess Venus smiled down upon her from heaven, amused by her daughter’s insatiable taste for Apollo’s fire.

Mariana, Meilee and M December 12, 2008

259 Chapter 5

My Twin of Flames

This morning, August 26, 2009, I received word from his Excellency, Misa Telefoni, Deputy Prime Minister of Samoa, through an email he sent to Steve. He said: “Here is my column from Sunday 2, August - please refer it to Marlene. It was printed in the Sunday Samoan - the widest circulation Sunday paper here.”

In his column, Misa Telefoni wrote:

MARLENE AGUILAR “I am an avid admirer of Filipino Marlene Aguilar who famously stated: “Whenever someone tries to impress me with his wealth and material possessions, I realize he has nothing substantial to offer the world.” In her famous speech entitled, ‘Healing the Soul of the Nation’, she said: “I believe that our problem in the Philippines today is not lack of money nor too much greed and corruption. This is not the root

260 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW of our problem. Rather it is first and foremost a lack of identity. An individual who cannot grow up with an identity can never be confident, and can never know success. The Philippines is full of individuals without identity, without confidence. The Philippines is suffering from an identity crisis. I believe this is what makes this country a poor nation.” Marlene Aguilar is calling for a complete renaissance including a resurgence of importance attributed to the Filipino culture and language.”

JOSE RIZAL “I read Jose Rizal’s excellent novel Noli Me Tangere with interest as it is one of the few books in the world that inspired a revolution. Rizal Park in Manila is named after this national hero. He exposed the cruelty and crimes of the Spaniards against his people. He also turned the spotlight inwards to expose hypocrisy and corruption in the very core of Filipino society. Noli me Tangere, even in translation, is a great novel. I shall conclude this week’s column with a poem I wrote some time ago. This poem is inspired by Marlene Aguilar and Jose Rizal. This composition is dedicated to all those people who satisfy their needs rather than their wants. Those people whose happiness is rooted on their spirituality rather than their material possessions.”

NOTHING A Poem by Misa Telefoni

What do you see, Looking into the mirror?

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Fat cats, Fatter bank accounts.

Fat yet shallow, sad Excuses for human beings.

Look again, Deep into that mirror.

Can all that money, Buy you true love?

Can money buy back, What’s lost of your culture?

Can money purify, What’s contaminated your values?

Can money cure, What’s bastardized your language?

Can money ensure, God’s Peace in your life?

Do these prized possessions, Really impress some people?

Is there nothing of real substance, You can offer this world?

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What do you see, Looking into the mirror?

Nothing.

I sent the Samoan leader an email which stated:

“To the honorable Minister, Misa Telefoni:

Please accept my sincerest and most heartfelt gratitude. I am honored and touched by your kindness and generosity. May you find infinite love and blessings throughout your journey on earth.

With my deepest respect and admiration, Marlene Aguilar”

I believe that after writing my first novel, Warriors of Heaven, the tap on my computer eased a lot. I used to get all these strange codes on my emails. I still get them when I email certain characters in my book, however not as severe as they were before. After finishing Chapter three of this book, I sent the narrative to the major personalities in this novel, which is something I do to get their comments, insights and from some, their approval. I sent Caesar an email on the day of August 27, 2009, which you will see below. I like writing to Caesar sharing my thoughts with him. He is both considerate and generous with regard to giving me his insight. Besides, I find the mental engagement and friendship between us extremely helpful. When he replied, these peculiar codes appeared again.

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> I wish you would tell me more but I realize it isn’t easy since this medium is not private at all.

> I am so busy. It amazes me how time passes by so fast. It’s almost been 2 years since I saw you last.

> I miss talking to you. You listen with your heart. And that is a wonderful gift for a man to possess.

> Tell me how you are.

I emailed him and wrote: “Look at the codes on my email to you. What can they possibly be looking for? They’ve been doing this for so long. I’m not the enemy.” He replied: “As soon as I open the reply box, these codes show up. I have no idea what they mean.” I replied to him and said: “I don’t understand. What is so important about my emails to you? You’re not even saying anything. I mean you’re so limited in expressing yourself since god only knows who are reading these

264 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW emails. It makes it so hard to share our thoughts freely.” He answered: “The fact that you email me is important. I hope that we always stay connected.” In another email Caesar asked me: “Why do I get a start and stop time on your emails now?” I replied: “What? What do you mean by, start and stop time on my emails?” He wrote: “Some of your emails will have a start time and end time.” I emailed him back saying: “My emails come with a timer? Strange, I’ve never heard of such a thing. Have you?” He answered: “No. I have never seen it before.” In another email to the warrior with the sword of fire, I said: “Hey, look below. Isn’t it amazing? I’m getting all these codes? I wonder what they’re trying to look for. Why don’t they just email me and talk to me or meet me in person. They can even bring a dozen psychiatrists to analyze my psyche.” He replied: “Wow! I never really scrolled down the list of codes. It is quite extensive, isn’t it?” Here is a small sample of the codes. Caesar’s portion of our email exchanges are not coded, only mine.

> @font-face > {font-family:”Arial Narrow”; > panose-1:2 11 5 6 2 2 2 3 2 4;

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> mso-font-charset:0; > mso-generic-font-family:swiss; > mso-font-pitch:variable; > mso-font-signature:647 0 0 0 159 0;} > /* Style Definitions */ > p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal > {mso-style-parent:””;

A few days ago, I also sent an email to Gabriel. I wrote: “Hey. Can I send a copy of my book, Warriors of Heaven to Ralph Peters through you? I’m serious. The dedication will say:

“To Ralph Peters, Thank you for being an asshole. Peace. And big kisses, Marlene Aguilar””.

I forwarded the same email to Becca and copied it to Caesar asking for their opinion. The following morning I received Caesar’s comment. “Wow!! That certainly would stir up trouble. Reading your book may benefit him, however, the dedication could be different.” My reply to him stated: “What do you mean ‘the dedication could be different’? Say it. Say what you mean.” “Don’t you think the grunt has a sense of humor?” The Eurasian commander replied: “Using the word “asshole” seems rough.”

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My reply to him was the following: “Really? To many people, I am the porcupine bitch, witch, lioness, devil woman, biatch, the list goes on and on.... I have no problem being called names. It means I affect people. I think the worst is when you write something and your readers ignore you. You can’t possibly expect everyone to like what you write.” Becca’s reply was very different to Caesar’s. She said: “Hahahahaha!!! I don’t think the grunt will understand your sense of humor!!!” August 30, 2009, I left the house early to go see my brother Tony in Bulan, which is now a function house for private parties. After meeting with my brother, I went to meet Daniel who was leaving Manila later that day. But before I continue telling you about my engagement with the white knight, I’d like to tell you about a kidnapping incident that happened in the southern Philippines earlier this year. In January, 2009, three members of a Red Cross team were kidnapped in the town of Jolo, Sulu in Mindanao. They were abducted by men on motorcycles armed with machine guns while they were traveling to the airport. The victims were Filipina Mary Jean Lacaba, 37, a field officer for the Red Cross, Italian Eugenio Vagni, 62, a water and sanitation engineer and Swiss Andreas Notter, 38, who is in charge of the Red Cross office in Zamboanga. They came to Sulu to check on water sanitation projects located in a local provincial jail in Jolo. January 15, 2009, according to CNN: “Philippine security forces are pursuing the abductors, according to Richard Gordon of the Philippine National Red Cross.” “He urged the kidnappers to release the workers, saying they are neutral players in the sometimes turbulent southern provinces.”

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“Several Islamic militant groups, some of which have ties to al Qaeda, are active in the southern Philippines. It is unclear who was responsible for the attack.” January 16, 2009, AP Correspondent Hrvoje Hranjski, reported: “One day after gunmen dragged a Swiss, an Italian and a Filipino from their vehicle and took them into the interior of Jolo island’s mountainous Patikul township area, military and police set up blockades and marines set out on foot in search of the hostages.” “Deep mud, thick vegetation and monsoon rains were bogging down the search, and officials were giving few details for fear of jeopardizing the operation.” “That jungle is so dense, you couldn’t see each other even at a close distance,” Maj. Gen. Juancho Sabban, head of Jolo’s anti- terrorism task force, told The Associated Press by telephone. April 2, 2009, The China Post reported: “The Abu Sayyaf rebel group had demanded the withdrawal of troops from Jolo Island and threatened to kill one of the hostages if the demand was not met by 2 p.m. (0600 GMT) on Tuesday. The demand was rejected.” “Interior secretary Ronaldo Puno said also that about 2,000 troops and local security forces had re-established a cordon around the kidnappers and the hostages in the interior jungles of Jolo. They had withdrawn a few kilometers.” “The Abu Sayyaf, which has been linked to the regional Jemaah Islamiah and to al Qaeda, has been blamed for the worst militant attack in the Philippines, the bombing of a ferry in Manila Bay in 2004 that killed 100 people.” Finally, on July 12, 2009, AP announced: “MANILA, July 12 (AP) - (Kyodo)—An Italian Red Cross worker held hostage for nearly six months by bandits on the

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southern Philippine island of Jolo has been released, the military said Sunday.” “Vagni is the last aid worker to be released by Abu Sayaff, an extremist Muslim group operating in the southern Philippine Sulu and Basilan islands”. “Notter was released April 18, while Lacaba was released April 2.” So here is the conversation I had with the white knight, date, August 30, 2009. We went to a restaurant serving an excellent variety of fresh seafood and vegetables along Bocobo St. in Malate, Manila. We were there early and were the first customers to arrive. We sat at an iron table for four lined with a cheap green and white fabric at the end of the large dining hall. Daniel wore a dark brown shirt with short sleeves and an old pair of jeans. “I like your shirt. I like plain shirts with solid colors. It suits you,” I said. “Why? Why are you being nice? You make me nervous when you’re nice.” “Say thank you and accept the compliment, grunt,” I replied. “There, there, I like that better. Thank you,” he said triumphant. “You know, I had never heard of Ralph Peters before.” “Really? How come?” “He’s not part of the Special Forces community, that’s why. He’s part of the conventional army. He’s a regular grunt. I read his stuff when I read your book. The dude is lost. His mind is so limited. Guys in the SF group don’t think like that. But then you need above average IQ to become a Green Beret. SF guys are culturally more in tune. We are taught to adapt to different cultures.” “Are you saying Ralph Peters is dumb?”

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“The guy is an officer within the conventional army. God, he’s living in the past. That’s why we had unnecessary casualties in Iraq because of old timers like that. They don’t get it.” “What do you mean, they don’t get it?” “You know how you call the older generation in the Philippines, “trapo”?” “Yes, it means traditional politician but “trapo” also means a dirty, disgusting and useless rag. To me it represents the diseased and colonized minds of older generations of Filipinos, lost and unaware that the world has changed and continues to fuse.” “Well, the old timers who are members of the military have a similar issue. For example, I’ve worked with these men from PACOM, Pacific Command. They haven’t caught up with the realities of the 21st century.” “What’s Pacific command?” “It’s a line; everything from East of India to Hawaii is within the jurisdiction of the Pacific command. Anyway, these veterans live in the past. They can’t adapt to change, believing that their war strategies in the Southeast Asian wars would play out in Iraq.” “Which veterans?” “Regular grunts who served in Vietnam and those conducting peace time operations.” “I don’t understand, please explain.” “America’s wars of today are not like the wars fought in the past. In the old days, they focused on big muzzle movements, naval ships and big tanks for big ground defenses, you know what I mean? For example, before it was US against Germany or US against Vietnam where you’re raging war against a whole country. Whereas today, the wars are about fighting small insurgency groups like that in Iraq or that in the southern Philippines in Mindanao,” Daniel explained.

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“So you can’t be using the same tactic used in the past to counter these small groups of terrorists. It’s a whole different ball game these days. The thing is we have this older generation of officers within the US military who can’t adapt to this change. That’s one of the reasons we fucked up the war in Iraq. America’s wars of today have changed and the only way we’re going to win is to focus on low intensity conflict, irregular warfare, that’s what we call it.” “So do you think the killing machine is adapting to this change?” “Some are trying but it will take a very long time...” “Changing the subject, sometimes I hear you say that some Filipino was brought in by medevac. How do you handle medical evacuation in Mindanao? How do you transport the wounded?” I asked. “You mean the Filipino soldiers?” “Yes.” “AFP (meaning Armed Forces of the Philippines) take care of their own men unless someone is critical then they call us for support. That’s when we use our aircraft to transport the wounded to Villamor Air Base in Manila from Mindanao. And from there they’re taken to the hospital.” “The Americans are not supposed to engage in the war there, right?” “That’s correct unless we get shot at, then we can fire back. It’s self defense,” he said. “The war in Mindanao is not going to end you know. There is so much graft and corruption there.” “Graft and corruption, amongst whom?” “Amongst the AFP and the local politicians,” he replied. His food was now served. He ordered fish grilled in the open fire. Daniel likes to eat seafood. I ordered steamed shrimp as appetizer for both

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of us and deep fried crab with salt and pepper for my main course. In addition I asked for some green vegetables we call Chinese “kangkong” sautéed in garlic with fried rice for Daniel and I to share. “The tangled webs we weave…” he announced out of the blue shaking his head smiling. “Do you mean me?” “Yes,” he answered. “Why?” “Oh, it just sounded good to say it,” he said laughing. “Are you aware of the recent kidnapping incident in Mindanao when members of the Red Cross were taken?” “I don’t read the papers but yes I’m aware of it. I know the expat who did part of the negotiation. The incident got him on TV. It was big news all over the world. Why do you ask?” I stated staring at Daniel’s face that was now becoming dimmer, his grave pain contained within. He shook his head lightly, contemplating with grief. “What do you think these kidnappings are about?” “Politics,” I said. “And the money, what do you think happens to the money?” “Arms, the rebels buy arms with the money,” I declared. I looked at Daniel and took a long deep breath. “God damn it! I’m going to get emotional now.” “You? Emotional? Oh please tell me that’s not true,” he said teasing. “Listen to me, grunt,” I implored him with tearful eyes. “You know how old I was when I had to sleep with the sound of gun shots in the background because I was in the middle of a war in Mindanao? I was 17. I’ve seen shit you wouldn’t believe. Why do you think I’ve become more defiant over the years?

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Many years ago, Howard Marks asked me how much I knew about the underground, the drug cartel, espionage, etc…I said, the more I know the less I understand. And he told me, that is exactly how he feels. In my old cell phone, there is a message which I keep to this day. It was sent to me by a man who I believe with all my heart is loyal to the US government, then and even now. He told me that in 2002, he flew a plane from Damascus to Baghdad with a man from Turkey who is an arms dealer. They went to see Uday, the son of Saddam Hussein. This is because the Turk, I mean the arms dealer, gave Uday a brand new Rolls Royce which was delivered in a truck. I learned later that my friend was very close to the man from Turkey. For many years, this bothered me to no end. I couldn’t understand it then. I couldn’t understand why a man serving the American government maintained a very close friendship with a man who sold arms to Saddam Hussein. For so long this brought grief to my heart because I couldn’t see it. I thought there were only two sides to the coin,” I continued crying. “There are so many soldiers like you who believe that the wars are about choosing between right and wrong, between left and right. But it doesn’t work like that. It never did. How can I help you understand?” Daniel stared at me with a sadness I shall never be able to express. There was silence between us for a while, silence filled with blackness and torment. Meanwhile, my memory took me back to the distant past and I could see images of men shooting at each other in the killing fields. “Where do the rebels buy the arms, Marlene?” he asked suddenly. “Somewhere not far from the Philippines, from a country populated by Muslims, but you know what? Do you really want to

273 MARLENE AGUILAR know what’s going on? Look at the goddamn guns and they will say made in the USA! Okay. Get it?” Daniel stared at me in disbelief. He looked as if the whole world had crashed on his shoulders. How painful it must be for him to come to this revelation, which had taken me so long to come to terms with. More than that, it has taken me many more years before I could gain the balance and the courage to speak of it. “It comes around in full circle,” I said gently. “It’s just business. At the end of the day, some people must fill their bank accounts.” “Again, you and I are just pawns. We are nothing on earth.” Early morning, August 31, 2009, I sent this email to Caesar: “The oracles told me that I am in real danger. This is the first time this has appeared in the tarot. The strange thing is, in my vision, I have seen what is about to unfold and I have given my warnings to the closest members of my family and friends in case something does happen to me. I didn’t share this revelation with the old lady seer. Nevertheless, she saw it in the cards when I saw her a few days ago. She asked me if I am afraid. I said, my lower self is afraid but my higher self knows no fear. However, there are times when I do feel alone.” He answered on the same day: “Although you feel alone, you never are, despite what you think.” I replied back to him and said: “Thank you for your kind words. They bring me comfort.” “Wow. We’re getting more of these html codes embedded in our email exchanges. I’ve decided they’re not going to bother me anymore.” Again, he replied: “I have given up on the codes also.”

