Sensing my initial incredulity, He showed me his ID card as proof and explained that in Catholic Spain, Angel just like Jesus were very common names though Angel de la Alegria de la Cruz was really rather unfortunate, Angel of joy of the cross. A name perhaps more amusing to us English speakers than Spanish speakers but nonetheless a name that demands instant attention. The depth of the irony and innuendo surrounding such a name seemed to thankfully escape him, though perhaps it is just my dirty British humor, or just me in general. Or perhaps such a name ultimately carries with it something of a spiritual burden…
As I listened to Angel, I began to feel slightly overwhelmed and spooked as I realized I was actually living a chapter from my last book. I had indeed manifested this very soldier, this fortuitous encounter. It doesn’t really matter what you believe as the conscious mind will invariably find a way to make you believe you are crazy if you think it is anything other than what it is, something purely logical and normal. Encounters such as these happen all the time. I however disagree; no matter how tenuous your grip on reality, or everyone else’s perception of reality, it is only when you climb out of your safe haven, leave behind routine and truly surrender that the universe reminds you that life is an infinite film script of unimaginable proportions.
He invited me to join him on a walk, an attractive proposal after hours crouched over a laptop. He took my arm and led me up the hill to the ruins of the castle. We stood in silence and looked out over the village and beyond to the distant mountain range. Ever experienced De ja vu? A fleeting moment when traveling through a previously unknown place or passing a stranger on the street just knowing that somehow you were once inextricably linked? I had that deep sense that I had been here before in another life accompanied by the soul beside me. It all felt so bizarrely familiar. I studied his profile, his slight build, the premature lines on his forehead. He turned and caught me observing him. He smiled brightly, suddenly youthful, and playful, switching from the broody anxious soul of minutes before. A confusing yet alluring combination of young old soul who had shouldered many a burden in both his present short lifetime and in those previous lives of his…
Nothing is ever ‘just’, just a chance encounter over coffee or just the offer of a helping hand. A clairvoyant had told me months previously that a dark-haired dark eyed male of slight build would enter my life and become part of my soul journey, my twin flame sent to teach me valuable lessons on my spiritual path. The description was very specific. Despite my internal resistance, my endeavors to maintain an emotional distance, this meeting of minds and bodies was destined to leave a long and deep impression on us both.
We spent hours talking and walking that first day until I eventually left, head and heart spinning. We arranged to meet days later to walk and talk some more and allow me to interview him about his experience in the infamous Spanish foreign legion.
That night I sat alone in the candle lit caravan, the burning sage and incense creating a heavy cloud around my head. My senses are heightened, both the surrounding colours and the Arctic Monkeys playing ‘Crying lightning’ have reached levels of high definition. “Your pastimes, consisted of the strange, and twisted and deranged…” I did not imagine those lyrics would become so frighteningly accurate. I contemplate the scene around me as my thoughts wonder to the next encounter and where it will lead us…
As my Shaman friend once so wisely said about the world in general, ‘Observe not absorb’ though unfortunately I realize too late that wisdom is at best impossible to apply to an individual who has already left an indelible mark upon your soul.
As I have endlessly repeated since 2020, you really could not make this shit up. I lie back and drift off to the last song playing, ‘You’ve got this strange effect on me, and I like it’
And indeed, I do. The lyrics reflect my consternation, my fascination, my desperate sense to push him away now whilst simultaneously desperate to embrace every second of the intensity of my feelings, the thrill of the unknown.
….
Two days later we meet at the recycling bins. You can’t get much more romantic than that. We begin walking and talking, competing at who can share their life story the fastest. Though eventually beating him in content and age, he comes a close second, having lived an intense 33 years. I was slightly perturbed at the age difference, yet the connection was so deep and intense nothing else seemed to matter except the now, this present moment in all its unhinged glory.
I notice his unusual gallantry, his use of poetic language and refreshing politeness as he greets all the passing walkers. I hesitate for a fraction of a second then allow him to take my hand as we stroll along the mountainside. I momentarily detach from the conversation as he shares some military anecdotes. Despite his years following a spiritual path of intense periods of quiet meditation and reflection alone, seeking, searching for answers, I wonder at the mental scars left from what seems like a military faction hell bent on crushing the human soul. Indeed, the legion has a somewhat historically dark reputation primarily due to Franco, Spain’s former dictator, and not helped by their nickname, the bridegrooms of death.
