A True Story about a Teacher Who Became the Spiritual Mayor of the City of Los Angeles

April 27th, 2026, 2:23 pm

“Do you know what synchronicity is?” I asked her. 

“It’s when God speaks in events instead of words,” she tells me. “I know about that.” 

“How?”

“I read Carl Jung. The psychology we were taught in school is to help people survive the industrial age corporate machine,” she told me. “I know this for sure.” 

“How?” I asked her. 

“I had a client who told me everything - how it works - all of it - it’s a horror show, Louis.” 

She began to weep.

“I tend to think of reality like a glove of perception -- every finger has their own story about the same event, but there is a base reality.” 

“What I know is true,” she tells me. “They confess to me. They tell me everything.” 

“If it helps you unburden yourself,” I said. “I will listen.” 

Then she told me, and what she told me made my heart sick.

I will not repeat it in my story, but she revealed a structure inside reality that systemically organizes the failure of children so that they can become the prey of the rich. 

That’s what she told me.

And I live with that everyday.

That knowledge

From the date.

From that relationship. 

It stirred the fire of what was a spark. 

“I believe I have guidance,” I told her.

“How do you mean?” 

“Synchroncities,” I told her. “I believe we live in a simulation, and our creator communicates through events - just like you said. It’s real - Jesus was a part of the simulation - of how our creator chose to communicate.” 

She paused with her eyes wide open.

She held my hand for the first time.

She got close to me

She looked at me like I was going to save her. 

“What’s going to happen?” she asked me. 

“Do you believe we are in a story?” I asked her. “Do you?”

“I do,” she said. “I was an actress in New York. I’ve had my share of plays that I’ve done. I’ve gone deep into that world, and to answer you questions, yes, I do believe Jesus was a part of how the Writer communicated.” 

“He’s communicating with me,” I told her. 

“How?” she asked me.

And I plotted all of the events of the story, and asked her, based on what I had told her, who was my character? Who was I? 

She looked at me stunned. 

It was the first time I ever thought telling a story to a person was better than an entire movie theatre; she was like the audience all in one package - her expressions dazed me - I was sure that eventually I would say something that would spook her - this girl can’t be real - it  has to be a prank, maybe. I’m sure it is. 

 “I believe it,” she said. “I believe who you are.” 

“How can you?” I asked her. 

“I’m intuitive like that,” she said. “No one can fool me.” 

And the waiter came back, and we decided to order an appetizer. 

I scanned the menu, asked her if it was okay and she just nodded. 

“Now, will you tell me your story?” she asked me. 

And that’s when I realized I didn’t want the story to monopolize our dinner

So I told her I’d tell her at a different time. 

I told her I wanted to get to know her, and not bore her.

“Please,” she said. “I like it.” And so, as persuasive as she was, I obliged to tell her the story I had promised, now that she had told me her confession of knowing about Wicked people in Los Angeles