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“I want you to know I am here for you always.” On the evening of Tuesday, September 1, 2009, I sent one of the characters in this book this little story. He had left the country to go on his next mission. All I really wanted to do was give my best wishes to him, but instead this little tale emerged. I call it Magic.

Magic

Once upon a time, a little girl went searching for magic in the woods. She believed with all her little heart that there were magical creatures living there. Apparently, there was a little boy with a broken little heart doing the same. But he wasn’t sure if there was magic in the forest. The little girl got there first and found a beautiful stream beaming with crystal clear water. The stream was abundant with amazing varieties of fish in all sorts of shapes and colors which she had only previously seen in her dreams. She stood before the stream, closed her eyes and whispered to the mighty goddess of the forest, “Dear lady, please let me see the fairies and the leprechauns.” And she stood there with her eyes closed feeling her tiny heart with her right hand. She held on to this posture for the longest time, hoping and hoping that her wish would come true. She didn’t know that many hours had passed. Then she heard some amazing sounds she’d never ever heard before. Suddenly, she opened her little brown eyes. And behold, there were 18 fairies singing and swaying, floating before her while 18 leprechauns danced around her with glee. All of a sudden, she noticed the sad boy sitting by the tree. She said to him gently, “Why are you so sad?” The boy replied, “Because nobody understands me.” “But I do,” she answered and took the

275 MARLENE AGUILAR boys hand. “Close your eyes,” she whispered in his ear, “I will show you magic.” The two children stood side by side facing the divine stream. They held each other’s hands. The little girl closed her eyes as well and she prayed to the goddess of the forest once again, to bestow upon the boy, the same gift she had given her. The cheerful fairies continued to fly around the little girl and the little boy singing and sprinkling them with tiny bits of rainbow colored rose petals that glittered in the air like bright stars. The leprechauns danced and danced as happy as could be. There was magic, magic everywhere. But the little boy with the broken heart couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear either. More than that, he couldn’t feel anything beyond his broken heart. He didn’t believe in magic you see. Suddenly, the little girl opened her eyes. “You must believe,” she whispered to the little boy whose eyes were still closed tight. And she kissed him ever so lightly on his cheek. “You must believe in magic,” she whispered to him again while she held his hand. “Now open your eyes,” she beckoned him. “There can you see them? Can you see the fairies and the leprechauns?” she asked him. A bright light shone on the boy’s angelic face. He rubbed his eyes and smiled the biggest smile. “Yes, I can see them!” he cried. Moreover, from that day forth the little boy’s broken heart was mended.

The End

Molly September 1, 2009

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The following day, I received a reply from my friend to whom I had sent the above short story. He said: “What’s up chink? Why so nice? You’re usually like the wicked witch from South East Asia but it’s nice to know miracles do happen. I guess you can’t get Kinsale, Ireland out of your mind. Your story sounds vaguely familiar to something that I once read when I was stationed in SE Asia about 16 years ago. I had to read it twice to understand the full meaning but I understand it now. The funniest thing happened after reading your silly fairy tale, my eyes leaked. Thank you. By the way, which one of you wrote it?” I responded, “Molly, the child in me.” All my life, I have tried my best to confront my fears. One of my fears was singing. I grew up as a little girl with both of my parents singing to us at night before we slept. Both my mother and father were gifted with great voices. Later on, my brother Freddie sang us to sleep at night singing beautiful folk songs while plucking his acoustic guitar. Eventually, his song “Anak”, which he composed and sang, became number one all over Asia and Europe. It has now been translated into over 40 languages. I have over a dozen nephews and nieces. Add to that my sons Jason and Colby. They can all sing. Most of them can play at least one musical instrument, while a few can also compose music. Plus, by the time some of them were teenagers, they had already performed in some of the biggest venues abroad. The thing is none of them ever took vocal training or music lessons. They were born with music in their genes. Many years ago, my brother Freddie told me that I had a beautiful voice which I didn’t know how to use. My brother in-law Abhe, one

277 MARLENE AGUILAR of the best guitar players in the Philippines, who is also gifted with a magical voice, said the same thing and repeatedly urged me to sing. I refused to do so, feeling that I could never measure up to the rest of my family. My father always insisted, “If you’re going to do something, make sure you do it better than the rest…” So I was forever afraid to sing knowing that I have a family that is so unforgiving when it comes to music. Then, three months ago something within me changed. I was at my brother’s club in Malate on a Sunday evening. Becca joined Steve and I at our table. Abhe was performing solo on stage. Out of the blue, during his break, I told him I wanted to get up on stage and sing. So he called me during his next set and I sang one song while he played the guitar for me. I screwed up terribly of course. However, after that I had a serious talk with him. I told him about my fear of singing and that now I had decided to confront it. I told him I wanted to learn how to use my voice. So I asked him to come to my home twice a week henceforth so he could play the guitar for me while I sang. I’d like to add that my family does not believe in singing lessons, saying that one loses one’s soul and freedom by taking lessons. “If you’re born with a good voice, just keep singing and your soul will bring you to the right path,” my brother would say. “If you take singing lessons, you end up becoming a pop musician with a voice so technically polished it is perfect for the box, void of purity and soul.” Apparently, Becca was stunned that I had the courage to get up on stage despite the fact that I’m not at all a singer. She was even more stunned that I could laugh at myself after my terrible performance. Ever since that night in Ka Freddie’s club, I’ve begun to sing twice a week at home with my brother in-law Abhe, learning to use my

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voice now for the past three months. Last year, we celebrated Steve’s birthday in Bulan with over 80 guests who came to the party. Maegan and her band provided us with impressive live music. This year we decided to celebrate Steve’s birthday in Bulan again. So this time, I decided to perform accompanied by Abhe and Benjie Lumanlan, a master violin player who spent many years with the Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra. I also asked Becca to come and perform. She was backed up by one guitarist and a keyboard player. In addition, I asked Maegan to perform with her band again. I was the first performer, followed by Becca and her group. Bulan was crowded that evening. The house could easily sit 75 people on the ground floor plus 18 chairs around the bar and 12 more in the mezzanine. Bulan was full with many people standing. All my closest friends were there, Alwin, Paulie, Celest, Carol and Dr. Jun Javier who has been such a soul brother to me since the mid 80’s. I don’t ever remember asking for Jun’s help, without him running to my rescue each and every time. He is one of the most giving souls I know. My friend Mita Ong, who I don’t see often but who is dear to me, was also there that evening. She started out as my client and we grew to become friends as the years passed. She told me, “When I first saw you, I knew you would do something good for the Philippines.” Ever since she has supported my entire range of book projects promoting Philippine art and culture. The poet Alice Bernal was also present in Bulan that night. The first sight of her gave me the vision of an angel coming down from heaven to bring me light. I loved her from the first moment we met. Steve’s colleagues from the Asian Development Bank were headed by Susan Francisco and the Filipino staff who work in the

279 MARLENE AGUILAR same department. There were also a number of expats, professional staff from the bank, Tony Gill, Jeremy Guthrie, Armin Bauer and his wife, Craig and Min Sugden, Brian MacDonald and Graham and Amy Settle. There were also a number of visual artists at the party that night, headed by master watercolorists Rafael “Popoy” Cusi and Jun Martinez along with Roland Santos, Vic Bachoco, Abu, Nik Masangcay, Dems de la Cruz and Isagani Fuentes. I have thus far published coffee table books for the art of Popoy, Jun, Roland and Nik. And soon, I will also publish the coffee table books featuring the artworks of Dems, Abu, Vic and Isagani. So that evening, I got up on stage, accompanied by Abhe and Benjie and I sang in front of over a hundred people and finally conquered my fear. Before I left the house that day, I emailed Caesar and wrote: “I’m performing in Bulan tonight. If I screw up, I will shoot myself.” The next day, I emailed Caesar and said: “I did great! It was amazing!” After the show, I sent Becca a text message and I said, “Thank you, Bex. You are beautiful.” She replied and said: “I thank you more than I can say. You brought out the best in me. I am forever grateful. And you are magic, a beautiful creation of magic. I am happy. And I love you so.” Becca has a beautiful singing voice but she’s afraid to face the crowd. I am not afraid to face the audience although I believe that I have yet to learn how to use my voice as my brother commented. That takes a lot of practice and requires some time to learn. Anyway,

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I told her that if I can get up in front of an audience, to confront my fear and sing, then she can do the same thing. So to further confront our fears, I accepted singing at a dinner show entitled Soul Sisters featuring Becca and I at the Hobbit House on Friday, October 23, 2009 with my niece Maegan Aguilar as guest performer. The show sold out. “Aren’t you afraid?” asked Becca. “Not really. Anyway, fear turns me on,” I responded laughing. “No, I’m not afraid. Just have fun with it Becca. Life is too short, tomorrow it’s even shorter.” Two days after the warm and wonderful evening we all shared in Bulan, I received this article from Alice Bernal which she posted in her multiply and facebook blog. She sent it to me via email. She calls it, The enigma in the phoenix called Marlene Aguilar.

The enigma in the phoenix called Marlene Aguilar A close encounter in the looking glass outside of my rabbit hole

There is but once in a lifetime, a chance of raising the eye level to the reflection in the mirror and finding there- staring at you from below the surface of the rabbit hole, a reflection of the unknown self waiting to be found. This unknown self juxtaposes in yours, living out the parallel existence of yet another in divergent path that crosses when the learning is required of an evolving spirit. Such was this chance meeting I had with Marlene whose strong presence it was that made me look further deep within the mirror of myself to see images of the vista of humanity in her talking eye... and so then I have thus begun to understand the profundities of this soul’s movements from its very core

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I cannot explain the friendship forged between Marlene and me despite the seeming theory at variance with our lifestyles, but suffice it to say that we keep in our hearts - utmost respect for each other’s own uniqueness and the variant degrees of its manifestations thereof. Marlene Aguilar is widely traveled and schooled in the University of the Philippines, Diliman and Worcester State College in Massachusetts. She has published 11 coffee table books promoting Philippine Art and Culture, garnering awards and citations here and abroad; and now has finally written her powerful first novel: “Warriors of Heaven” which will be formally launched in The Cultural Center of the Philippines on the 21st of November. I quote Marlene: “I began writing this book, August 23, 2008. These are only fractions of the actual events of my life from July 25, 2007 to the present day; that is those elements that I am at liberty to share.” “If your mind is locked away within the rules of society, religion and other institutions, please do not buy this book. You will not get it. But if you have wondered what it’s like to have freedom of mind and spirit, then this book might set you free.” I also quote here a book review from Inday Espina-Varona, editor-in-chief of Philippine Graphic: “...after reading all these revelations, people will love Marlene or hate her, mock her or revere her. But she will never ever bore them.” “When pressed for my own review, I can only manage to say one word that contains the entirety of her compelling novel: “Explosive!” One has just got to read it to know why.” On September 5, 2009, I received this text message from her. “Just been to anticipated mass in the chapel here today and I prayed for more guidance for you. You are so loved and blessed by God.”

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Monday, September 7, 2009, I had dinner with Becca and Steve. We went to Diamond Hotel in Malate and after that we went to Hobbit House along M.H. del Pilar Street. When we walked in to Hobbit House, we saw the Irish owner of the pub, Jim Turner, sitting at the corner of the bar quietly drinking his beer. Steve, Becca and I decided to sit three tables away from the center of the stage. That night Becca and I had a serious talk. “Do you think you’re ready to tell your story?” I asked her gently. “I wouldn’t push you to do it. You have to believe it is the right thing for you to do and that you’re ready. Otherwise, don’t do it.” She smiled the warmest most beautiful smile and said, “I’m ready to talk sister. I wanted to do it when I was 16 but didn’t know how…” “I became the confidante of your cousin Merle Fernandez,” I stated. “Over the years, she told me stories. She never said anything directly but I could sense the dread in her heart. I think this is what has driven the members of your family to be so loving, so giving, so brave, so pure and true but on the other hand you’re all so fiercely volatile. In addition, there is this self destructive mechanism within the psyche of many members of your family. In most cases, children who were pushed to the extreme have this kind of intensity as adults.” I would like to add that Becca’s first cousin Merle Fernandez is one of my dearest friends, one of my soul mates. She is the older sister of Rudy Fernandez who became the number one action movie star in the country and who passed away last year. Merle, during her time, was also a very famous movie star. I can’t put into words how much I love and admire Becca, not only for the purity of her heart, the light that she continuously gives

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to those around her but also for her bravery despite the deep torment she keeps buried in her heart. I dream so much to see her free. I pray the heavenly forces will grant her freedom from her agony. Meanwhile, a very close friend of mine told me that she was contacted by representatives of a leading political party in the Philippines asking if they could meet with us. They want us to support one of the leading presidential candidates in the next election. She told them, “I can’t decide for Marlene Aguilar. I must speak to her.” I emailed Caesar about this right away. I told him: “I am known in the visual arts community. But I am a nobody in the political community so why would they care about me? I wish we could talk. I feel I am entering unknown territory. The words of the oracles are coming true. What do I do? Help me.” Here below is the commander’s reply. “You are becoming more important daily. Although you think you are just part of the visual arts community, you are more than that. You represent independence, diversity, versatility, and so much more. Any community, be it political or whatever, would do well to have your support.”

September 9, 2009, I received here below another email from Alice. “Marlene dear, As promised, today am breezing through internet to find you in Facebook. It is regrettably to no avail with so many clones without profile photos yet, but I think I was able to chance upon a pseudonym in multiply. I have not been really active in these prolific social sites, as I have been both getting a life and working on options; as a result I have been kept busy living life in perpetual hiatus, amongst other things.

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There are writers like you who have natural charisma and who thrive in the wonderful company of kindred spirits and there are writers like me who find creativity in solitude and then there are writers I know who are neither here nor there... I will get to bed early tonight and read your final chapter. I cannot show the impressive invitation to your book launch to my Mom who may be incredulous to find I am labeled as a poet. My Mom and I years back were with a friend who is a multi- awarded poet at a book launch and he was asked in an interview by a noted columnist if he thinks of himself as a poet. My friend was quick to reply that - well, he was and still is working on it. So you see, I have no right to claim that I am...mine is of divine insistence, I find myself writing “Ruah Elohim”, I suppose it is why another good friend, the famed European poet and publicist gave me my penname “Juanita” after Saint John of the Cross. I have yet to acknowledge this and hone my skills, preferring to remain in anonymity... I will find time to check your website hopefully tomorrow. Meantime your book cover blows the mind...if it were poetry it would have been surreal yet palpable... one that defies imagination yet pierces the core of heart where you story unfolds...

Ciao my dear friend, Alicia”

September 9, 2009, the same day, here was my reply to Alice. “Darling Alice, When I attended Worcester State College in Massachusetts, I chose Media as my minor degree. One semester, I wanted to enroll in an acting class. The professor, Ann Marie Shae, insisted that she

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would only take 18 students. In addition, she demanded that the students take the prerequisite to her class. This was another course she taught which prepared her students for the acting class. She also demanded that she interview each student before she accepted them on the course. So I decided to join the long line to be interviewed by her. I wanted to take her acting class. Of course I didn’t take the prerequisite course. There was a very long line because she was a famous teacher in that college. So many students wanted to attend her class. Finally, I found myself sitting in her office. When she realized that I had not taken her prerequisite class, she totally freaked out. Pissed off, her face turned red instantly. She yelled at me and said, “How dare you sit in this room! What makes you think you’re an actress?” I held my position in my chair, held my head up high and politely answered, “I never thought for one moment that I wasn’t...” After these words came out of my mouth, the enraged woman calmed right down, smiled at me and stood up from where she sat. Then she walked toward me, shook my hand and said to me gently, “You’re accepted. See you in my class.” I became Ann Marie Shae’s favorite acting student that semester. She told us she wanted to keep the video tapes of my work in her class filed in the school library. The point, my dear Alice is, you are either a poet or you are not. I say that you are.

Loving you infinitely, Marlene”

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September 10, 2009, Alice replied. She stated: “Marlene dear, I salute the sage in you, this is a most inspiring anecdote and so with your kind permission, I hope to share this in my blog. If being a poet means being true to oneself, then I suppose, I am... You are really something else!

