During a period when I was working at an office job,
I began each morning by watching 30 minutes of religious broadcasts before dawn.
Looking back, it was a time when I was emotionally worn down.
(I do not wish to go into deeply personal details that might be irrelevant or disruptive to the reader.)
That period brought a series of inexplicable experiences.
It was the height of summer.
While showering, I began to notice thick, white residue peeling from my skin, even with the lightest touch.
I had never needed to exfoliate before — my skin rarely accumulated such residue.
But that day, it kept coming, like thick strands of sweater yarn, never seeming to end.
It was so unusual that I couldn’t make sense of it.
For several evenings after work, I would spend nearly two hours in the shower, trying to remove it.
Eventually, the drain clogged.
When I called a cleaning service, the technician scolded me for disposing of food waste in the shower —
I had no way to explain what had truly caused it.
But that wasn’t all.
Soon, black, viscous fluids began to seep from every pore in my body.
My eyes, nose, mouth — and even dark, inky discharge from my vagina.
The odor was strong.
I carried several changes of underwear in my bag and had to change multiple times a day.
Ironically, coworkers said I always smelled clean, and that I looked well-groomed.
While I was suffering on the inside, nothing was perceived on the outside.
This contradiction bred a loneliness that is hard to explain.
Of course, I had seen media reports about people who suffer from phantom body odors caused by psychological conditions.
And I was aware that some might read this and wonder if I was mentally unwell.
But what I experienced cannot be boxed into a diagnosis.
It was a **real, tangible experience at the intersection of body and consciousness.**
Then, one evening after work, I sat down at my desk.
I had no strength, as if my soul had drifted away from my body.
I was barely holding myself upright in the chair when I suddenly felt something behind me.
Something dark, large, and heavy — and utterly silent.
It slowly extended toward the right side of my face.
As it reached out to envelop my head, a strange peace came over me.
“I want to die. Maybe death will end everything.”
I felt oddly calm.
Part of me wanted to hold that hand.
At that moment,
something deep inside me screamed out with everything it had.
“Get away from me! I will not die! Get lost!!”
The presence instantly vanished.
I shook my head side to side, snapping myself back to clarity.
I hadn’t fallen asleep.
I hadn’t consciously chosen to die.
But something had approached me — and I had rejected it.
That event left a permanent impression on me.
Since then, I’ve learned how to confront visions that arise in meditation,
how to guide others in their inner journeys,
and how to face those gripped by suicidal impulses with quiet clarity.
So here, I’ll say something I’ve come to believe with certainty:
**Most suicides in this world are not acts of rational decision.**
Often,
they are the result of a consciousness — not one’s own —
that quietly infiltrates and persuades from within.
In those moments,
joy, lightness, and emotional energy
can become the strongest shield we have.
That is why living joyfully is not merely a pursuit —
but a profound form of **spiritual self-defense.**
Now, I will continue with the story
of the day my younger sister appeared to me with the face of God.