Laughingly in more recent times they had become infamous internationally in both straight and gay circles as the sexy Spanish soldiers due to their erm, rather revealing uniforms, plunging necklines, when photographed during pandemic times.
A heady alluring intriguing mix; sex, violence and as the images depict, religion combine to present a strong distraction particularly in the dark days of COVID lockdown…
I can’t help but wander what the goat is thinking…
At the risk of incurring the wrath of any devout Catholic who may be reading this, I must say I find the image of Christ, who I believe to be an ascended master from the Middle East, being paraded in such a way surrounded by a feared regiment with a brutal bloody history in low cut shirts, all rather bizarre, theatrical and in poor taste in my view. Poor Jesus must really be thinking what the actual fuck did I come down here for in an ill-advised attempt to enlighten these deranged beings…
Sorry, I digress again…
Angel explained he had joined the regiment primarily with the intention of taking it one step further as preparation to train for the elite special forces, a life plan thwarted by an untimely car accident that ended his dream prematurely. Probably for the best I thought to myself, though he seems to find it impossible to detach himself completely from the military identification. He reveals his tattoo, the emblem of the Spanish legion, then the belt from his former uniform coupled with the legion’s key ring and his military ID carried always to show the Guardia civil if ever stopped. It seems the legion, the notorious bridegrooms of death, carry with it a level of fear and grudging respect particularly from other military factions and the police force. I suppose a battle cry of ‘long live death’ no not in Mediaeval times but in the 20th, century must mean something rather ghastly is afoot…
A dark and rather chequered history, back to the legion’s origins in 1920 initially formed to protect Spain’s protectorate in North Africa. The legion was led by the infamous commander Millan Astray, ‘the glorious mutilated one’ accompanied by the also infamous Captain Francisco Franco and we all know where he ended up. It never ceases to amaze me how few foreigners living in Spain actually realize they live in a country that suffered a brutal civil war, followed by a dictatorship that lasted till the mid-70s…again deep scars and unresolved war crimes remain, not to mention one of the highest forced disappearances in the world, second only to Cambodia, with tens of thousands tossed into mass graves…
I shiver as I think about the brutalities committed on all sides during the horrific war and turn my attention back to the Angel of Joy: Two years on following the unfortunate accident and pandemic lockdown, it seems he is searching for his true identity. I can more than sympathize with that sentiment hence our initial understanding and connection. A lot of us are flailing right now, questioning the official narrative on all fronts, confronting the inevitable huge earth changes, the coming energetic shift and overhaul of the financial system. Any deep thinker cannot but fail to be affected and struggling with the current collective psychosis.
We sit and contemplate the beauty of our surroundings. I am still fascinated by his time in the legion and attempt to extract more information. He begins to share the stories of colleagues who died over the years in what were deemed unfortunate accidents by the military yet those on the inside tell another story. He instantly clams up and I sense his discomfort, his reluctance and fear to elaborate further. I understand it is a sensitive subject, not to mention dangerous for those still on the inside. I respect his wishes to leave the subject there and later on discover more through my own investigation into these deaths and cover ups, the hidden stories behind this dark regiment. Despite Angels’ anger and anguish, he remains loyal in his silence.
He becomes excited at the topics of conversation, my very open mind concerning all things esoteric and beyond. We discuss the infinite complexities and possibilities of the multiverse and I watch as his face changes and becomes far more animated and youthful again. The frown lines seem to momentarily disappear as his eyes sparkle. Out the corner of my eye I notice passing walkers observing us: We must make an unusual combination as we laugh loudly and talk animatedly, gesticulating wildly to further a point in discussion. My sometimes-wild disheveled curls seem to have taken on a life of their own the more excitable I become. He suddenly becomes serious again as he leans in and takes my hand. “I love your green eyes” he whispers. Oh fuck, I think to myself. This can only end one way…
We eventually reach the caravan, tired yet elated, and he seems enthralled, almost bizarrely so. He says he yearns for a van, or a caravan, a space of his own with nature, freedom. Tell me about it, I whisper under my breath. I know I’m going to struggle returning to brick and mortar.