Love, Alicia”

September 23, 2009, I emailed Caesar. I wrote: “I’m scared.” “Tell me why,” he responded. “I am afraid there are those around me who want to use me for their personal gain, human nature, I suppose. I am only one person. I fear losing my balance in the process,” I emailed Caesar.

Friday, 25 September, Caesar sent me this email. “I so wish we could talk openly. Anyway, you have to realize peoples’ nature. If you are familiar with Maslow’s “hierarchy of needs”, most of us are at the bottom or midway. You are the only person I know that has achieved the highest level of self- actualization. That’s another reason you are so special.”

My reply to the warrior who holds the celestial sword of fire: “Yes I know about Abraham Maslow’s theory of self-actualization. The thing is we were born naked and with nothing. We will leave the earth just the same. Still, people commit such hideous deeds in the name of greed and dominance. Heaven help us.

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I have a question. You have my gift of sight. It’s there inside you. Are your senses growing? Hold on, that’s not the right question actually. The right question should be are you allowing your senses freedom?” “I don’t know that I am. I wish you were here to help me. I do so much better with your presence,” was Caesar’s reply.

On September 24, 2009, I received this email from Gabriel. “I may never leave the box but I will leave the army tomorrow at 10:00 am. They will have a retirement ceremony for me on a cold and rainy parade field. So on Friday, 10:00 am, I will sign out of the Army on Terminal Leave (poetic statement). Then I come home and pack my uniforms away. ” The devil on earth says he may never leave the box. I think he means that he left the army only to join another box. Notice the smile at the end of his statement. I believe that this symbolizes that he’s happy to be where he’s going next.

On the morning of Saturday, September 26, 2009, Steve, Maya, Maya’s friend L.A. and I were in the Grandia heading towards the usual Starbucks outlet down the street from Blue Ridge. L.A. is a 10 year old sweet-natured girl who spends the weekends with us while her mother is away working in Japan. She is the daughter of Irene Radin, my Brother Tony’s partner. The two girls sat side by side in the back of the vehicle behind my seat. It was raining like crazy and some of the streets were flooded. This delighted Maya to no end. “I want to play in the flood! This is so cool,” she exclaimed. “Look at the car swimming in the water, Mommy!” she declared happily pointing to a car on the other side of the road that was barely

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making it through the high waters, its wheels totally submerged in the flood. L.A. giggled in the back amused at Maya’s behavior towards the extremely bad weather we were experiencing. I didn’t realize Typhoon Ondoy had attacked the Philippines that morning. Its winds ripped through the country at 100 miles per hour, bringing about a month’s rainfall to Metro Manila, causing the worst flooding in the country in over two decades and devastating many areas. The fierce storm forced the evacuation of hundreds of thousands of people, leaving many homeless and taking many lives. I believe that the damage caused by the storm is Mother Nature’s way of purging and settling karmic accounts. When I was a teenager, I used to go to the mountains of Montalban located east of where I live. I would find myself the same special spot each time meditating there for long periods of time. At that time the place was abundant with trees and all sorts of greenery and animals. The magical river was home to many water creatures, shells and fish. Now most of this area has been converted into housing projects, devastating the mountain all together and killing most of its natural life. When will we realize that when mankind takes from Mother Nature, she will take from him in return? Didn’t you know that if you take care of Mother Earth, she will take care of you in return? Meanwhile, I sent Alice a text message. “Good morning, dear Alice. With your permission, may I submit the blog you wrote on me to the press for the promotion of my book, Warriors of Heaven? Thank you so much.” She replied at once.

“My dear friend Marlene, I have written that with all sincerity for one whom I have respect for – the consummate artist that you are. I have received much

289 MARLENE AGUILAR favorable feedback from many who think well of you. You may do as you wish with this humble gift from a fellow traveler in life. I just need to know that attention is paid more deservedly to you.”

I replied back to her. “I am touched by your kindness and support. I thank you from the deepest part of my heart. Loving you, Marlene”

She responded. “We all have a purpose in life…You have been a blessing too, in mine. God is good.” Do you remember Chris? He was in the Balkans when I wrote about him in Warriors of Heaven. He was with the British Special Forces and part of his impressive curriculum vitae was included in my book. I want to tell you now how I met him. Many years ago, he came to my home for dinner. He was accompanied by Larry, an American friend of mine who took his masters degree in business from Harvard University after graduating from Cornell. During that evening Larry and Chris discussed the future of the Philippine military.

Not long after, I received a phone call from another friend. “You are under surveillance by the US Embassy,” he told me. I asked, “Why?” “Because you had dinner with an arms dealer in your home...” I responded, “Just because I had dinner with an arms dealer doesn’t mean I’m selling arms! No crime was committed.”

September 23, 2009, I received an email from Chris. He sent me a message entitled, “The real story on Swine Flu”.

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Upon opening the email, I couldn’t make anything out of his long message. So I replied to him immediately and stated: “Hi Chris. Look below. Is this really what you sent me?”

Content-Type: image/gif Content-Transfer-Encoding: base64 Content-ID: <[email protected]. com>=3B Content-Disposition: attachment=3B filename=3D”mime- attachment.gif” = R0lGODlhUgOCAucAAAAAAAAOEAgQDgcWFhM­LChYRD RYZGQAeIh0gGgcmJgMuMQc1NRUpKRw= vMBY2 NikFACUQCiIdHDYFADUXDiQjGycmJiYyLCY4ODEtLDg0­ KTc1NQA8QxM+QitCPAdFRgROUAV= YWhhG RhVMUhdYWAJdYRRgXwlmZgB4eRdpaRBvcB­1wbRhx cSVISCdQTShXVzhHRzJSTjRYWCZdYTF= jXCJt­bSZsc iJxbipycjVpaTFucTh0aTZ6ekYFAEoWCVgGAFgXB1Al­ GEY6LUE8PFk3LVU/N3IMAG0= 5LUlE

The above is only a very small fraction of what came in by email. Here is Chris’ reply, which I received from him within a few minutes of my inquiry.

“No, that’s not what I sent. It’s been scrambled.

Chris”

He sent me the same message once more and again it was scrambled. On his third attempt, his email finally came through.

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Here are the contents of Chris’ email. I would like to add that the attachments came with www.NidoKidos.Org on each page. Apparently, here is the real story behind swine flu according to Chris’s email.

Odds of… #death by assault in your lifetime 331/1 #death by falling 250/1 #death by firearm 325/1 #death by poison 1,400/1 #death in a car crash 5,000/1 #death by choking on food or something else 5,000/1 #death by drowning 9,000/1 #death by murder 20,000/1 #death by lightning 71,000/1 #death by dog attack 137,000/1 #death in the bathtub 807,000/1 #death by a flood 713,000/1 #death by falling out of bed 2,000,000/1 #being killed in a terrorist WMD attack (WMD, weapons of mass destruction) 6,000,000/1

1,154 people died worldwide due to Swine Flu Odds 8,000,000/1

Yup, that’s right. You are at a greater risk from drowning in a bath tub.

Some beneficiaries • Drug Companies – more medications sold

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• Doctors – patients with mild cold will not “take any chances” • Medical Institutions • Media – more interest = more sales • Some politicians

ONLY TREATMENT – Tamiflu which is also the only treatment for bird flu.

Only license for Oseltamivir (Tamiflu) is to Gilead Sciences Inc. Roche – manufactures it under license Patent protection till 2016

TAMIFLU • USA ordered 25m doses • Total cost $2Bn ($80 per course) • 65 governments have ordered • Orders to 2008 – 200 million

Chairman of Gilead Sciences Inc. since 1997 to 2001 who held major stocks was Donald Rumsfeld, former USA Secretary of Defense.

• Bush authorized $1.7 Bn to fight bird flu – 14% went to Gilead Inc. • Gilead shares rose 700% since 2005 (when stock markets fell 40%) • Total revenue for 2nd quarter 2009 up 29% over 2008 • Net income for 2nd quarter 2009 = $571.4m ($434m 2008) • Royalties from Roche ($78.8 m) • 10% of every vaccine to Rumsfeld

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So let’s understand… • Every month 50,000 people die from AIDS in South Africa • Every day nearly 1,600 people die from AIDS • Every year 80,000 die of TB

Because the Powers don’t make money from treating AIDS, TB, measles and malnutrition… Chris’ email on swine flu ends here. The advance copies of my book, Warriors of Heaven arrived on the 16th of September from Hong Kong. On the 18th of September, I received an email from Frederick Lo who has taken charge of my printing needs for many years. Below are my email exchanges with Fred. His narrative is in italics.

Dear Marlene, How are you doing? I guess you must be very busy with your coming book launch. I just read the first chapter of the book. I was impressed. Congratulations! As your book title says, you’re a warrior of heaven. By the way, you must have a sweet voice like your brother. Talk to you soon.

Best regards, Frederick Lo

September 19, 2009

“Dear Fred, Wow! I’m surprised that you read my book, amazing. Thank you!

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Yes, I am very busy. You know about my brother Freddie? Actually, my cosmic sister Becca and my niece Maegan are having a dinner show at the Hobbit House in Manila next month entitled, ‘Soul Sisters’.

Marlene”

Dear Marlene. When I was young, Freddie Aguilar was my idol. He was very popular in Hong Kong. We heard his song over the radio. But during that time to buy an LP would have cost a lot of money. Have a successful concert. It sounds fantastic. I will be there in spirit. I hope to hear you sing in Hong Kong someday.

Best regards, Frederick Lo

P.S. Your book sits on the table near my bed ready for me to read before I go to sleep.

My email exchanges with Frederick Lo stops here.

Sunday, September 27, 2009, while having dinner at the Gran Caffe Cassanova, I spoke to my bodyguard Mark Hauser on the phone. He had arrived suddenly from his trip in Europe. When he left, he told me that he wouldn’t be back until the end of December. But for some strange reason, he returned much sooner than expected. I should tell you at this point that Mark’s mentor is Chris who is still in the Balkans, apparently.

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Upon his return Mark has been ever increasingly concerned about my safety. Here is a fraction of my conversation with him that night. His narrative is in italic. “You need another bodyguard Ma’am. I’m good but I’m not good enough. There are people who want to harm you.” “I’m not hiring another bodyguard Mark. That’s out of the question. How long did you spend with Chris while you were away?” “We traveled by train from Scotland to England Ma’am.” “Chris brainwashed you then.” “No Ma’am. Why can’t you see that your safety has become ever more delicate? You could seriously get hurt. Do you not believe you’re in danger?” “Yes, I do.” “Then why won’t you listen?” “Because even an entire army couldn’t protect me, if heaven wills it that I should perish.” Early morning, Wednesday, September 30, 2009, Caesar sent me this email. “I have just finished both chapters you sent me. They are great. Chapter two brings up many ideas and thoughts that will enlighten readers about the life of a military man. I hope they will realize that not all military men are that way but many are. It is interesting how you ended Chapter two when Daniel states that without principles, he has nothing. I believe that many military men feel that way. I was not happy with some of my comments in the chapters. Not that they weren’t good. I just realized I typed too fast and formed incongruent sentences or had grammatical errors. Sorry, it must be my OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) kicking in. I love the way you blend historical data with anecdotal information and perceptions. You will cause a lot of people to do

296 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW some thinking. I do agree, however, that someone with the desire and time can figure out who your characters are. Keep writing. It is so interesting.” Here was my reply. “Ha Ha! I swear you’re OC behavior makes me laugh. Well you can send the chapters back to me with your corrections, how about that Mr. OC? You know I really wanted to bring the world of military men closer to people through this book, Tales of the Black Widow. The rest of the world is so angry over America’s war in Iraq. People end up loathing the soldiers who fought there. I think that is so unfair. I find it a brutal crime that the Vietnam veterans also suffered so greatly as soldiers in ‘Nam. And yet later they had to face the ignorance, the cruelty and the judgment of the American people for their actions in that war. I hope my book will help enlighten people. I come from the cultural community of the Philippines. I believe that my readers, my following come from a totally different world. For example, there are authors writing about the killing machine like Ralph Peters who was conceived, born and bred from the same box. Therefore, his perspective as far as I’m concerned is so limited. The readers he attracts come from the same frame of thought. In that sense his writing is incestuous. On the other hand, there are American journalists traveling to Iraq interviewing grunts and later writing about it. But an American journalist talking to service men in the Middle East is talking to the face of the soldiers, the soldiers who are slaves of the killing machine. However, I believe I’m not only confronting the soldier but the other parts of his psyche as well. Moreover, since I’m not American I hope to offer another point of view.

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Thank you so much for your insights. Your opinion matters so much to me.” Here was the commander’s reply which I received the following day. “I agree with you completely. You bring a unique, unbiased, perspective that allows others to see a different point of view. It is quite refreshing. And I don’t really consider myself OC, although everyone disagrees with me. Ha ha!” At this point, I would like to tell you about my cosmic children. I have several soul brothers and sisters. As well, I have a number of soul sons and daughters. We share some things in common, my soul partners and me. We are all free in mind and spirit. We sneer upon man-made rules and the structures of society, religion and other institutions that continue to endanger the existence of mankind and the earth. We all shine from within the core of our being. We are not blinded by materialism. We have all suffered tragic experiences as children. In that respect we are all broken toys. I share a very intense relationship with each and every one of my soul partners. I share a very deep bonding with each of them that goes beyond the here and now. One of my soul daughters is Melissa Moore. She studied at Brent International School in Manila, which is where both my sons Jason and Colby met her. Melissa, who calls me ‘Tita Mom’, is gifted with an unbelievable mind and deep passion for the arts and music. Her aura is so brilliant, resonating beauty, compassion and love from within the center of her being. I believe this is what makes her breathtakingly attractive within and without.

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One morning, Melissa walked into my old home along Cliff Drive in Blue Ridge. It was the year 1998. I believe she was 19 years old then. Upon seeing her, I instantly felt deep love for her soul, a soul which I have always known. We ended up sitting across from each other at the round table in my terrace facing the mountains of Rizal province. “You contain great pain inside you,” I told her gently with tears in my eyes. “Something so tragic and violent happened to you. You must let it go. You must give it to the wind. Otherwise, it will own you.” After these words, she got up and ran to the bathroom. I followed her and found her shaking and crying without control, standing in front of the mirror. I held her like a mother would hold her daughter trying to protect her. I can’t describe in words the special bonding I have with Melissa. But she did confide in me her darkest secrets and we were inseparable after that day. We spent countless, magical hours of truth just talking and sharing each other’s lives. I counseled her to the best of my abilities as if she were my own child. “It’s so unfair this relationship we have,” she told me softly one day as she walked into my living room. I asked, “Why?” “You give me so much and I feel I don’t give you anything in return,” she answered sadly. “Oh honey,” I said. “Can’t you see that as you heal, I’m also healing myself?” On weekends, she would come and pick me up and we would go out to dinner at Le Souflle’ Restaurant which was then located at the Greenbelt area in Makati City. Before and after our meals, we would sit at the circular bar, drinking, talking, laughing and having a great time. After which Melissa would go on partying with her

299 MARLENE AGUILAR friends and stay out all night. I would go home. One night after dinner, we sat in the back of my car heading towards a club where she was meeting her peers. “Tita come with me,” she stated. “No. Jason is going to be there and I would embarrass him if I were to walk into that club with you.” “That’s not true,” she whined. “Our friends think you’re so cool. Jason wouldn’t mind at all. Please Tita come with me, please...” “No. I don’t think it’s right,” I insisted. The following day, I had this conversation with Jason. He called her Missy. “Why didn’t you come with Missy to the club?” he asked. “Because I didn’t want to rain on your parade.” “I don’t care about that. Plus, you’re not like any other Mom.” Melissa left the Philippines to live in the US the following year. Since then we have seen each other only once and for a very brief period of time. Once in a while I would receive emails from her, and once she wrote: “The time I spent with you gave me strength which I hold on to during times of pain…” Last year, during the month of December Melissa and her younger brother Ryan came to Manila for a 10 day vacation from L.A. This time she and I were able to spend some quality time together. We went to Bulan for dinner soon as she arrived. This was the first time we were seeing each other after several years. How happy I was to see my beautiful cosmic child. “It feels like time didn’t pass between us,” she stated gently, eyes beaming like a star. “That’s because in spirit, we are always connected. Time is irrelevant.”

