I do not expect many people to believe the events I am about to describe, but they are entirely accurate. It is a long story, and I will condense it as best as I can.
A family of three, a father, a mother, and their daughter, came to see me at the church seeking healing. They were distraught. I had previously spoken with the father on the phone, and he had already explained the difficulties they were facing. He was convinced that his family was cursed.
When our session began, the father explained that he believed the curse originated from his ancestors, who had been involved in the slave trade. He described how his family had suffered from severe and unexplained illnesses, emotional turmoil, and repeated business failures.
As he spoke, I found it difficult to concentrate. I felt myself drifting, and soon vivid images began to fill my mind. It was as if I had been transported to another time and place.
I saw a group of African slaves crowded into a small rowing boat. Among them was a young boy who seemed out of place, as though he should never have been enslaved. At the front of the boat stood a large white man holding a stick, shouting orders at the rowers. The boy, terrified and confused, struggled to follow instructions. The man’s anger grew, and he struck the boy on the side of the head. The child fell unconscious and was thrown overboard.
Then I saw an older African man kneeling on a shoreline, holding the boy’s lifeless body in his arms. I sensed that the child had not died instantly but had drowned. The father’s grief was unbearable. I was told that this man was the tribe’s medicine man, and I saw him performing a dark ritual. The scene was filled with red, the colour of blood. Though I could not identify everything I saw, I understood that he was calling upon powerful forces to curse those responsible for his son’s death. I was told that this curse, sealed in blood, would endure through generations, and that only the boy’s father possessed the power to remove it.
When I came out of what felt like a trance, I described my vision to the family. They listened in silence. The father lowered his head in shame and could not speak. His wife, who revealed that she was an empath, said she had felt everything in her heart and asked if anything could be done. I told them I would do my best, but could not promise anything.
We sat quietly as I prayed for guidance. After some time, I began to drift again. This time, I felt guided to reach out to the boy’s father, the medicine man. I sent him thoughts, pleading for him to release his anger. I heard his question clearly in my mind: “What would you have done if it were your son?” I answered that I would have done the same in his place, but in time, I would have let go, knowing that my son would not wish for endless suffering.
I do not know how long this state lasted. It required great effort, especially as I visualised cutting through the curse’s web, severing its threads one by one. I prayed for help as distracting images of blood flashed through my mind. The spirit of the boy’s father resisted, but I persisted, believing that I had been entrusted with the task of bringing peace to both sides. I could not have completed it without divine assistance.
Eventually, the red faded, the blood imagery diminished, and I began to feel my consciousness return. When I opened my eyes, the room seemed brighter. I told the family that the curse had been lifted. The mother nodded, tears streaming down her face, saying she could feel the change. The father began to sob. It was an emotional and sacred moment for all of us. Weeks later, the mother contacted me to thank me. She said that their lives had improved and that harmony had returned to their home. I was deeply grateful.
Even so, the image of the little boy remained with me for a long time. Eventually, I found peace, trusting that both the boy and his father had found rest in the presence of blessed angels.