He shows me some tricks to making a quick fire. We sit outside under the stars as darkness falls, listening to music, thankful for this magical moment. I begin to tell him about my father’s recent death and my struggle to accept his passing, describing the immense gaping hole it has left in my life, and he holds me as I breakdown and I notice he too is crying silently. Sometimes all you need is someone with whom to share your pain.
And of course, he stays though all we do is hug all night. I’m still reluctant and unsure what this really is. I came away for headspace, physical space to grieve, to nurse my emotional wounds and somehow ‘get back on track’, whatever that means. I don’t know how you ever really get back on track when one of the most important and significant people leaves your life in traumatic circumstances. I am struggling with it all…
The next day I am amused to observe his obsessive cleanliness as he busies himself around the caravan, cleaning, tidying, mending, and perfecting. He jokes he is ‘MacGyver’ after the famous 80s TV series character, of genius level intellect and multi skilled. I can see the similarities for sure and I am of course extremely grateful though somewhat bemused. It seems impossible for him to break away from military regime and every other sentence is punctuated by some military jargon or code.
I sit outside enjoying the early spring sunshine lost in my thoughts until jolted out of my reverie when he suddenly appears before me and unbuttons his shirt slowly. I say…
Oh, fuck it again. And so, it began…
We spend an unforgettable night and day together until I have to leave for a few days back to the coast. I’m still reeling from this unexpected turn of events: I go off to be alone, never expecting in a small mountain village to encounter a situation such as this. My friends are amused. Not least by his name alone. Sigh. Oh joy indeed.
He does not disappoint in my absence. Every day I receive long meaningful messages, poetic, full of adoration and depth. Despite the smile on my face, the unexpected story to share with my girlfriends and a wonderful boost to my ego there were some red flags…
Perhaps my intuition was calling but I chose to ignore it.
The passion and intensity was a bit much, even by my rather intense sometimes explosive standards. All was happening extremely fast. His brain seemed to work on overdrive, processing an almost ridiculous amount of detail 24/7. Surely, I thought to myself, he must burn out at some point. I had definitely met my match.
He seemed completely understanding of my life and my responsibilities, as well as the fact that I was back down there on the coast to get things done and not much time to write. He finally switched to voice messages to make it easier for me to respond as well as the fact that his use of 16th century Don Quixote style Spanish made it at times somewhat difficult to understand. I was fascinated, amused and enamored. A dangerous combination when still trying to employ some critical thought and analysis of the situation. But once again, I thought, oh fuck it…
******
I finally returned to the caravan where he came to greet me and a friend as we sat drinking beer enjoying what was to be some of the last spring sunshine for a while. Dark clouds were gathering.
He appeared with a home cooked Spanish tortilla, one of my favorite dishes he knew, carried in one hand on a china plate whilst scrambling over hills and rocks. He had, he told us, planned his route with military precision. He served it to us with a flourish. You had to hand it to the guy, he could even charm straight men. He talked nonstop, beguiling us with his stories of important and high up people in Spanish society and the military. We were both stunned into silence, not just by the stories but with the speed of his speech and his theatrical story telling.
The night was even wilder, as were the next few days where we were together 24/7, walking, talking, meditating and making love. I was officially exhausted, and I suspect, finally so was he. The rains came and despite our closeness and compatibility we both needed a break, a caravan is a small space for two in the rain…
I told him I needed alone time especially as Father’s Day was coming up. We were separate for the next couple of days just as the rain and cold truly kicked in. He was as I had suspected as fatigued as I was, and later told me he slept throughout the day and night hence why he hadn’t answered my messages. I had my quiet solitary time, remembering my father, listening to his favorite songs and felt a wave of melancholy beginning to wash over me again.
AJ and I had been on a continuous natural high and of course, what goes up must come down. I began to feel unusually bad, even darker than usual, full of self-doubt, wondering what the hell was I really doing here, what was this so- called spiritual connection, adventure between AJ and I? I developed a crushing headache, unusual for me, and felt almost aggressive as I thought of him. What was happening to me?