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“You know I tried to see you the last time I was here…” “Don’t worry about the past. You didn’t need to see me then. You do now. The time is ripe. You are facing a crossroad. Leave California. Go live your own life away from your family. It is not good for you to stay where you are. Listen to your inner voice,” I said. “You can’t save your father. He has chosen his path. He has lived his life. Now you must follow your own destiny,” I added. The following evening, Melissa came to my home with her brother Ryan. This was the first time I had met her only sibling whom I find as exceptional in mind as Melissa is. In addition, his soul shines from within, as bright as his sister’s. We all had a wonderful dinner together in my garden, drinking red wine all night. They stayed until past two in the morning. Both brother and sister share an intense bonding born out of their violent homes and their sheer will to protect one another. It is magic. That evening, we shared the most magical time talking and sharing our hearts and minds so openly, it fed my soul beyond belief. Before they returned home to America, I saw Melissa and Ryan once more. We had dinner at the Le Soufflé restaurant located in Fort Bonifacio, Taguig City. That evening, Ryan told me that he had met this girl as he was coming down the elevator prior to meeting us that night. The girl’s name is Tanya and she is the twin sister of their friend in California. I told Ryan about his future with the girl whom he had just met hours before. I told him that they will become lovers. In addition, I told him that she will play a very important role in his life. Plus, she will bring magic into his ailing heart. Remember, I am clairvoyant. On the evening of August 31st, 2009, I received a bag of gifts containing a book and a DVD of the documentary entitled, Man

301 MARLENE AGUILAR on Wire from Ryan. The presents were delivered by Tanya who also sent me this note. “Ryan really wanted me to give this to you personally. I would have loved to meet you. But unfortunately my schedule doesn’t permit many things these days. The reason why Ryan wanted me to see you was so I could tell you that we had a lovely love story together. Everything you told him and shared with him climaxed with me being at the end of his trip. Our love was just so beautiful and so inspiring. He said knowing this would make you happy.” Tanya Escaler Ryan sent me this note that came with the gifts. “I thank you and Steve for your warmth and kindness. Meeting you was a blessing and the encounter I had with you forever made an impact on me. I wanted to share this book which I read on the way home to LA from Manila and DVD which inspires me to no end. The girl who is delivering these gifts is an incredible artist Marlene. She helped finish the loving work you started. She helped open me up. Thank you, Marlene. I never had the slightest idea nor ever imagined the love you would play in my life.

Forever your soul son, Ryan Moore”.

Finally, I would like to tell you about my vacation to Europe. I’ve wanted to write about it but I was not compelled to do so until now. We left the Philippines on Qatar Airways to Qatar and then on to London. We stayed in the West of England and from there

302 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW traveled to Wales and also spent five days in Kinsale, Cork County, the gourmet capital of southern Ireland. The latter is not part of the United Kingdom. We arrived in Heathrow, June 30, 2009, hired a car and drove to a Radisson Hotel located near the airport and stayed there overnight. The following morning after breakfast, we headed to the West Country and checked into a nice country hotel in Bradford upon Avon. We come to England once a year when our daughter Maya is on vacation from the International School in Manila. Steve and I have traveled to many places and decided many years ago to stay away from large hotels and main tourist destinations. We choose to stay in boutique hotels that offer a more private setting and personalized service. Last year, we stayed in an ancient house built in the 1200’s located in a quaint town called Monkton Combe. We had wanted to stay in a self-catering place but we were not able to find decent accommodation that would suit our needs. Luckily this year Steve found Widbrook Grange. We all woke up around 7am the next day. Maya stood by the window in her white long cotton gown inspecting the outside world. “Mommy! Mommy! Bambi! Bambi is out there. Look! Look!” she shrieked looking out the window pointing to a doe. “And little bunnies, little bunnies are following Bambi,” she yelled pointing to a family of rabbits hopping up and about. “And big birds,” she yelled some more pointing to a pair of pheasants looking for food on the thick grass. “And white birds,” she continued, pointing to white doves perched on top of the fence. Later that morning, we went to our favorite place to eat called the Bathampton Mill where we ate almost every night the last time

303 MARLENE AGUILAR we were in England last year. When we got to the restaurant, Steve and I chose a seat by the window, where we could see two large weeping willows outside, an old apple tree abundant with fruits, maple trees and pine trees while several children Maya’s age ran around with glee. Maya asked permission to play outside. “Just don’t go far,” I implored her. “I must be able to see you wherever you are because if I can’t see you, then I will worry. This means, you must always be able to see me too. If you can’t see me anymore, then you’ve gone too far.” She happily agreed to my terms. I sat facing Steve having our lunch, constantly looking out the window watching over Maya. I sent William a text message. Do you remember him? He’s the old European friend of mine who met me at Temple Meads last year while we were visiting the UK. “I’m staying in a hotel at Bradford upon Avon. Any chance we can meet each other?” He replied, “Two weeks ago I sent you an email saying I am out of the country. Did you not get it?” “No, I didn’t get the email. Didn’t you get a failure notice that your email didn’t get through?” He answered, “No.” “I’m going to Wales anyway and will visit Francesca Marks for two nights. I hope to meet you in the UK after I return to England from my trip to Cork.” Early the following morning, we picked up Steve’s mother Vanda from her home after which we went food shopping at Tesco’s. I wanted to cook lunch for everyone when we reached our destination. Then we set off to see Francesca. The natural scenery I saw from England to Wales reminded me so much of Massachusetts. This brought me beautiful memories of tears and laughter, joy and pain.

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Along the way, I continued to text Francesca updating her on our approach. At around 11am, we reached the destination in Wales. I saw Francesca standing by the door, anxious. We had never met each other in person before. Yet the bonding that we have for each other was so immediate and so intense. I rushed out of the car to meet her and embraced her ever so tightly, overwhelmed by the love we felt for each other. Then she ushered us into the living room. Steve, Vanda and Maya sat side-by-side on a soft cushioned couch propped against the main wall. I chose an armchair to their left, facing them to sit on, while our hostess stood close by my right side. “Would you like anything to drink, coffee, tea…?” Francesca offered with the sweetest voice. “I want orange juice,” Maya replied with a soft voice. Our hostess disappeared and came back at once. “Maya, you have to wait a little bit for your juice. I will go to the store and get you some,” Francesca stated. “Let me go with you,” I suggested. So Francesca and I walked two blocks to get to the store so she could buy Maya orange juice. This was the first time we ever spoke in person and in private. “I am happy beyond words you’re here,” she said. “Me too…” “My father loves you, you know…” “And I love him. Your father and I are each others soul consort. We have shared many lives together. Our cosmic bonding is very intense.” “In my opinion, the two of you are the greatest warriors of heaven. Isn’t that amazing? And I love you both.” “Francesca, the love we feel for each other was decided in heaven since time immemorial. Although your father and I don’t see each

305 MARLENE AGUILAR other, we are connected in spirit. It is cosmic. I am bonded to you in the same manner.” In a few minutes we reached the little convenience store servicing Francesca’s neighborhood. She bought a box of orange juice for Maya. When we returned to her home, I rushed into the kitchen, chopping all sorts of vegetables and chicken for our lunch. I served my new extended family fried rice, Filipino noodles and Korean style marinated chicken. We all ate happily together although I sense our hostess was a bit overwhelmed with four guests all at once in her company. Steve, Maya and Vanda returned to England after our meal. Francesca and I sat in the dining area facing the garden for what seemed to me an eternity. We talked like we had been missing each other all our lives. To me, Francesca is beautiful within and without. She is around 5’6” tall with brown and wavy hair that reaches below her shoulders. She has an oval face, Celtic looking with very soft features. Steve says she has the appearance of an Edwardian fairy. She speaks with the sweetest voice emanating from her magical spirit, and shining like a bright star from within. She is clairvoyant like me and in one with the forces of the cosmic galaxies. What a beautiful soul she has. In addition, she possesses an exceptional mind. However, the curse that comes with a gift like that is the fact that, like her father, she will find only a handful of people in this world who could begin to understand the complexity of her mind and her spirit. Francesca keeps herself in great shape by teaching yoga lessons. Like me, she doesn’t recommend hot flow yoga. She says this discipline goes against the grain of Eastern yoga discipline. It was invented by the Americans some 25 years ago. I cannot understand why anyone would think inducing heat while doing yoga or

306 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW meditating for that matter should be good for them. It goes against the natural flow of things. This is probably why in Fitness First in Eastwood City; I notice that the unhealthiest and the most miserable looking people pool together to join the hot flow yoga classes. They are birds of the same feather harboring negative energy, the energy of death. These people are terribly unhappy because they are so disconnected from the natural world. Francesca and I stayed in the same place laughing and talking for hours and talking some more. I felt heaven had come down to bless our souls filling the room with magic and our hearts with immense joy. At around 5.30pm, she asked, “What would you like to do?” “I want to go to a pub.” “Oh there is this special place I know. It is next to the lake where Merlin and King Arthur lived…” “Oh wow, I’d definitely like to see that,” I replied excited. Later she and I took a cab that brought us to the Prince of Wales. When we got there, the place was crowded with several people drinking their beers and cocktails in the open outside of the building. Oh how strange it felt to be the only Asian woman in a sea of white folks. Anglos don’t ever know what to make of me. “Are you Hawaiian? Tahitian? American Indian? Mexican? Chinese? Thai?” People would normally ask. Francesca and I entered the pub where I ordered a bottle of cabernet sauvignon for us to share. After that, we stepped outside to join the crowd carrying with us the bottle of wine along with two goblets. “Oh this is so exiting,” she uttered. “Everyone is staring at you.” In my mind, I thought I’d become a tourist attraction for the Welsh. But I love the Welsh. They are so gentle natured and in this part of the country, they are pure.

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From where Francesca and I sat, I could see the magnificent lake where Merlin and King Arthur lived many centuries ago. It was alive with all kinds of spells and creatures and forces of good and evil that abound even to this very day. Later on, the skies became dark, the sun said farewell to the earth and gave way to the divine moon to cast her radiance upon the earth. The moon decided to display her regal presence right before Francesca and I, hovering directly above us, facing us. “Do you see, Marlene?” Francesca asked excited, staring up above directly ahead of us. “Look up there. That is Merlin’s moon.” I could never explain in words how magical Merlin’s moon is. However, I will tell you that until that evening, never have I seen the moon as captivating, as bewitching and as mysterious in all my life and in all my travels. The wizard has permanently cast his mystical spell upon the Welsh moon, creating a wild intercourse of light and darkness, of good and evil, endlessly flirting, dancing challenging one another in the dark night sky. Upon seeing the sorcerer’s creation, my Medea vaulted out of me and leaped into the dark sky to consume the essence of the playful shaman. I will also tell you that the magician’s spirit remains alive in Wales, eternally guarding the mighty kingdom of King Arthur overt and beyond that glorious lake. Moreover, Merlin’s wondrous celestial powers shall forever shine through the moon and into the hearts of every Welshman, and Welsh woman, until the end of time. After some time, a couple of men came to talk to Francesca. I got up to go to the bathroom. When I was washing my hands, a blonde woman in her late forty’s with hair down to her shoulders, came in, smiling a big smile. “Did you see all the men checking you out?” she asked. I didn’t answer. I thought they look at me because I’m different. I wanted

308 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW to say, honey if you came to the Philippines, they’d stare at you too because you’d look strange in my country. Oh god, how do I escape this small talk. “You are so fit. Are you a dancer? You look like a dancer…” “Yes, I dance.” “How I would kill to have your body. My husband is crazy over you,” she said laughing. “I don’t mind. I’m crazy over you too.” “Where are you from?” “Philippines.” “I would have thought you were Tahitian. Are there many beautiful girls in the Philippines?” “Yes.” “The girl you’re with, is she your lover?” “No, she’s the daughter of a friend.” “Is she from Wales? Is she from around here?” “Yes, she’s from Kenfig Hill.” “What’s her name?” “Francesca Marks.” “Marks? Do you mean Mr. Marks? Mr. Nice Marks?” she asked, her eyes lighting up. “Yes, she’s the daughter of Howard Marks.” “Wow, can my husband and I join you?” “Yes.” By the time, the woman and I got out of the pub; Francesca was surrounded with two men sitting with her and others standing close by. Apparently, word had gotten out that I’m clairvoyant so there was a line outside of people wanting to talk to me and seek my advice which I was happy to give. Oh, I love the Welsh. I love the Welsh. I love how genuine they are, at least in this part where Merlin and King Arthur lived.

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I stayed in Wales for two wonderful days with Francesca, which I shall remember always. Her energy and company brings me pure joy. After two nights, Steve and Maya came back to pick me up and to take me back to Bradford on Avon. Early one evening, Steve had gone to exercise which he does six days a week, as I do. Maya and I stayed together outside. The sun shone brightly on my face while I sat in a Victorian style wrought iron chair in the middle of an English garden. I found myself surrounded by several tall and ancient trees in a variety of sizes, colors and form. There were rose bushes to my left, heavily laden with pink flowers. Red and white fox gloves, purple irises, sunflowers, rose vines, and several other varieties of plants and flowers that I can’t name, with a large cluster of lavender that embraced the lrocks directly across from me, scenting the cool air. The garden was in full bloom at this time of year. In the meantime, Maya bounced about not far from me, happily enjoying herself while picking little apples from the ground and then throwing them like baseballs. This little game entertained my darling daughter for a few minutes. Then she walked over to me and looked down at my notes. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Writing my notes for my next book...” “But you’ve written so much already,” she stated. “Okay, how about I give you my pen and you draw me a picture?” I suggested to her. She happily accepted. She drew a huge tree with leaves falling off the branches and birds flying around it. On the lower left hand side of the page, when she was finished, she wrote her name ‘Maya’. In the middle of our two week vacation in Europe, we all flew off to Cork, Ireland and stayed in a nice hotel overlooking the ocean

310 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW situated in the very quaint little town of Kinsale. I had never been to Ireland before but I have always loved the Irish. I have yet to meet an Irishman or lady that I didn’t like. I find it so sad that most Irish Americans have never visited Ireland. To say that I love this part of Ireland is an understatement. How I wish I could live there during the summer. What a glorious place it is, great food, great views of the ocean and abundant with wild life, the woods are magical, and the people are wonderful, speaking in what I call leprechaun English. No wonder, fairies and leprechauns abound in the meadows and the woods in Ireland. We stayed in Kinsale for five days. And then, at the end of our stay, we woke up early one morning to go to Cork airport, heading for the city of Bristol. After we acquired our boarding passes, we decided to sit close to the gate. I noticed two men sitting across us; one older, one younger, both taking turns drinking alcohol from a bottle of Johnnie Walker. It was nine in the morning. I could see that both men shared a lot of things in common, impatience, fierce defiance, wildness, volatility, big heartedness, cheekiness, passion and hopeless romanticism. Both of these men have endured extremes as children. “Look at those two,” I said softly to Steve who sat next to me. “… my kind of people.” “The old man looks like some people you know,” he replied. “Wise guys, you mean,” I stated amused. At one point, the older man saw me looking at them. He looked back and told his son to do the same. We sat there observing one another for a while. Then I saw three men walking towards the boarding gate, near our chairs to fall in line. The two men got up and did the same, so now they stood right before us. Steve and I decided to get up from our chairs and join the line. I held fast to Maya by her hand.

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Suddenly there was an announcement that our flight was delayed for an hour. The younger man immediately turned Welsh red in the face - ready to impale. The older man who looked like his father joined him. Now they were both ready to annihilate any airport personnel for making them wait, just give them the chance, any chance, any excuse to smoke someone, anyone. Oh, they were fuming and the injection of alcohol invading their veins now was not helping to calm them down. The line was broken and the older man approached Steve. “Where is she from?” the Welsh man asked Steve, inquiring about me. “Philippines.” “Is she a movie star?” Steve smiled and didn’t answer. “Is she a star?” he demanded again. At this point instead of responding to the man, Steve pulled one of my brochures promoting ‘Warriors of Heaven’ out of his bag and handed it to the Welshman. He took a quick glance and called the attention of his son. “Hey Tony, I told you she’s a star,” the man stated. Then he came close to me and whispered in my ear. “If I were younger, I’d steal you away from the man you’re with. Actually, I’d steal you now…” I could smell the strong scent of alcohol coming from his breath. His son stared at his father looking amused and slightly irritated by his father’s childish behavior. He glared at him now which made him turn away and focus his attention toward Steve again. “You love him, don’t you?” I told the younger man. He nodded. “Don’t feel bad for him and for the mistakes he’s made in his life. He had a good run. You will have yours. What do you do?” “I’m a professional boxer,” he replied.

