I sent an email to the Army of God once. They don't exist, I'm aware of that, but I found an email address all the same. I was absolutely certain that having done so would get me killed. It was such a traumatic experience that I even know what day it was - August 19, 1997. August 19, 1997 I went home and waited to die.
Wait, what? I'm confused, and google has come up empty. If you don't mind elaborating, I'm very interested.
I sent an email to an organization that does not exist, and doing so, even the thought of doing so, produced an expectation at that time. To begin to grasp the nature and the extent of my experience from my perspective, you might try http://zendogblog.net/ and from the drop down menu select Poems and then any of the selections under Poems from a Cold Road Calling - The Flower is the first from that publication. There are of course other selections found on my website that attempt to elucidate the nature of the experience and to interpret from it some greater meaning . . . and I'm really not sure what else to say about that. I could of course insist that you must picture me sitting here pulling my ear as I address your question - but the fact is I would not. I refuse. It is not in my nature to pull my ear as a form of symbolic communication for things of which we will not speak, for as soon as I may, I will speak, just as I am now with my insistence that symbolic non verbal forms of communication that remain subject to interpretation are not the least bit communicative of anything at all short of fear, and I will not live by that yoke. And if for some reason that is not clear enough, then perhaps you will suspend incredulity long enough to permit me to refer you here
aaaaaaaaand he's gone! ...??? Edit: Wherever you may be, ZenDog, I hope that you're OK. :)