We arranged that he would come over, though communication was proving tricky. He was two hours late when he finally appeared, or should I say I appeared, he been sat waiting an hour in the cold and hadn’t thought to look for me. He later said He thought I was going to throw the frying pan at his head as if we were an old married couple, and again that strange sense of Déjà vu as if indeed that had once occurred. Neither of us were feeling good, neither physically nor mentally and I felt a looming sense of doom. For a short while, for the next 24 hours the atmosphere seemed to lighten, the storm clouds momentarily dispersed. We went walking, laughed, hugged and felt good again. I thought we had overcome the darkness…
But the following day, it began…
As we cooked together, I noticed the atmosphere change, I suddenly felt an unnerving sense that I ought to escape, run away from him. The atmosphere became charged and dense, almost impossible to describe. He was acting oddly, nervous and agitated.
I felt highly irritable and exhausted again as if my life energy was being slowly drained from my body. Imagine someone has turned on a tap and is bleeding you dry…
He was talking relentlessly almost unbearably fast, his breathing quickened. I finally went to lie down telling him I had a bad headache as If my skull was being crushed, a pressure from above pushing down is the best way to describe it. Unlike friends of mine, I have never suffered from migraines and whatever was happening was distressing. He eventually followed me, still talking till he fell into an exhausted sleep. I however could not sleep, the restless feeling would not abate. I got up and listened to some music to calm me and attempted some meditation.
Eventually he awoke and once again began speaking excitedly. Outside, the wind was shaking the caravan and the rain lashed against the windows. I felt claustrophobic. I returned to the bed where the headache returned, and my body temperature fluctuated. Was I sick? Was it the menopause? I felt so hot I ripped my clothes off, and lay there tossing and turning, all the while hearing him pacing, smoking, moving things around. I was vaguely aware that he was playing with the door and muttering excitedly to himself. I noticed he was talking about locking the door with a key on the inside as well as with the various bolts. Locking us in to protect us from what?
Suddenly as if out of nowhere something propelled me to my feet, as if an exterior energy was working through me. I jumped out the bed and pulled on my clothes and rushed out the sleeping area. He looked deathly pale and I saw he had bolted the door on every level, locking us in. I spotted the ever-present Rambo knife laying threateningly on the table between us. I heard myself shouting and as if in a daze as I pushed him aside with all my might and frantically unlocked the door, jumped outside gasping and shaking. He looked at me in horror, trembling and speaking so fast I could not make out a word, indeed he did not look like the same person.
He began to cry. I shouted at him, how dare he lock me in with a key and the bolts and with a dangerous knife on the table? The reality was I barely knew him, and he too was almost a stranger in the village. We were both horrified at the events unfolding. He swore he would never have hurt me.
He told me he had felt a threatening presence outside and felt we were in grave danger. Something too in the caravan was not right. Bizarre as though it may sound, I felt it too. We were under attack. Psychic attack. Only those who have lived it, experienced it would understand.
I finally calmed down and we both sat crying staring at each other across the table in shock. As soon as we began to talk about the presence both outside and inside, we both felt sick, an instant physical response. My skull felt like it was being crushed and he began writhing in pain clutching his stomach. We agreed to meditate, chant, say prayers to clear the space on an energetic level. I don’t know what we had inadvertently invited in but what had once been a space of peace and calm where I felt so safe had suddenly turned into a nightmare. I daren’t look outside the window and turned on all the lights.
Eventually the atmosphere began to change. We agreed not to discuss it further and put on some comedy to lighten the mood and eventually fell into a fitful sleep, hugging each other tightly. I woke up intermittently, still hugely uncomfortable, confused and afraid. The next day things seemed to be a little lighter at first then rapidly the strange atmosphere began to return. We argued over whether it was external, internal, something between the two of us but I needed him to leave. We hugged and said goodbye and he promised to call later. Little did I know it was to be one of the last times I would see him.
I would like to say the next few days improved but for me the nights didn’t.