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“You look so tough. I’m sure you intimidate a lot of people,” I stated. “But within you is a very different man. You’re very soft, loving and giving.” Upon uttering these words his face softened like an angel, the tough guy pretense disappeared all together. How magical he looked after the transformation. He looked pure and genuine. He and I spent the whole time talking to each other until we boarded. The man in front of me was none other than Tony Doherty, the Welsh boxing champion. The boxer had lived in a caravan site and is convinced that he will become the first Traveler to win the world title. At the age of 22, he had 17 professional fights to his record, all of which he had won. I found the following on Tony on the internet written by Blair Wood for South Wales Echo, July 2008. “WELSH champion Tony Doherty has welcomed talk of a British title fight with Kell Brook – but insisted his sights are now set on a much bigger prize. The Pontypool welterweight claims he and trainer Enzo Calzaghe have already started targeting a world title fight.” Another article by the same writer stated, August 2008: “TONY DOHERTY is backing the strained partnership of Frank Warren and Enzo Calzaghe to bring him world title glory as he prepares to make his American debut at Madison Square Garden. Doherty will be on the bill for Joe Calzaghe’s New York superfight with Roy Jones.” When we landed at the Bristol airport, Tony and I spoke some more while waiting for our luggage. He told me how much he admired the Filipino world champion boxer Manny Pacquiao. Then we said farewell. I knew in my heart that we would see each other again.

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After two wonderful weeks traveling in Europe, we all returned to the Philippines, rested, happy, relaxed and rejuvenated. During the second week of October, I met one of the advisers of former Philippine president Fidel Ramos, upon my request. We met at home and sat at the same table in the garden where Paulie and I hold the tarot readings. His presence showered upon me blessings and divine light from heaven. I had asked him to read the section of this book, regarding my analysis of the interview with the four-star general, Martin Dempsey. “How can these military men possibly understand you,” he said smiling. “Your perception and your understanding go far beyond the limits of most men. Your mind and spirit are connected to a higher sphere…” I had asked to see this magical being, who I consider a very wise man, so he could advise me. He is clairvoyant like me. There are certain political figures surrounding me now and I needed to know his perception of these men, especially one particular man who I will call CP. “I met CP only once and I see that he has courage and a mind that works. What do you think of him?” I asked. He smiled and responded warmly, “This man is a key player and a great mover of things. If he seeks you, I believe that he’s not doing so out of his own will. He is following the order of a greater god in local politics Yes, he is very brave and very bright. Still, he belongs to the limited reality of most men. He will never fathom your depth and your understanding of the world and the cosmic forces. If you meet him again, you will see through him. Listen with your heart and your soul. I believe that heaven guides you.

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Are you still in conflict regarding your fate?” “No. I’m okay now.” “What do you think of the ending of the Mayan calendar? People are afraid that there will be disaster…” he inquired. “There will be death, yes. It is called end of days, but the world will not end. For example, the oracles say if I cross a certain line, there will be end of days in the Philippines. The old world will die and a new world, a golden age will be born. When the Mayan calendar ends, the planets will align, there will be end of days, change of energy. The world will shift, forces will shift.” “I understand what you’re saying. Listen,” he beckoned. “The leaders of indigenous groups in the Philippines are psychic. Like the Buddhist oracles, they believe that a female leader, a female spiritual leader will deliver the golden age for the Philippines. The future of our people and our nation lies in the hands of a woman. I hope I will live long enough to contribute. I’m not well. I can go any moment.” “I see that you will be given a longer lease of life,” I replied with tears in my heart. “Heaven sent you because I need you.” Here are the predictions of the oracles, first week of September. “There is a man, a very powerful evil man, more powerful than Gabriel. He is the head of a mighty nation. In the tarot, he appears to be a king but this king is a very clever wizard, a puppet master. Like you, he is a very, very old soul. He sees himself as a god on earth and that no man is his equal in mind and spirit. But his heart was broken to a thousand pieces a long time ago and so darkness commands his spirit. Although you have never met in person, subconsciously you have been communicating with this man’s soul since time immemorial. You know who he is. You are also aware

315 MARLENE AGUILAR that he protects you from physical harm. Moreover, you know that you have made a pact with this man’s soul before you were born into this existence. In your past life, war separated you from him. In this life, it is war that will bring you together. He is the modern day Alexander the Great and he will become one of the most powerful forces the world has ever known. Beware, because this imperious man, this white tiger from the west possesses the blackest of hearts. He has no balance, no humility and he is driven by great and evil forces. He plays dangerous games involving the lives of many millions and he will desire to subjugate you. If you meet this man, he will love you like he’s never loved anyone before. However, he will also hate you just as much. This man, who is your twin of flames, will seek to subjugate the energy of Caesar and Gabriel in order to control the green dragon of the east. You are each other’s polarity. He will seek to conquer mankind. He brings death, darkness and destruction to men. On the contrary, you seek to liberate mankind. You bring life, love and light to the world. This man, your twin of flames, seeks to conquer you. However, he doesn’t fully understand your gift. You are the daughter of heaven and you know more than anyone that within the deepest part of this evil man, he cries for salvation. He will desire to conquer you, but not destroy you. He will protect you from physical harm because he commands the true power behind a great army of men. This black heart believes that through you, he will find redemption.” October 14, 2009, I went to see the old lady seer. Here are her words.

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“Your book, Warriors of Heaven, will succeed. The eyes of the world will shine upon you. You will be venerated by many. You will rally a great following from all over the world.” “Maybe, that’s it. That’s my fate. I will become a world known author writing novels. Steve says that my books are sensational because there is something in them for everyone to hate,” I stated smiling. “Therefore, the best thing for me to do is to find a quiet place away from civilization and hide. I will talk to people through my books. That’s what I will do.” The female oracle flared her eyes upon me at once. “The more you try to escape your destiny, the more your destiny shall chase you,” she hissed and continued to read the tarot. “Powerful men will seek you because you are a valuable force. You will become the darling of everyone, including your enemies. You must be very careful, your life is in danger and traitors abound. The most imperious men in the world have waged war against the higher forces of the galaxies. They will face a battle against great powers that are unseen. They will fight an invisible army from heaven. You have the answer. Your essence is strongly connected to the celestial powers that rule the higher hemisphere, because you’re not human like the rest of us. You can speak to the gods and the gods speak to you. The answer to the mysteries of mankind is in your hands. The world is shifting its forces, a new awakening is coming. You are surrounded by forces of very powerful men who will want your allegiance. Whichever side you choose will win the war. You’ve seen the future of the world beyond what the tarot shows us,” she stated peering through the cards. “What have you seen?”

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I sat on my chair, silent and catatonic, staring at her. “What have you seen?” she repeated, her eyes directed at mine. I remained catatonic, still staring at her. “Speak out child, what have you seen?” she insisted. I refused to answer and remained unmoved. She continued to glare at me using her silence now, demanding for me to speak. “I’ve seen the future of the world beyond. It’s difficult to explain…” I said weeping. “Why?” “Because there is no time, what I saw is already happening in another plane.” “Is mankind going to make it?” “A small percentage…” “Tell me more,” she implored gently. “Caesar came into my life for a great reason. He had to show me humility. That was his purpose. Otherwise I wouldn’t be the person I am today. It’s part of my growth. The pain he caused me humbled me, killing me in the process. I had to die to achieve the wisdom I have now. Mankind will go through a process of death. Human beings live in darkness. They are prisoners of religion, institutions and boxes that are the root of evil in this world. All institutions’ faith is driven by greed and power and so mankind is lost. Human beings blindly follow man-made laws, forgetting all together that the laws of the cosmic worlds are above all men. Look at the sheer stupidity of mankind. They rape the mountains, the hills, the forests, the land, the seas, killing the same natural life that is crucial to their existence. They can’t manage the earth and yet they have the arrogance to want to occupy the moon, and the other planets.

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Men continue to destroy the earth without mercy. Therefore, the earth will absolutely show no mercy towards mankind when the time comes. Mother Earth will purge! The cosmic forces will take full accounting for mankind’s arrogance and greed. There will be great calamities to come. There will be an ocean of death. When the ants crawling on your skin bite you, you kill them like the pests that they are. You kill them like nothing. That’s the power that Mother Earth has over mankind. But like the stupid ants feeding on your flesh, mankind is too dumb to realize that he is nothing but a pest on the planet.” “Can this be prevented?” “NO.” “Why?” “Because mankind is so blinded by the here and now, because mankind is too greedy and too dumb, because mankind doesn’t deserve the kindness and generosity of Mother Earth, because mankind doesn’t deserve to live. It’s part of our evolution. The earth must survive so mankind must die.” “So all of mankind will perish?” “No. The few who will remain will face a new dawn, a new faith, a new awakening, and a new life.” How do I explain to you that I live in many realities? How do I impart upon you that this life, this one life, is only one small fraction of a grand design, one out of a complex fusion of other existences? How do I help you understand that your loyalty to your soul is more valuable than anything the world could offer? How do I help you see that at the end of the day, your flesh is nothing but food for the maggots on earth? You are nothing, nothing. The only part of you that is of true value is your soul.

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The date is October 18, 2009, I sit in front of my computer typing this and I feel the spirit of one of my dearest European soul consorts, surrounding me. Oh, the essence of this magical man is never far. Before I close this chapter, I would like to share this with you. There was something this European soul-mate of mine said when we last met that’s been spinning around in my mind ever since, unable to find solution. I can’t tell you his real name because it is vital to his survival that I don’t mention his true identity, although he is one of the principal characters in my novels. Here is a portion of the conversation we had. “Marlene,” he began with a serious tone in his voice. “You and I could be dead in the next few minutes.” I stared at him wondering, my heart beating in anticipation. I’ve never heard this man address me in this manner and in this tone of voice before. “We could be assassinated right here, right now if ‘they’ wanted,” he continued. “We are alive only because we are kept alive for a good reason. So, why don’t you just behave yourself and be a good girl….” What do I do? What he says is so true. I am nothing. My body is nothing and can be taken from me at any moment. But I can only be who I am. I can only do what my soul compels me to do. That is all I know. And if I should perish because of my allegiance to my soul, then this I say to those I love and those who love me. Do not avenge my misfortune. Love my enemy as I do for he has helped me fulfill my destiny on earth. Let me live in your heart and rejoice my departure from this reality. Upon my physical death, my spirit will rise above the skies; my energy will be consumed by my father Ra and he shall release my

320 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW essence to the cosmic worlds, fusing tenderly through the forces of blackness and lightness, and my energy will scatter in every dimension here and beyond. Henceforth, if you allow me, I shall be with you forever, guiding your spirit, always and until the very end of time.

321 Chapter 6

The Goddess of Light and her Ocean of Blackness

I would like to begin this chapter by sharing a beautiful poem with you which Steve sent me on October 21, 2009. It is called, When did I last look into your eyes?

When did I last look into your eyes?

Our daughter, our houses, our farm, our home.

But what happened to our love?

Shared memories, shared travels, shared sickness, shared pain.

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But when did I last look into your eyes?

We change, we grow, we reap, what we sow

But when did I last look deep into your eyes, and share your soul?

Is your soul already with another now? Not yet of this material world.

Other life, other harbor, other futures, other loves ... yet lived.

You have probably noticed by now that I am not writing about my life in chronological order. This is due to the fact that the psychological structure of my writing is of more importance than the dates. Recently, Gabriel sent me a photo via email holding a sign that says, “Mt. Elbert, 14,433 feet.” In addition he wrote, “I better not see this anywhere.” I immediately replied to him, asking: “How about I find a used, lacy thong of a prostitute and put it over your face like a burka - then may I include your photo in my book?”

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He emailed me back and said, “No, no, no, you must be kidding. Where is it, where is the photo?” Last night, Becca arrived at my house around 7pm. We went out for dinner at the Seafood Market restaurant along J. Bocobo St., Malate, Manila. After that, we went to ´Hobbit House´ to meet the owner Jim Turner and the manager Pidoy regarding our upcoming dinner show on Friday, October 23, 2009. We sat at a table for six, not far from the stage. Her dear friend Celeste Aguilar, a singer and guitarist later joined us. Despite having the same surname, Celeste is not related to me by blood, but like Becca, she is heavenly connected to me in spirit. “Do you know Deo calls you the goddess Kali, eternal source of power?” Becca stated beaming with the most precious smile. “I’d really like to be an androgynous deity like the goddess Ishtar of Babylon. She could be male or female at will.” “As a male god, who do you see yourself as?” she asked. “Me? Ohhhh, I’m definitely the god that symbolizes the phallic symbol,” I replied with a huge smile. “Imagine taking my whole body and putting it on a pedestal looking like a man’s erect gigantic fuck machine. I’d like that. I’d really like that. However, my image, I mean my penis, would have thick and delicious cream eternally shooting high up into the sky for the whole world to behold. In addition, I would want the artwork to look like a rare masterpiece, pulsating, throbbing, and with veins popping. That’s how I would design my male symbol. And every man and woman who sees my nasty and magical effigy would get an instant hard on at the sight of me. Well, the men would get their dick charging out of their pants and the women would have their tits shooting out of their shirts.

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Then I want my cream exploding outwards from its pinnacle like the biggest display of fireworks you’ve ever seen on the 4th of July. This way all the believers who come to my image with their prayers and daily offerings could bathe in my holy juices. I promise to make sure that every inch of their flesh be covered with my divine cream, each time they come to pay their respects.” “Oh, my god!!!! You’re beyond crazy!” Becca hollered. The two musicians performing played rock and roll’ music and so Becca and I got up to dance. While she and I were on the dance floor having the grandest of time, Steve sent me these text messages. “Your mind is beyond men’s and your ability beyond other women’s.” “As I watch and see you feed, oh thou devourer, vampire of mankind’s – men’s and women’s – souls, blood, flesh, desires, minds, spirits…And so you grow.” Recently, Deo sent me an article on Gore Vidal entitled, United States of Fury. He is one of my favorite writers. If you haven’t read his novel Creation, I suggest you get a copy and start reading it right away. I would like to quote this outspoken American writer. Regarding the decline of America, he commented: “Benjamin Franklin saw all this coming. I quote him because most Americans don’t even know who he was now. You’ll have to explain to your readers.” Franklin was a writer, scientist and soldier who became one of the founding fathers of the United States. “In Philadelphia in 1781, when the constitution was being put together, he was an observer. He didn’t want to have any part of it, and as he was leaving the Constitution Hall in Philadelphia a couple of old ladies said, ‘Ah, Mr Franklin, what is going to happen?’ He told them: ‘Well, you’re going to get a Republic, if you can keep it. But

325 MARLENE AGUILAR every constitution of this sort has failed since the beginning of time due to the corruption of the people.’” “I was like everyone else when Obama was elected – optimistic. Everything we had been saying about racial integration was vindicated,” he says, “but he’s incompetent. He will be defeated for re-election. It’s a pity because he’s the first intellectual president we’ve had in many years, but he can’t hack it. He’s not up to it. He’s overwhelmed. And who wouldn’t be? The United States is a madhouse. The country should be put away – and we’re being told to go away. Nothing makes any sense.” The President “wants to be liked by everybody, and he thought all he had to do was talk reason. But remember – the Republican Party is not a political party. It’s a mindset, like Hitler Youth. It’s full of hatred. You’re not going to get them aboard. Don’t even try. The only way to handle them is to terrify them. He’s too delicate for that.” Comparing Jack Kennedy to Obama, he stated: “He’s twice the intellectual that Jack was, but Jack knew the great world. Remember he spent a long time in the navy, losing ships. This kid [Obama] has never heard a gun fired in anger. He’s absolutely bowled over by generals, who tell him lies and he believes them. He hasn’t done anything. If you were faced with great problems in chemistry – to find the perfect gas, to gas a population – you won’t know for a long time whether it works. You have to go by what people tell you. He’s like that. He’s not ready for prime time and he’s getting a lot of prime time on his plate at once.” Regarding the presence of America in Afghanistan he said: “…good news. Afghanistan will be terminal for the American empire, yes…which is a happy way of looking at it. We’ll be out of the empire game, rapidly. But it’s too late for the country and the constitution.”

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“The Empire will collapse militarily in Afghanistan; the nation will collapse internally when Obama is broken “by the madhouse” and the Chinese call in the country’s debts. A ruined United States will then be “the Yellow Man’s Burden…” On the subject of homosexuality and heterosexuality, he says they are fiction. “People believe in Jesus, and that’s a much bigger fiction, with more money spent on it.” “I never said I was gay, because I don’t think anyone is. These restrictions are tiresome. In the centuries of Rome’s great military and political success, there was no differentiation between same- sexers and other-sexers; there was also a lot of crossing back and forth. Of the first 12 Roman emperors, only one was exclusively heterosexual.” “Did you see [Colonel] Gaddafi [at the UN] complaining that American soldiers have been sodomising Arab boys? I thought, well that’s been the case since the very beginning of the republic. They blamed the sodomy on those great forests out there which they said made them horny. There was nothing else to do but bugger boys, they said.” What is hell to Vidal? He stated: “I’m the least primitive American you’re going to meet, and you have to be pretty primitive to believe in hell. To me hell is the United States of today.” My quotes on Vidal end here with a sigh and a big smile.

