The Unwelcomed Rider — on his radar

Life Is a Storm

I woke up enraged.

Screaming. Pushing a dark presence away — a person I didn’t know, but a being I was familiar with. I felt its weight.

He had a way of speaking, a way of moving, designed to provoke, to get under my skin.

He was in the back seat. Wouldn’t leave. Smooth and charming at first, then twisted into something dark, evil, brute, the moment I demanded he go.

He wanted my loved one. Tried to persuade her while she was driving.

I reached around my passenger side seat to combat him. That’s when I woke up. Enraged.

I immediately fell back to sleep after startling her.

I couldn’t tell what was dream and what was real.

I woke up again to determine what had happened.

She told me she felt my hand or arm connect with her stomach, rolled away from me, and recognized I’d been having a bad dream.

I felt so bad about disturbing sleep, startling, or possibly striking. She conveyed all was fine and didn’t remember or notice me screaming, then went back to sleep.

After I was angry, confused, emotional, I knew it was him. The enemy.

Who else could distort that realm and this one with one blow?

He’s really good. An artist. He really knows how to fuck with people.

Recognizing the adversary heightened my tension. Watching his masterful skill of manipulation made me furious. The fucking audacity. I was immediately triggered into protective mode.

You’re never on his radar until you’re doing right. He paid a visit. He let me know, he knows.

I’m ok with that.

After leaving the house, the first vehicle I ended up behind had a sticker that read "Satan." I took a photo to include here. It's those little jabs. GFYSS! We all know who wins.

Satan sticker on vehicle


I know the adversary is trying to make his presence known. Trying to spook me. Trying to rattle the structure. Even attempting to disrupt my income — regarding that remote job situation. That wasn’t coincidence. That was pressure.

You want me unstable. You want me scrambling.

But you misread me.

I just secured my gear. Level 3 security position locked in. Security with security.



You think taking a job shakes me? You think material loss frightens me? I don’t value this realm the way most people do. I don’t worship income. I don’t cling to comfort. You can touch the surface, but you don’t own the foundation.

Yes, it’s a struggle. Yes, it can get heavy. But I don’t fall apart — I adjust. And with God behind me — even when I don’t speak it — I am carried.

I land on my feet.

I’m good.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

All Books Release Announcement!

Image
📚 All Books Now Available on Amazon My full collection of books is now available. Over the past month, I completed and released multiple volumes across connected series built from lived experience, structured reflection, and the question of how a human system forms under pressure. These books are not fiction, and they are not traditional self-help.   They are documentation — of survival, adaptation, grief, and meaning. --- 🔹 Operating Without a Manual This series explores what happens when life offers no blueprint. It focuses on early responsibility, instability, and learning how to build a life without guidance or safety nets. These volumes form the foundation of the collection — the environmental and developmental conditions that shaped everything that followed. Recommended reading order: first --- 🔹 I’m a Traumatized Human This series examines survival through a psychological and human lens. Rather than asking “what’s wrong,” it asks what happened — and how the mind and nerv...
Read more

Sunday Mourning

Image
  Mom's ukulele stylings in backdrop of the storm. Sunday — February 8, 2026 11:45 a.m. – 4:00 p.m. We were running late to Leilani’s memorial service at Reflection Church in Rockport, led by Pastor Kevin Saegert. Not late in the ordinary sense — not the kind of late that means missing the opening song or slipping quietly into a back pew. On the drive there my father mentioned the time, and I snapped. The words came out sharper than I intended: We’re not late. She’s already gone. There’s nothing to be late to now. Leilani is gone.  The second I said it, I felt the weight of what I meant. Death has a way of stripping language down to its bones. There is no schedule once someone has crossed that line. I had to reframe my thoughts in real time, sitting there in a car full of grief and Hawaiian-style button-ups, trying to honor someone we loved. Midway through the drive I asked my father if he had thought about bringing his ukulele. It was a big part of Leilani’s life. It was a ...
Read more

Death's Witness

Image
  I feel like death has been standing behind me lately. Not touching me. Not taking me. Just close enough that I can feel it breathing. Throughout my life, death has taken people I love — the closest people. And the strange thing is, I’ve almost always had a window before it happened. A visit. A moment. A strange, cosmic link. Like Chimmy Chanhrattana. He was my neighbor around the time my great-grandfather's house burned down. His family and mine were close. Our parents would visit each other, have dinners, take food over. He was my age. This was around junior high school. We didn’t stay close as adults, but he was always cool with me. One of those people I always appreciated. One day, years later, I was pumping gas in Ingleside and he pulled up to the stall next to mine. Out of nowhere. We caught up, talked about our families, laughed a little. It felt really good to see him after so long. Maybe a week later, he was gone. January 28, 2019. https://www.puenteandsons.com/...
Read more