Strange goings on, the lights flashing, hearing deep breathing, a sense of something or someone sitting on the edge of my bed led me to stay awake with the lights on all night meditating and praying.
Two days later AJ finally appeared, looking very serious and reserved. He decided that a specific ritual was needed to clear whatever had entered our space and went about clearing, praying and meditating. I found myself strangely sexually attracted to him, the more serious he became. He looked at me oddly and talked about mischievous spirits known as succubus and incubus who used sexual energy to play with humans.
He was still in pain and abdominal discomfort whilst I just felt exhaustion and agitation. We hugged and chatted, but something had shifted, he no longer seemed the same person and it was more than just the anxiety of the present surreal situation.
He finally left and I felt a deep sadness and discomfort, knowing he was already pulling away but had no idea what on earth was happening to us. I knew I had to leave for a few days again.
His silences became longer. The messages shorter. I felt deeply disturbed, confused and questioning everything that had happened between us and to us. What darkness had we provoked? Was this what the clairvoyant had meant by further teachings on our spiritual path?
It was only a week since we had seen each other last but I knew it was over. I returned for my final stint in the mountains but this time he was no longer waiting. My sleep patterns had still not returned to normal. The few messages from him were in a different tone and the quick phone call was deeply serious and abrupt. He did not appear at the caravan, and I knew he would not.
Finally, four days after my return he saw me from afar and looked deeply shocked and almost afraid. Maybe it’s true, men are from Mars and women are from Venus, but I needed something, a word, an explanation, even a goodbye, something, closure at least.
But he could not give me that. The man who stood before me was not the same man I had known, albeit a short time ago. He stumbled over his words, made excuses, hugged me and assured me if he could find some free minutes over the coming days, we would meet face to face and discuss what had happened. I was angry, hurt but simultaneously felt sad for him. Something there was deeply troubled and perhaps I would never get to find out what it was nor what had happened that night and beyond.
We all carry darkness within us for that is polarity and light cannot exist without dark. Perhaps our shadow selves had somehow combined to force us to confront that which must be cleared and understood…who knows? My tortured soul, his tortured soul. Maybe we were more alike than I imagined or recognized. Had I come to this place because once upon a time in another lifetime we had experienced something dark or tragic together here hence the constant feeling of familiarity and déjà vu?
Was it connected to dark practices within the legion? Depending on one’s level of sensitivity and emotional intelligence, the effects of such a place could be catastrophic spiritually, mentally and physically. I had always felt he wanted to share something one last time but seemed unable to do so…
Our connection had seemed magical, so powerful. The times I had spent with him would remain in my thoughts and dreams forever, but he carried with him a dark secret. Perhaps the clairvoyant was right, and we were twin flames, spirits that had come back together from another time to teach each other valuable lessons. Maybe one day I will know more or perhaps for once, I just have to accept and make my peace with the situation. Angel of joy or dark angel the time traveler, and I were over in this lifetime. Maybe I will meet him and his tortured soul in my lucid dreams…
In the meantime, I listen to that same song and its lyrics, ‘you’ve got this strange effect on me, and I like it, you make my world seem right, you make my darkness seem bright’ and I just can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking of me too…
https://warfarehistorynetwork.com/2019/01/01/bridegrooms-of-death-the-spanish-foreign-legion/
https://www.militarytimes.com/off-duty/military-culture/2020/03/24/spain-deploys-men-in-deep-v-necks-and-leather-suspenders-to-stave-off-covid-19/
https://www.newsweek.com/spain-army-uniform-legion-twitter-1493735
https://www.alertadigital.com/2021/07/28/entrevista-a-la-madre-del-legionario-eduardo-garcia-molinero-muerto-tras-ser-atropellado-por-un-blindado-accidente-o-negligencia-ocultada-por-el-ministerio-de-defensa/
https://www.elconfidencial.com/espana/2018-07-13/no-hay-sospechosos-el-caso-del-legionario-atropellado-por-un-bmr-entra-en-un-callejon-sin-salida_1590794/
https://www.elespanol.com/reportajes/20200828/procesa-mandos-soldados-encubrir-muerte-legionario-jimenez/516448928_0.html
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