I received a message through my facebook account from my niece Ishna Aguilar. She is 22 years old and she resides in Sweden. She wrote: “My friends say you look so sexy in your facebook pictures.”

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I replied, “But I am…Ha ha!” “I know that you know and everybody knows. Ha ha!” “It takes one to know one darling. I think you’re beautiful inside and out,” I wrote back. I love the actor Leonardo di Caprio. I fell in love with this actor’s talent when I saw him portray the role of a mentally disabled teenager in the movie What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, starring Johnny Depp and Juliet Lewis. As far as I’m concerned di Caprio along with Edward Norton, Sean Penn, Al Pacino and Kevin Spacey are the finest actors in America. However, I would like to say how impressed I was with Brad Pitt’s performance in Benjamin Buttons. I do not watch television at all because I don’t want my mind processed and manipulated by the media. I get the news from the internet. The last time I turned on the TV was when my boys and I were still living in Massachusetts in the 80’s. We used to watch sitcoms together. Since then, like many Europeans, I prefer reading books than watching TV. I do however watch films and Steve and I will regularly watch movies together in the bedroom before we retire for the evening. Last night, while lying in bed, I wanted to watch the movie, Blood Diamond again because I really wanted to see Di Caprio in action. So Steve patiently went through our collection of DVD’s, put the movie in the player and turned off all the lights in our room. The movie began. As you know by now, I have many personalities. I had seen Blood Diamond once before and I was fine the first time I saw it. However, last night I reacted so differently towards it. The film is so violent. I believe that all things happen for a very good cosmic reason. If I hadn’t reacted in the manner I did last night, I wouldn’t have this

328 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW story to tell you this morning. So while watching the film in the privacy of the dark bedroom: “I can’t watch. I cant’ watch,” I told Steve as I trembled in bed, hiding under the bed covers and pulling the sheets over my eyes. The film showed the bad guys with heavy arms attacking a small village of poor Africans. Steve immediately turned the volume down so I wouldn’t hear the sound as well. “Is it okay to watch now?” I whimpered a few minutes after, eyes still protected by the bed sheets. “Yes, you may watch now.” Later, there was more violence on the screen and I reacted in the same way. “Oh no…no….no…I can’t look! I can’t look!” I shrieked. Once again, Steve ever so kindly turned the volume down. Later when I tried to lower the sheets over my eyes to see what was going on, he reacted fiercely. He warned, “It’s not over! It’s not over! Don’t look.” So I went back and hid under the sheets once more. At one point, I ran out of the bedroom all together and came back after a short period of time. When I returned to the room, Steve turned the TV off all together as soon as he saw me come in. I went to lie next to him in the dark. “How come I’ve become so cold and numb to life because of what I’ve seen that’s hurt me?” he asked gently. “In comparison, what I’ve seen is so petty compared to you. And yet you can still be so sensitive.” “I have many personalities remember. I put things in different compartments within my psyche. I can be cold and numb also.” “That’s because your violent childhood fractured your being and separated your personalities like fingers to the palm. You

329 MARLENE AGUILAR were shattered into individual pieces but the mirror is still there,” he said. “99% of mankind has but one hand or one finger for that matter. You on the other hand were shattered into eight big pieces but still belonging to one mirror. And that’s how you look at the world. Some people like you end up in mental institutions you know,” Steve continued. “Yes, I know that,” I responded laughing. “Yet, you manage your several personalities very well. You’re the only one in the world who understands me. I was married twice to a British woman for 20 years and an American for six years and neither of them could fathom who I am. I love traveling with you and our daughter Maya. I hated traveling with my former wives.” “Why?” “Jill thought she was pretty and she thought that was enough to carry her through life. But she was empty, her soul was empty. She didn’t have much to offer a relationship at all. Imagine traveling with someone who you can’t hold a decent conversation with. Ann, being the American that she is, like so many western women, treated everything as a problem. Packing was a problem. Waking up early in the morning to get to the airport was a problem. The car trip to the airport was a problem. The airport was a problem. Sitting on the airplane for hours was a problem. Getting the hire car was a problem. Checking in and out of hotels and to find places to eat was a problem. On and on and on she found new reasons to be unhappy. On the other hand, you wake up in a good mood and go to bed in a good mood. I’ve been traveling with you constantly for over 10 years and I’ve seen you upset only once.” “When was that?” I asked.

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“Remember when we went to Spain. We had lunch al fresco in a restaurant where they served you bad food…” “Oh god, yes, I remember. I took one bite of the “gambas” fried in butter and I told you the shrimp must have been frozen for many years before they served it. After which I told you that I was going to go to the bathroom and throw up. Then I insisted that you take me to the El Parador for lunch if you wanted our relationship to last. It’s not easy to feed me. Give me bad food and my Lucifer jumps forward ready to attack.” “But traveling with you is a great gift. Even sitting in the plane with you for 12 hours is a joy because you make it a joy. We’ve been traveling with Maya since she was four years old and she travels like a mature person because you have prepared her to handle life the way you do. When we get to our destination we thrive, breathing in the wonders of the most simple things in nature and we share it with Maya, the birds, the butterflies, the trees, the forest, the sea… On top of that, you share your mind and spirit so openly,” Steve continued. “When we sit together during dinner at home in the presence of US or European company, I can’t help but notice how they react to you when you take care of me. When you serve me food, before serving yourself, when you de- bone my fish or otherwise attend to my eating needs ahead of yours, I can sense our company’s reaction, most especially the women. It’s as if someone dropped a priceless serving dish on the floor and their jaws gape as the dish smashes into many pieces. White women just don’t get it. Some look not only astonished but in denial, angry. Such company doesn’t expect any woman to behave in this manner, most especially you considering you are so very independent, strong willed and accomplished.”

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“I think that’s just a cultural difference. I see nothing wrong with me taking care of you. It gives me pleasure to serve those I love,” I replied. “I didn’t have this kind of relationship with my former wives. Two years with you is the equivalence of 40 years with another woman…” “Why do you say that?” I asked. “Because you are life, you fill every moment of life. You consume so much of life and you give it back to those close to you.” “I believe no other woman could possibly understand me.” “How many of those close to you say the same thing? There are many of us who come to you seeking understanding. We are drawn to you because you interpret the world for us. Moreover, you are honest and truthful with your interpretations. Through you, we see the world in a different light, a better light.” “I think I am like that because of my tragic experiences as a child. I understand pain, hunger, betrayal and loss. But how come others who are products of violent homes can’t put it together? Why do they continue to be unhappy about the past?” I asked. “Because you have a strong mind. So many people don’t want to face the truth. They also don’t have the mind to understand. People end up not caring eventually,” he added. “Life numbs you.” “Do you think people run away from life?” I asked. “Yes, they run inside the box. They run into dumbness, to drink in the material world or whatever and escape…but most of mankind is pretty dumb which makes it easier for them to escape. But if you have a mind, it’s more difficult to run. It’s more painful.” “I believe people get hooked on drugs because it sedates them away from this reality. It’s a way to hide. Boxes are like drugs,” I said.

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“Yes, boxes are a way to escape. People need to be told how to think, whether it be the church or the army. It’s the same thing…” “But I believe that in the case of Howard Marks, he takes drugs to push his mind further. He does it to challenge his mind. Why do you think the earth and the cosmic forces made mankind so dumb?” I questioned. “It’s part of mankind’s evolution. We have a long way to go. We’re only 30% there…” “We’re not 30% there. We’re only using a tiny portion of our brain capacity. Yet even with that knowledge, mankind has no humility,” I declared. “Yes, but I think not many people see that. It will take mankind a long time to evolve and learn. But what is time anyway? There is no space and time, what just happened, happened already…” “It’s amazing how you manage life the way that you do. And not only achieve in some material and intellectual sense but….” “I think those who come from extreme backgrounds and who were also born with stronger spirit are capable of more in life. They seek more out of life,” I interrupted. “I also think for the most part those men and women who come from battered backgrounds seek violent lives later because I did. I did. It’s what I knew.” “Yes, that’s part of the healing process as well as taking risks,” Steve uttered. “I think so many of us, I mean children coming from violent homes, end up in the military because it feeds the hunger for what we know, which is a destructive life.” “Others also seek violent relationships,” he said. “But you know what amazes me is that even when people are intelligent, they don’t seem to find balance. Because I don’t think intelligence is enough, you need depth and spiritual intensity as well.”

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“Yes, you need intelligence and ability…” he explained. “But it’s amazing that you went through that world that you did. I mean you reacted to your childhood by going into a violent world and you came to become how you are now. You must have always had some balance. Or is this a response to that kind of destructive world?” “I think…” I paused for a while. “I think I hungered so fiercely to understand. I took up psychology to understand. I wanted desperately to understand my father, my family, my life. And as I progressed through life, I sought to understand more and more. And when you search, you find the answer eventually. But one must begin to understand himself first.” “So that’s why you went into a violent world with Marcus, to experience and understand. And that’s why you entered into other relationships…” “Yes, because my other personalities needed other things. Marcus’ world fed one of my personalities. He took care of the part of me that came out at a young age, my warrior personality. She was born out of the physical abuse I suffered. She was born out of my will to survive. My warrior personality whom I call Meilee is the offspring of my black personality, Medea. Meillee came out to defend the rest of us, because she was necessary in the world that I knew, a violent world. But I was also aware that there were other parts of me that needed something else. I also yearned for a spiritual world, a quiet world, a simple world. I never denied the existence of these other personas. And so as I traveled through life, I kept feeding those parts of me. In one form or another - I fed them. And although I was expressing my different personalities one by one in the beginning, I nurtured them simultaneously. I allowed my several personalities to express

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themselves except for Molly. The rest of us came out into the open. Molly, the child in me hid from the rest of the world but at the time, I believed it was best for her to hide. So in one way or another, I was able to feed all of my personalities by allowing them freedom. That’s how I grew to become the person I am today. I think what happens to people, which is the reason why they are so unhappy, unhealthy and unable to find balance is because there are certain sections of their psyche that they put in a compartment, locked away for good. They fail to nurture that part of themselves…” “That part of their being get so buried, never to come out again. And they die,” Steve expressed. “Yes, they die. That part of their psyche decays eventually. More than that, as time passes people become more lonely and angry. It’s like putting one bad fruit in a basket and the other fruits get diseased as well. The whole thing, the whole psyche rots in the end,” I answered. “I think that’s all part of the immaturity of mankind,” Steve said. “We’re only so far along. Most people don’t have to deal with it. They don’t see it. They don’t understand the psyche. They don’t understand why they need to be in boxes. They don’t realize that the box is debilitating. But the potential is there. I think people sense that there is more out of life so they walk around sad and defeated, desperately searching for the light. I see that in the faces of the people around me. Yet, they don’t realize that they’ve sold their souls to the devil. The box is the devil.” “But I think at a young age they’ve been conditioned to embrace the box. To most people, the box won a very long time ago,” I said. “Yes, I think they’ve been preconditioned from age five to do the right thing when they’re 45 to sell their souls to the institution.”

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“In that sense, I am grateful for my tragic childhood. I was shattered to so many pieces, setting me free from the box all together. If not for that, I would be part of the norm. Imagine that. I would be boring like most people. That to me is a nightmare,” I replied. “And as far as I’m concerned you are saner than the rest of us. I think that the box where mankind hides is a mental asylum in itself,” Steve declared. “The most crucial part of mankind’s evolution is not physical or emotional. The greatest evolution of man must come from the mind. And you have a mind that goes beyond the limits of most men, because someone must lead the rest of mankind,” he added. My conversation with Steve ends here. What great pleasure it is to be able to share one´s mind and spirit so openly with another soul. It is 10:36 in the morning, Monday, September 28, 2009. I’ve been staring at the computer in front of me with tears clouding my eyes. How do I deliver this chapter and protect those who have confided in me? How do I do it so that if any of you who have suffered the same fate will see the light in what I’ve written? How do I do that? I don’t know. I don’t know how I will do that. I search within my heart as tears fall from my eyes, hearing voices from the past. I hear voices of those who have been wronged, battered and betrayed by those who were suppose to protect them and love them. How do I find light where there is torment and darkness? I have done it. I have done it with my own life. But how do I put that into words? I am not good with words. I wasn’t born a writer. Acting, acting, there is my natural talent. But I wasn’t born with the gift of writing. Most authors write with an inborn talent for words that pushes their mind. Whereas, with my work, it is the opposite; it is my mind pushing me to write.

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I want you to know that this last chapter is the most difficult for me to write. Heaven help me. On Thursday, September 17, 2009, I wrote this email to Becca. “I know a young woman who is very special. She is so kind, giving and loving beyond words. She has an aura that gives absolute light like an angel on earth. Yesterday, she confided in me that she was sexually molested repeatedly from the time she was three years old by her own father. Eventually, she escaped him when she was a teenager.” When she told me the story, I held myself together and gave her my words of wisdom. But later, in the car, I cried an ocean of tears while Steve listened to me patiently. Dear god, there is so much pain in this world. The same day, I received this from Steve via email. “The world needs your higher being backed by your inner strength and because of this you belong to the world, never any one individual. Long live that being.” On Friday, September 18, 2009 at around 1am, Becca arrived at my home and slept in our guest room. We had breakfast later that morning. Then we joined Steve for lunch at the cafeteria of the Asian Development Bank. When we returned to my home that afternoon, we had this conversation which we decided to record on tape for future reference. As I type this narrative, I listen to the conversation between Becca and myself, playing in the background. “What is your first memory?” I asked my soul sister. “Oh gosh….” she uttered ever so softly and then took the longest breath. She paused for a long time staring at absolutely nothing. I stared at my beautiful celestial sister aware that she has now entered a space-less and timeless dimension - pain so remarkably present in her eyes, in her face, in her being. As I looked at her, I felt

337 MARLENE AGUILAR my heart beat in a peculiar way. My mind was suspended in sheer anticipation. The energy surrounding us changed. I felt the spirits of the unknown world join us now, the same ghosts that have guided me all my life. They came to comfort us. Becca took another long and deep breath again. Then she spoke. “You know I have to….because….”she uttered softly, hesitant. Then came another pause followed by another long and painful breath. “My very, very first memory…,”she spoke again. Then there came another deep breath and a longer pause this time. Again, she stared at nothing, disappearing into the abyss. “I cannot remember if I was in 2nd year high school,” she said suddenly returning to this reality. “I remember being a member of a choir because I was always interested in singing.” “How old were you?” “Twelve.” “Your first memory is from when you were 12? You don’t remember anything before that?” I asked. “No.” “Are you sure you have no memory before that?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” “There’s nothing earlier? Are you sure?” “Nothing, my first memory is when I was already in high school.” “So you have no clear memory of childhood?” “None, but I tried to grope back into time. When my older brother Resty died…” I interrupted her and asked, “How old were you when your brother died?” “It was only seven years ago.”

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“Oh, so it’s recent.” “Yes, I’ve only been able to start coming to terms with myself seven years ago. His death brought me back home to Bicol.” “There were other events going on, things that we have kept secret within the family. Those things bring me more conflict than my first memory. I couldn’t understand why they were happening. How could I understand? I was so young. So the first time I really talked about it was when I was in high school. I talked about it with my half sister. I remember asking her, what do I do? What do I do?” “How old were you then?” “14, 15….” “I talked to her more seriously about it when I was already in college.” “How old is your half sister?” “She’s only a few months older than me, so we’re about the same age. I spoke to her because I wanted to know whether this was only happening to me. Or if this was happening to her or to everybody. Apparently this was only happening to me…” “But you can’t be sure about that. It may be because you were the only one with the courage to come out and say what was happening to you,” I stated. “You’re right,” she replied. “The second time I talked about this was with my ex husband. I was 24 years old. I don’t know if I wanted him to pity me or love me more, or maybe I needed to express my feelings in order to understand the events of my life better. Unfortunately, he used it against me later.” “I was hounded all my life by strange visions. There were nights where I felt ants crawling all over me. There were times when I

339 MARLENE AGUILAR would lie in bed and I’d feel this hole in my stomach and a snake would crawl out of the hole…” “It must be your inner self expressing itself,” I uttered softly. In my head, I felt that this revelation with my soul sister was like entering the dark and haunted woods. I could feel the black and evil creatures there awaiting us and tempting us to dive deeper into blackness, away from the light. Oh… Becca’s sheer anguish has brought us into this plane now where darkness consumes us. “Don’t be afraid,” the ghosts whispered in my head as they floated ever so gracefully above me. “Bring your sister deeper into the dark forest so she can face her monsters. If she can face them, she can conquer them. Then she will fear them no more. Remember, only the brave will be set free.” “You are the ally of both blackness and light. Both forces protect you, dear daughter of heaven. Do not fear,” the unseen spirits whispered to me again and ever so kindly. Across me, Becca continued to narrate her story. “The third time I wanted to talk about it was when I was pregnant with my youngest daughter. I was living in Singapore at the time. I felt that the only way I could make sense of my life was to face my father. This was when I was doing my own accounting for the tragic events that occurred in my life. And I wanted to do it then and there.” “I wanted to face him and ask him why he did what he did to his children. So I called him up and I said I wanted to talk to him. He didn’t ask me any questions. He just replied, ´Come to Manila. Come and talk to me, that was his reply.” “But I never got the chance to confront him,” she said firmly. I watched her, bewildered by her indomitable will and strength of mind.

