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Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll Really ARE the GATEWAY TO HELL (Part II)

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Sex Drugs Rock and Roll HELL

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In Part I, I introduced my story: I explained how I got into hard rock/ heavy metal music; mentioned some of the music I loved (and still do); noted the sea change in America–from relative innocence to corruption, ushered in through huge music festivals such as Woodstock and Altamont; I broached darker elements in the music, and outright Satanic messages and images. Today I will show how sex, drugs, and rock & roll worked together–by building on existing issues in my life, thereby opening up a “gateway” to hell.

I remember going to my first rock concert while in high school–it was Fleetwood Mac. They had just added guitarist Lindsey Buckingham and the popular Stevie Nicks (most of us guys at my high school thought she was a “babe”), and released an album (also) called Fleetwood Mac (1975).

Buckingham and Nicks pumped fresh blood into an old band, and immediately helped catapult Fleetwood Mac back into superstardom. Buckingham was a skilled and energetic guitarist. His solo in the song (on their subsequent breakthrough album Rumours) Go Your Own Way is “turn up the speakers to “11” memorable!

Speaking of dark influences through music, Stevie Nicks brought more of this to Fleetwood Mac. Her most famous song, Rhiannon, was about a “white witch,” according to Nicks, who herself took on a “witchy” appearance. This article explains her pattern of alternately embracing and running away from this image.

I remember either the guitar or bass player smoking and placing the lit cigarette in the fret of his guitar–smoke billowing up–while he played. There was something corrupt about Fleetwood Mac. They seemed too experienced in the ways of the world.

I saw this in other rock bands, like The Eagles, a truly great band, but with too much “experience.” When I listen to their classic Hotel California, I hear that “experience.” It’s a little hard to describe–mostly something I sense. I saw the Eagles play at the Forum in Inglewood, California, after releasing the Hotel California album–it was a blockbuster album, and an amazing concert. I was up in the wings, and likely getting high like most of the audience.

There’s a Bible quote that comes to mind about keeping ourselves ignorant in the ways of evil, yet intelligent in the ways of good.

I attended many rock concerts as a teenager, and most had the same atmosphere. The bands would always be late, to build up anticipation (much like Trump does at his rallies). And once the band was announced and came out, the house lights would go off, but the lights were soon replaced with thousands of cigarette lighters. That was the time joints started getting lit.

But I digress.

So I went to that first Fleetwood Mac concert (at a small venue, before they hit it big and were playing stadiums) with a high school friend, who brought weed. He passed a joint to me during the show, and I took an awkward hit, likely resulting in a coughing spasm, as was typical with the uninitiated. That was my first time smoking weed. I don’t remember what kind of experience I had with it that evening.

It would be far from the last experience, though.

The OPPORTUNITY for Corruption

Corruption took hold of me once I left my parents’ home. Because while in their home, I was constrained–the presence of my parents and family were an inhibiting factor. My worst instincts were held back.

But once I left home at nineteen, the corruption inside of me was allowed to “flower.”

I had been something of a solitary child, and for some reason, for a time I believed that I was adopted. I created my own world to some extent, retreating into my mind. There was something about reality I didn’t want to face head on.

I had a neighborhood friend who had been damaged. His father would drink and beat him on a regular basis.

My friend’s father had a set of playing cards with photos of naked women on them. I remember one day I was over at his house, and he showed me the cards. Somehow that led into him molesting me–it happened fast and that was it. There was something spiritually traumatic in the experience, and I felt great shame for years–decades afterwards–for allowing it to take place.

More recently, I began to see the incident in a different light, and realized that it really wasn’t that big a deal. Some embarrassment, sure, but I could see the dysfunction in my friend’s life that led up to it. He was passing on a form of anger and trauma that his father passed to him.

Going Home

Years after the incident, when I was in my late twenties, I was forced by life circumstances to return home to live with my parents. My dad had been calling me regularly, begging me to return and help him and my mother, as they were elderly and did need assistance.

I had been trying desperately to make a life for myself, but one day, while doing some roofing work in the South Bay, I was climbing a ladder with a packet of composition shingles slung over my shoulder, and as soon as I got onto the roof, I felt something in my right lung.

After that, every time I tried to walk, I got winded right away. So after going through this for days, I finally went to the doctor, who examined me and told me my lung had collapsed, and was down thirty-five percent.

I had to have surgery, and afterwards could not work for some time. I had no choice but to go home. I would care for my parents, essentially in exchange for room and board.

Fighting the Demons

Living at home, I saw up close–as an adult–the demons my parents fought. My father had had a hard life, with a great deal of dysfunction in his family. Then there was World War II, where he was conscripted into the Navy, though he was already in his thirties and married. He lived and worked alongside young men fresh out of high school. His job was laying out the heavy cable which stopped landing jets from skidding off the deck of the aircraft carrier (the U.S. Wasp). My dad witnessed fellow sailors–his friends–blown apart when Japanese Zeros kamikaze-crashed onto the deck of the carrier.

I wrote about my dad’s war experience HERE.

These were the days before Oprah and Dr. Phil. Men dealt with the horrors of life in quieter ways: my dad–like many other veterans–smoked (Camels–unfiltered) and drank. He didn’t talk war details with us.

The low-communication way of dealing with trauma was admirable in some ways. I’d see my dad burn himself with a cigarette and shake it off as if nothing had happened. But it had its drawbacks too.

My mother had her own demons. After I’d come home again, I slept in the bedroom my younger brother used to use. It was right next to my parents’ room. I’d often awaken in the dead of night to my mother’s screams–she had nightmares, and was forever trying to get away from someone who was attacking her.

My father slept on the couch in the family room those days. I’m sure he needed his peace, and didn’t know how to help my mother.

I had heard that my mother had been molested when she was a child. What’s that about generational curses?

…visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children, and upon the children’s children, unto the third and to the fourth generation.

Exodus 34:7 KJV

Ultimately, I realized that my parents (they’ve long passed now) were not the “all knowing” beings I had thought they were when I was young. They were just fallible people like us all. That helped me to forgive my dad for not being there for me (I don’t remember ever having a conversation of substance with him), and my mother for overprotecting me.

Confronting the Corruption

That family background I provided you was a long way to saying that once I came home–as an adult–my friend (the one who molested me) was still living in the old neighborhood. He was in the hospital, as he had a cancer in his private parts–the specific form I do not remember. Interesting, though, isn’t it, how some of these things work out.

I finally gathered the courage to approach my friend, and one day entered his hospital room. After a little small talk, I broached the subject, bringing his attention back to that fateful day. He said he didn’t remember. I told him that I forgave him for it. He wanted to get away from the subject, and said he was tired and needed to sleep. I never saw him again. I later found out that he had died.

Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for iis written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.

Romans 12:19

There’s a REASON why we do things…

So the corruption in my life had begun to come full circle. A return to innocence was coming.

Sex, drugs, and rock & roll can be used as distractions to help us forget painful memories or feelings. But they can also be the cause of trauma too. In Part III, I will relate a story of how I used a combination of sleep, drugs, and sex as a direct gateway to hell. And I will offer a way to return to innocence–I have already introduced a part of this “recipe.” Can you relate in any way to what I have written so far? Feel free to let me know. And I’ll see you on Part III–coming soon!

Patrick Rooney is the Founder of He communicates clearly and fearlessly during perilous times about natural health, success, and freedom. To reach Patrick, email him at [email protected].

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