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“I was in Bangkok staying in a hotel on my way to Manila. My husband came and told me that somebody had killed my father the night before. He was shot in the chest while giving a speech on stage during his campaign in Bicol. He was running for governor at the time.” “When I heard he was killed, I said something so ugly. I said something so terribly ugly. I said, Shit, somebody got him before me!” I responded, “You’re not alone in feeling that way. I spent so many years of my life hating my father. And god only knows how many times I wanted to kill him because of the pain he inflicted upon me and my siblings. I used to chant when I was a little girl like a witch wishing for his death.” “The weird thing is the night he died, I dreamt about him. It was such a terrible dream. In the dream he shot me. I was lying on a couch. Then he walked in the room and shot me. I felt it. I felt him kill me,” Becca continued. “I was so angry after my father died. I felt he had betrayed me again. Why? Why? Those years after his death became the most terrible years of my life.You know what is strange? Despite his violent and extreme behavior towards us, we all desperately wanted him to love us. We felt unimportant to him. We felt he always pushed his children to the side. He was a politician and he constantly reminded his children to serve the people first. You know, we had all these candies in the house that were given to poor children. We couldn’t touch those sweets and they would lay there until they were invaded by ants. That’s how he was with his own children. He was the mayor then, and he was also the commissioner of SSS (Social Security System). In school, the other kids thought we were

341 MARLENE AGUILAR so wealthy. But my father didn’t spoil us. On the contrary, I felt he deprived us. He starved us. He cared so much for the people but what about us? What about his own children? In other families, when the father comes home, other children would say, “Papa is coming! Papa is coming!” And they would run towards their father, happy to see him. In our home it was the opposite. One of us would scream to warn the other children, “Papa is coming! Papa is coming! Run! Run! Hide! Hide!” We were all so afraid of him. But at the same time, we…his children were screaming silently from within, ‘love me, love me….’” I interrupted Becca at this point and stated, “I grew up feeling that way about my father too. I mean not wanting to see him when he came home. However, I didn’t try to please him or seek his love. I never felt that way. More than anything I wanted to show him he couldn’t subjugate me. If he said red, I said blue. If he said white, I said black. Whatever he wanted me to do, I did the opposite to torture him. I suppose I was independent from the time I was a little girl. And now that I think about it, I didn’t seek his love because I knew. I knew that he loved me. I never questioned the fact that he loved me, despite his monstrous behavior at times. The thing is like you and your siblings, my brothers and sisters also tried to seek his love and approval.” At noon, I decided to take a break and stop typing. I took the small tape recorder with me and I went outside to rest on the old reclining wooden chair in the garden facing the breathtaking view of lush tropical greenery. Quietly, I laid back surrounded by the calming and nurturing essence of mother nature and pushed the play button on the recorder once again.

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I lay there in my garden, staring at the beautiful collection of birds of paradise, golden bamboo, fern trees, palm trees, hibiscus and indigenous orchids, embracing the bean shaped pool covered with granite and boulders of river stone, looking like a natural pond. I noticed the thick blades of “carabao” grass glaring at me from below. Then my eyes shifted to the images of stone carvings, of Buddhist and Hindu gods and goddesses, generously covered by green and moist moss, surrounding me, staring at me, comforting me while birds chirped in the background singing their beautiful music to me ever so sweetly. I stayed there embraced by such wonders, listening to Becca’s divine voice speaking to me. Silently I grieved for her, weeping the most painful tears from heaven. It was then I realized that these tragic tears fell into the abyss and formed a new life, creating the “river of no return”. That’s it. My union with my brave soul sister has created the “river of no return” for us both. We have crossed a line and we cannot go back. I know. Someday, together she and I will swim in the “river of no return” holding each other. And then, we shall tell you the full story of her beautiful, enchanting and ever so painful life. Suddenly, I picked up my cell phone and sent Becca a text message. “I am now listening to our taped conversation in tears. I am so touched by your existence. I shall never, ever be able to put into words how truly brave and beautiful you are.” She responded and said: “My pain will be sung by your sweetest voice. That is all that matters to me my beloved soul sister. I trust your judgment completely.” I now return to our recorded conversation. “I need valium, Marlene. I need to take some valium. I brought some with me,” she stated like a little girl with a tone of a mixture

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of fear, pain and doubt in her voice. In my head, I didn’t want her to take the drug because I felt she was better off dealing with the truth sober. “Becca,” I uttered calmly and gently. “I realize how sensitive your story is. And I also understand how difficult it must be for the rest of your family to accept your courage to face up to the truth. I believe that you were born an older soul, older than that of your siblings. Therefore, it is you who must carry the burden of leading the others toward the light.” “One of my sisters said that I should never speak out because I must protect the honor of my family’s name,” she stated. “But there is no honor hiding and living in fear and denial. There is only honor in the truth.” “Exactly what I told my sister.” “I promise you that I will not write anything about your life without your approval. This tape is safe with me,” I said. “Do you want to know my first memory?” “Yeeaaah…”she whispered so sweetly like a child. “I was three years old. I remember, screaming and crying, hysterical on the floor with my father’s right foot resting on my neck, threatening to crush me to death,” I declared without hesitation. “That’s it. That’s my first memory. My first memory is death. Would I change anything about my life? No! Did my father love me? Yes! Oh yes he did and with all his might. Do I love him? Yes I do and with all of my being. I forgive him for what he did. Plus, I forgive myself for hating him and wanting to kill him. What people do not want to accept is that love comes in all shapes, colors and forms. And that love always, always comes with pain and joy in varying degrees and proportions. That is the truth. That is truly the nature of love!

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The first time I went to Suva, Fiji, several years ago, I visited their museum. And before I continue I want to say that Fiji is one of my favorite places on earth. There I read about a man who loved his wife ever so deeply with all his heart and his soul. So he decided to kill her, cook her and devour her flesh. He believed this ritual of cannibalism would ensure that their souls would be united forever and ever.” “Oh my god!” she shrieked covering her face with her hands. “Fiji practiced cannibalism until a hundred years ago. That’s not too long ago. To eat human flesh was not wrong to them. It was part of their culture. So ask yourself this. If that man could kill, cook and eat his wife, do you think then that it is possible for him to do the same thing to his children?” “What?” she asked horrified. “Oh my god, oh my god…” “It’s true. What fucks us up is the system Becca. The judgment of our society does more harm to us than the actual tragedy we experienced. Do you know why I’m free?” “Yeeaahh…” “Because I refuse to be a prisoner of the norm. If you were ever to understand your relationship with your father clearly, then you must learn to put the structures of society aside. Those are man- made rules, boxes. I believe that institutions are boxes, boxes that have diseased the existence of mankind, the root of true evil in this world. So tell me more about your father,” I implored her. “He was the mayor in our place in Bicol. He used to ride a horse when he did his rounds around town. One day he had an accident horseback riding. So he was taken home and stayed ill in bed. That evening, my older brother Resty bullied me to do his homework. Then my father sent one of the maids to call me to come

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to his room. I was so scared to see him and I refused to go saying that I was busy helping my brother with his school work. That was it. My father lost his mind. He rushed down from his room, out of control grabbing his horse’s leather whip. And right there before me, he brutally whipped my brother Resty lashing at him without mercy over and over until he was out of breath. It seemed without end that moment of disaster. All my life I blamed myself for what happened that night, feeling it was all my fault.” “Do you know what my father used to beat us?” I asked interrupting her. “What?” she asked. “He used a bamboo stick four feet long, one inch wide with both sides so sharp like that of a knife so that every time he hit you, it cut your skin. Bamboo sticks are also elastic so one lash comes back at you a second time hitting you twice.” “My father’s whip was so long like that of Indiana Jones, he could reach you from afar!” she hollered with a big smile, eyes wide and shining. “What, we’re going to compete now as to whose father used the better tool to torture his children?” I asked Becca out loud smiling. As I uttered these words, I saw her face light up and she screamed, “Waaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!” I joined her and we both broke out shrieking and laughing. Suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of our laughter. That’s it. For now, that’s all I will tell you about my conversation with my beautiful cosmic sister during that magical afternoon. October 2, 2009, I sent Paulie this email which I copied to Caesar and Becca. I’m sending you this email because I just need to express myself. A girl who is very close to me tried to seduce me sexually. I was so

346 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW surprised. I’ve had that happen to me before but I never expected this person to do it. Anyway, I had a guest come to the house yesterday. During lunch I showed her text messages of someone professing love for me. To make a very long story short, she told me she’s in love with me too. Waaaahhhhh! Here was Caesar’s reply. Date: Fri, 02 Oct 2009 10:21:30 -0400. “I find it amusing that you were surprised.” Becca’s reply had more passion which I shared with Gabriel as soon as I received it. To the devil on earth, I wrote: “Hail to Darth Vader! I told Becca that a female friend of mine confided in me yesterday that she’s in love with me. She said this to me after I told her that another female friend tried to seduce me into having sex with her. This is not the first time this has happened to me but I was surprised with her behavior since I never expected her to behave in this manner. She is one of my soul sisters. Becca sent me the reply below. By the way, Deo Arellano is her new found love whom I have met twice. He’s a very bright and gifted Filipino artist who lived in Portugal for 25 years. Deo has an exceptional mind and is a man of very few words. Whatever happened to him when he was a child made him withdraw inside his shell. Still, he shines from within. I adore the man. “Well, who isn’t falling in love with Marlene Aguilar after getting to know her? WHO? WHO? WHO? Even Deo has your website open almost all the time and active in his second computer! I love you more and more. That’s the difference between you and my latest partner. The more I got to know him, the less I liked him. Most people fall into that category actually. But with you, it is the opposite. There are those who curse you because you are

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so terribly outspoken. But when people get to really know you up close and personal, they totally surrender and end up loving you so.” Oops! There goes my EGO again! ”

Here was Gabriel’s reply. Date: Fri, 2 Oct 2009 21:07:05 +0800. “Do you have bruised ears from hitting your head against everything?”

October 3, 2009, I received this message from Francesca Marks, my beautiful soul sister. She wrote: “You have changed my life. The space and energy we occupy is so sacred and I love you with my heart and soul.” Recently, I received word from Mary Jean my secretary that the wife of one of the major characters in this book tried to reach me. I believe that this soldier subconsciously set up this situation to upset his wife regarding my presence in his life. I realize that he has a lot of pent up anger regarding his diseased marriage, so he needed to somehow torture his spouse and get even. In short, subconsciously, he used our friendship to piss her off.

I’m going to share with you the email I sent this service man today in reaction to his wife’s behavior. The date is October 5, 2009. My Lucifer wrote:

“Dear troublemaker, It never entered my wildest imagination for one moment, that you’ve spent so many years of your precious life with an animal who you call your wife. I thought your speech was bad. But the low life, I mean your wife - the low life’s unbelievable command of

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English is a new kind of nightmare to me. She’s so utterly dumb I don’t know how she kept herself alive all these years on earth. The scariest part of it is you actually had a son with this person. My darling, didn’t they teach you in Special Ops that animals such as this should never be allowed to breed? Didn’t your officers teach you that a generic specimen with no brain, no heart, no courage, no spirit such as that is best placed in the firing range, for target shooting purposes that is? What the fuck did you do, find the cheapest raw meat, I mean whore, you could find in Angeles City, Pampanga? And then you decided it was cheaper to let her stay? I hope you don’t attempt to divorce this creature. If you do, she will suck you financially dry like a starving leech. But if you succeed in getting rid of the parasite, I strongly suggest that the next time you choose a companion, you get a dog instead. A dog would definitely have more intellect, would surely be more honest, absolutely loyal and certainly cheaper to keep. As far as your sexual needs, you should be fine. After all you’re a good ranger. Plus, I promise to send you a crate of tuna every year for your birthday. Despite your poor taste in pets, I continue to admire the fine soldier in you. Big kisses and hugs to the beautiful ape.”

Meanwhile, one of my family members just read the first four chapters of this book. Later on she sent me her comments via email. She stated: “Dear Marlene, You wrote, “I believe that those who end up as members of the elite force of America, or any other country for that matter, are people who

349 MARLENE AGUILAR suffered severely as children.… The military gave these souls sanctuary and a stage to express their anger, hatred and hostility and made them believe that their life inside the box would be dedicated to a great “cause”. I believe that the military world was designed for such psyches and such psyches need the destructive existence of the military box.” Be careful here, you also stated somewhere that your son is a ranger.”

Here was my quick response to her. “I have no problem with Jason being part of the military world. My father was a guerilla during the 2nd World War and became a prisoner of the Japanese later. Then he became a chief of police. Plus, why do you think I understand the world of death and destruction? I was also there.” In Warriors of Heaven, I also wrote: “Why do I seek to understand war, death and destruction? Did you ever ask yourself how one is able to appreciate true happiness without knowing pain? One can’t. To understand hate, you must understand love. To understand life, you must understand death. What makes you so sure you are sane if you do not know insanity? How are you certain you’re in control if you don’t know how to lose it? How do you know what is good if you don’t know evil? You don’t. So it is only from learning about war, violence and destruction that I am able to achieve the genuine meaning of peace.” Yes, Jason was a ranger. Jason needed the destructive world of the military box like so many other young men like him do. What’s wrong with that? He needed to feed something within him. He lost his father when he was barely three years old.

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Jason’s father, my husband was found dead, sitting on a chair in his hotel room in Bangkok, just before Christmas 1984, on his way to meet us in the Philippines. Later, I sought the assistance of a very kind man, a friend. He was a former defense secretary in the Philippines who also became a senator and who is one the most influential politicians in the country today. I asked him to find out what really happened to my husband in Thailand. I needed to know the truth regarding Jason’s father’s death. Six months after my request he called me to his office. We faced each other sitting at a long dining table. He told me that after months of inquiry he had found out that my husband’s death involved foul play. Jason had suffered great loss. Like I said, those who suffered extreme cases of betrayal and loss along with those who have endured extreme cases of physical and/or sexual abuse end up seeking destructive environments later on in life. Again, what is wrong with that, if it offers understanding and growth? Most people run from life. They run from the truth. That is partly why people are terribly unhappy. They live in fear. Mankind is so easily manipulated because they are afraid. You are so easily manipulated because you live in fear. And those imperious men running the world thrive on that fear. So they create man-made calamities such as SARS, bird flu and swine flu to make people afraid. It is the fear of mankind that empowers evil to rule the world. I believe I’ve gone beyond being careful since I decided to write my first novel, Warriors of Heaven. Why is it always a case of left wing or right wing, good or bad? Like I said, in order to achieve balance, one must embrace light with the same openness as one must embrace blackness.

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This understanding of light and blackness opens the path to freedom allowing forgiveness and detachment. Here is a little anecdote; I would like to share with you. Last year, during a very long conversation that I had with a friend who is a former FBI agent, he asked me this question. “Why do you continue to protect the same man whom you accuse of killing your husband?” In tears, I answered, “Because I can help the living. I cannot help the dead.” He responded, “Marlene, that is the most compassionate statement I have ever heard.”Meanwhile, I sent a very special someone I know an advance copy of my book, Warriors of Heaven with this note. “Do you think you could ever run from how you feel about me, you silly boy? It’s amazing, I’m not even angry at you although I truly believe you had something to do with what happened to Jason while he was in Ranger Battalion. I forgive you. I tell myself, I probably would have done the same if I were in your shoes. No one in my entire life ever hurt me the way you have. It wasn’t possible. What is amazing is that, I am grateful for the pain you caused me. Still I admire you just the same. Don’t let this get to your ego. I also believe that you’re totally fucked up in the head and as retarded as any man could get. Anyway, I hope our karmic accounting is settled. I also hope you grow up someday, stop being afraid and come out into the light.” My son Jason was detained for a total of three months last year. I believe that he was framed for a crime he didn’t commit by certain powerful men who were doing their “homework” on me.

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During that time Paulie sent me this video via email saying, “You should watch this.” He told me that people who are as outspoken as I am pay a price. And at the time, Jason was the price. He added that he made this gesture to give me some comfort regarding the terrible events that were then happening in my life. The short video showed faces of people who have changed the course of history including Albert Einstein, John Lennon, Amelia Earhart, Maria Callas, Martin Luther King, Che Guevarra, Ghandi and others. In the background a man spoke and stated:

“Here’s to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes, the ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules and they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify and vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them, because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as crazy, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.” For those who would like to watch the video, please visit, http:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=dX9GTUMh490 On October 23, 2009, Becca and I performed at the Hobbit House in Malate, Manila. The place was packed. All my closest friends were there including Alwin, Paulie, Celest, Carol, Mita Ong, Dr. Jun, and Daisy Garcia who came with her husband and drove for three hours, all the way from Cabanatuan. My trainers from the gym Jackie and Christian came. All my nephews and nieces and my sister Tess and brother Tony were present. Many visual artists arrived headed by Rafael Cusi who was celebrating his birthday. A friend from Colombia, Orlando Cueter, also attended and Inday

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Varona, a well respected political journalist sat at a table near the bar with her daughter and sister in-law. My brother Freddie couldn’t come because he had his own show that evening. Becca sent me messages all day long telling me how nervous she was about the show. In her text messages, she wrote, “Can you feel how tense I am, sister?” Around lunch time, she said, “Can you feel my palpitations?” Later she wrote, “I’m so tense!” I wrote to her, “Don’t worry, all will fall into place. When I get up on stage, absorb my energy. I’m not scared.” “I’m even tense about what to wear!” “Becca, don’t worry. Fuck it. I’ll get up there. I don’t even know what I’m doing and I’ll get up there first. While I’m singing, I’ll tell myself, this is masturbation…this is just another form of masturbation…” I told her via text message to calm her down. “HA HA HA HA HA!” she wrote back. When she arrived at ´Hobbit House that evening’, I felt her body shaking when I hugged her. “I’m sooooo scaaaarrred…” she whispered in my ear. So I got up on stage first, offering myself as sacrifice. “You can’t be the first to get up there,” my sister Tess said. “The first time you sang with a guitar player was only 30 sessions ago, whereas the other musicians on stage have been performing for at least a decade. You shouldn’t start the show. You’re the rookie.” The show started at 9pm and ended at 1:30 in the morning. It was all in all a great evening. I thought Becca was absolutely amazing on stage. Finally, she confronted her fear and I confronted mine. The next morning, she sent me this text message: “You did a magical job. You were beautiful on stage. I haven’t recovered from the divine experience and high I felt last night. Your prowess to inspire and motivate still awes me.

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Thank you again for freeing me from myself. Your selfless love was amazingly at work again last night.” My sister Tess sent me this message. “Congratulations for putting up a superb show. You did a great job and have proven you can sing and conquer the stage as well. Your voice touches the hearts and souls of your listeners. Hats off to you! Keep going, don’t stop singing. Love from your sister Tess and the gang.” My friend Orlando sent me this note. “Congratulations! I am very proud of you. Believe me, it was my pleasure to be there sharing such a special evening with you, your friends and your family. Thank you.” In the meantime, I received a very strange message from someone unknown. The person stated, “If you end up with G2, I will shoot you myself.” I recently had an argument with someone who forbade me from including our differences in this book. I did tell him I wouldn’t include his portion of the argument. But I don’t believe I said I wouldn’t include my own perspective. Let’s call this special someone Cherí. Our argument - which I wasn’t supposed to discuss - began when I reacted against a best selling author in the US referring to John Wayne as the “real man icon” for members of the Special Forces’ community. I discussed this exchange with Becca and she insisted that I write about it to advertise my argument, including what I think of the American actor. She says many male members of her family suffer from the same delusion. “They even try to walk like John Wayne, it’s annoying,” she said.

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So here is what I emailed Cherí. Unfortunately, as I promised him, I can’t give you his side of the argument. So here are the emails I sent him. “The character of John Wayne was created for film, the by- product of someone’s imagination. He was a myth. John Wayne was an actor, posing and faking the role of being a man, of being a cowboy, of being a soldier, and a green beret. I should also tell you that my gay friends in the States and the Philippines insist that like Rock Hudson, in real life John Wayne was homosexual. I believe them. The worst thing about the Special Forces community and the military in general is that it is filled with too many soldiers doing things they don’t want to do knowing they don’t need to do it or shouldn’t do it. And yet, they do it anyway because they don’t have the power to change things. When was the last time the military went on strike? Most members of the military do not have the balls or, for some, the intelligence to question. They do not have the balls to go against the grain. They are prisoners of an institution that breeds violence, death and destruction to all life on earth. A Ranger I know calls the military the vacuum. First you get sucked in and you have to complete your initial contract of three or four years. During that time, a lot of guys get married, have kids and the military provides for them. That then becomes the drug, the crutch. After that they can no longer imagine what it would be like to go into the real world and start from scratch. Please don’t be mad at me for speaking the truth. Plus, I adore you anyway. Moreover, my point of view is just one perspective, silly. There are always two sides to the coin. You know I have a lot of respect

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and admiration for men like you. But then, you are the exception to the rule.”

Here is another email I sent Cherí although in this one, I address him as John Wayne. This was my response to a long email he sent me. By the way, he calls me Miss Uppity Pants. “Dear John Wayne, I must say that the narrative you sent me is surprisingly well written. Amazing, there is actually substance and purity in your thoughts. You are not totally hopeless after all, psychologically that is. You say that Saddam Hussein was so hideous because he exterminated those who worked for him every five years as they threatened his position. So you admit you guys took out Saddam because you feared him? Just as, every five years, he took out those who worked with him, so Saddam met the same fate, and for the same reasons, because he was employed by the US government? And it’s not even the fact that you did that to Saddam or that you screw over nation after nation. But it’s the fact that you try to pretend that you’re doing right by the world that truly pisses everyone off! I have a lot more respect for Hitler; at least he didn’t pretend he was trying to help the Jews! Just fucking say it, ‘We are here to take everything we can and suck you dry because the people we serve are such greedy assholes and we’re going to do whatever the fuck we’re told!’ With regard to you as a member of the special operations command, I already know you’re exceptional because I’ve already done some homework on you. Of course you’re exceptional silly. Why else would the heavens send you to me? I know that you are a great warrior of heaven, here, now and beyond.

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With regard to you having the right perspective, let’s just say that you have the institutionally correct and very limited perspective. My mind goes far beyond the understanding of most men and it definitely goes far beyond yours. You cannot compare Rome and England to America. You know why? Rome and England had deep rooted cultures which are the great foundations of their strengths and their souls. America has no strong culture to speak of. Now be a good little boy and listen to your Mommy. Try to think outside of the box for one moment. Maybe then you will understand that wars are not about religious or racial differences. Wars are created for profit. It’s never about Muslims and Christians or whatever they said to you using all those ridiculous role models you refer to. America’s killing machine is a SLAVE to the economic power that rules the world. It always was and it will always be. Get it? It amazes me that you who are already smarter than the other men in special ops, can’t understand this. I wouldn’t expect all the other pea brains to get it but I truly expect more from you. I did ask my brother if he thought John Wayne was a ‘real man’. He said he thought that when he was five years old. Why do you say I’m in love with the Muslims? There is only one mankind and one planet. We all belong to Mother Earth. You are so utterly wrong about me. But then again, like I said, my mind is far superior to yours and to that of most men. The reason you don’t get this is because...oh well you see, you just can’t teach Quantum Physics to an average person! In addition, I said that Filipinos who do not take pride in speaking their mother tongue are total pieces of shit!

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I suppose my relationship to America is like my relationship with you. I know a part of your psyche is totally retarded but I love you anyway. So there you go John Wayne, you didn’t piss me off.

Wet kisses and sayonara from, Miss Uppity Pants ”

Cherí also sent me the site of a song in You Tube entitled The Warrior Song. It praises the American killing machine as if god invented it to save the world. The short musical film showed almost all aspects of the killing machine, army, air force, marines and navy. He wrote, “I know this one will piss you off. Enjoy the song as your head blows up.” Here was my email response to him after watching the video. “I like it. Well done. The photos are absolutely amazing! Thank you. I enjoyed this tremendously. It turned me on actually! I particularly loved the versions of John Wayne wearing the pristine white uniforms standing in line on a ship. Those pussies look so fiercely cute and pretty, they gave me a perpetual hard on. Who signs up to be in a boat filled with men for many months where the majority of the ranks are addressed as seamen? Basically, these boys signed up to serve something big, long and hard, filled with semen.”

November 7, 2009, I sent this email to Cherí. “Dear Cherí, Now that we’ve all calmed down I can tell you what it was that I really wanted to say regarding all that John Wayne crap.

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The myth surrounding John Wayne, the myth he was trying to portray is you. You are that man and you should be the true icon for the members of the SF community, not the actor. That is really what I was trying to say.”

November 9, 2009, I wrote a friend who was formerly a US government official. I wrote: “A few days ago, my bodyguard Mark Hauser was taken by two men at 3am while he was leaving a pub in Makati. They took him to another location near the US Embassy and questioned him there for five hours. This is what he told my secretary. He told me he was only questioned for two hours. So clearly, he is lying regarding certain information about the incident. I do not doubt that he was taken. But I believe he’s not telling me everything. Mark seems to believe that he was harassed because of his application for an American passport. I don’t believe that two Americans would take him at 3am only to question him about his passport. They told him they were federal agents; one was in his 40’s, the other in his 50’s. Are federal agents in the Philippines allowed officially to conduct such an act? Mark Hauser carries a British and a Swiss passport as well. He was trained in the UK. Strange things have also happened to some people I know, people I consider close to me. For example, a friend who is a well respected political journalist was traveling from Manila to Narita to New York. As soon as she reached the airport in Japan she was approached by “Americans” who also held her for questioning. The American officials sent her back to Manila and denied her the visa that was already stamped on her passport. My friend believes that what happened to her has something to do with her support for

360 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW me. Other strange incidences have occurred. Unfortunately, I can’t discuss them over this medium. Do they do this to me because they believe me to be anti-American? If that is so then they are even more stupid than I thought. There is only one mankind and one planet to me. Please let me know what you think regarding Mark’s incident. It would be very helpful to me. It’s getting to the point; I don’t know who to trust around me. How sad the world is.

Thanking you and wishing you were near, Marlene”

I do not want to end this book without telling you more about my other son, Colby. I have never really discussed him in my novels. He is so exceptional, I was afraid that if I began to talk about him, he might end up taking half the space of this book. He and I antagonize each other in a similar fashion, the way Gabriel and I psychologically attack each other. When I used to misbehave as a child, I would push my mother to the edge so much she would flare her eyes at me and yell, “I hope someday you have a child just like you. Then you will understand what torture it is to raise you!” Well, my mother’s incantations worked. Colby was born to me. I received this email from him a week ago, and I have decided to share it with you. I hope this will give you some insight into my precious devil who I tenderly call Damien. As I mentioned earlier in this book, he is taking cinematography in Nevada. He wrote: “I got my midterm grades back for that hard test I told you about. They graded on the curve, and still a big percentage of the class failed. Apparently I didn’t need the curve because I only got four mistakes, LOL. I got the highest grade in the class, followed by my

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two group mates for 2nd and 3rd position. Only two of us got A’s, the other guy in my group got a B+, the majority of the class got C’s and D’s. I’m not sure why I thought the test was hard now that I see the thing again. It was pretty easy actually. Maybe it was just because I was very sick and burning with fever while taking the exam. I couldn’t read the questions and think as well as I could have. I had four mistakes. But in reality, I only didn’t know the answers to two questions, the other two, my answers were right but wrongly phrased since it was a written test. My teacher is astounded at my test results, saying this class got the highest grades in the history of him teaching that class so far. I still get to keep my perfect 4.0 GPA, lawlz. The only way my grade gets killed is if I get a C or D on anything, which I don’t intend on doing, ever. My teacher in that class was not too open at first, but after the midterm, he talks to me more seriously and gives more notes about what I’m going to shoot. They’re really helpful notes too, like he has good ideas for my ideas. Hahaha! That’s all. P.S. Tell Jason my messages aren’t reaching him on skype. Not really sure why. Tell him to call me whenever he can.

I love you, Mom.” -Colby

I am about to end this book, but before I do, I want you to know how happy and grateful I am that you have taken this journey with me. Thank you. Two months ago we hired a tutor for our daughter, Maya. The tutor comes from Baguio City which is located in the northern part

362 TALES OF THE BLACK WIDOW of the Philippines. She is Kalinga and has high cheek bones and deep bronze skin, as I do. She bears in her looks and in her stature and her demeanor, the fierce tribal pride that most genuine daughters of the north possess. Her name is Marjorie Amla, Marj for short. The first week she was with us, I took her to the Asian Development Bank cafeteria for lunch with Steve. After lunch we sat on the green leather couches along the long hall next to the cafeteria that faces a well kept tropical garden. Steve went to get us coffee. “What is Tales of the Black Widow about?” Marj asked. Wow… I thought, staring at the greenery outside. I contemplated some more as I watched the little sparrows fleeting between the imposing line of fichus trees, at the center of the square and the frangipanis at the corner of the large garden. The leaves of the tropical greens swayed ever so gracefully with the passing of the wind. The sun god Ra was up and about on this glorious day, showering us all in full force with his divine light coming from the endless blue sky. In the beginning, I had decided this book was going to be about the stories of the brave American soldiers, soldiers who have repeatedly confronted the true face of the killing fields. I so wanted you to hear their voices. And I’ve covered that. But, as I spoke to these men and as I got to know them better, a new form of energy began to unfold, giving this novel a new life. There is more to these tales than the war stories of the soldiers. I thought some more. “What is the book about?” Marj asked again. “Broken toys,” I uttered softly. The book is about broken toys. There are so many of us still hiding in darkness, in pain and afraid to face the monsters of our tragic past. On October 7, 2009, I met my cosmic sister Becca at the Fitness First gym in Eastwood City. She was looking ever so vibrant and

363 MARLENE AGUILAR hopeful, shining from within. I brought along coffee and a piece of chocolate cake from Starbucks for us to share. During our wonderful conversation, she gave me a gift from Deo her partner. It was one of his divine creations depicting the most beautiful and heavenly baby green dragon I have ever seen. The celestial being sat perfectly poised on top of the earth looking up above at the vast galaxies, imperious and vigilant, surrounded by absolute magic. I wept tears of joy when I saw the artwork for I have seen the dragon in my visions and it lives in my heart. That evening, after our meeting, Becca sent me this message. “Deo is still so fascinated with the synchronicity flowing into his life right now. God’s perfection is made precisely clear with the way we mentally dance and soulfully sing together in unison. With you, Deo and I will embrace life with divinity and bliss. I thank god for my beautiful life. I thank god for you and for your being. You are indeed my great warrior of heaven. I believe that my father’s spirit in the after life sent you from heaven to bring me into the light. That is my truth. Everything in my life now has become so clear and free, and purely beautiful because of you, then Deo. You have no idea how you brought my soul back from the dead. One day, I will write a book about how you brought me back to life. I don’t know how I will do it, but I will, I will.” It was the amazing fusion of celestial energy between my soul brother Deo and my soul sister Becca during that magical day that has inspired me to write the last two paragraphs of this book, which I have written for broken toys like me. Today is November 9, 2009, the day I will finish this book. How sad it feels to say goodbye to you. Here below are my closing words. I hope they bring you comfort, hope and light.

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There is laughter where there is tears, life where there is death, love where there is hate, salvation where there is injustice and right where there is wrong. Unknown to you, our sorrows, our losses, our deaths, and our tears, create a synergy which collectively gives life to the ocean of blackness empowered by the goddess of light. Still, I promise you with all my being, as heaven is my witness, that this ocean of blackness is the true sanctuary of broken children, some possessing the most incredible minds, spirits and wills this universe could ever behold. And here you will also find the bravest souls, the children of Ra, the great warriors of heaven, who believe without a trace of doubt in their minds that they can truly change the world.

— The End —

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