The End of Chavismo - Part 9 - My Encounter with the Torturers

The events that I relate below had been announced to me for years, as far back as 2017, through readings, visions and dreams. I've been consciously preparing for something of this nature since then. This is just a brief summary, I had to leave out many details for the sake of expediency.

Last Monday, Jan. 26th, at 2:30 pm, I was walking through Plaza Venezuela, a busy area of downtown Caracas and home to that grey and black building that you see above, the headquarters of the Bolivarian Intelligence Service (SEBIN), one of the most infamous security forces in Venezuela. I've walked past that building thousands of times and never took a picture or a video because I knew that it could be dangerous, but on that day, a strange impulse made me pull out my phone and record a 5-second video. An inspector from the institution saw me and detained me on the spot. That was the beginning of one of the strangest, most hazardous and fascinating experiences I've ever lived.

My first and only unwise reaction was to struggle with the inspector in the street to prevent him from taking me or grabbing my phone, but it was useless, of course. Although he threatened me with violence if I didn't cooperate, I noted the care with which he spoke to and treated me, no shouting or manhandling, just a hand firmly but softly closed around my right arm. As I crossed the entrance to the place, I started calling for Light, he told me to keep quiet but I continued with my prayer and he didn't try to silence me again. He took me to the 10th floor, where I was handcuffed and made to sit in a chair while they went through my bag and interrogated me about my reasons for recording that video. I told them that I recorded it to do spiritual work, which was in fact the truth, although I didn't expect to have to do that so suddenly. They didn't buy that explanation, naturally, and their primary concern was that I might be an agent for a foreign intelligence body. One of them was supposed to play the bad cop, so he told me that he'd punch the truth out of me and that he'd break my glasses on my face, that was the last threat of violence that I got. They asked me about my prior employment, my family, my friends, my work and the more I stayed there, the more intrigued they appeared by my claim of spiritual service, especially because I was carrying my Rune bag and three carved stones on me, plus a notebook with my drawings and decrees. They tried to mock my work but it felt flat and had no relevance to me. They turned my chair towards a cabinet so I couldn't see what they were doing, I heard them talking about some of my contacts, they went through years of my publications on social media and other platforms, and since I have so many anti-regime comments and posts, my worry spiked but I didn't react. They also asked me about my involvement with protests and I told them that I did participate in some of them. It was evident to me at once that they already knew the answers to everything they asked me, they just wanted to see if I lied.

Then they took me to a small room to be cuffed to a wall, a large agent entered and sat at a desk, but I didn't even look at him. One of the inspectors that had been interrogating me returned and told me that it was a crime to record the HQ, asking me whether I was aware of the gravity of my situation, to which I replied that my awareness was growing but that I'd always known that detention was a possibility, something I repeated at other moments. He took me to a different floor to undertake a polygraph test carried out by two agents who also asked me about my Runes. When the test started, they told me the questions that they'd ask and assured me that they wouldn't change them, only the order in which they would be asked, but they changed the tack through the examination despite their assurances. After the test, I was taken back to the previous floor and kept under guard for a few hours, sitting in the same chair as before, with my hands still uncomfortably cuffed behind my back. Two agents kept approaching me to get me to "confess"; the inspector that had been taking me around the building asked me why I resisted detention and I told him that it was out of fear, while the other officer told me that I'd failed the polygraph (could've been true or false, I never got those results), I looked at him and told him that being in that place was sufficient reason to be nervous. For the remainder of my time there, I kept praying and calling upon light and cleansing, summoning the power of many entities, deities and my ancestors, just like I'd told them that I'd do. All in all, they treated me far more kindly than I could reasonably expect in those circumstances. I had to remind myself not to hope, because this treatment was most likely a ruse to get me to relax and run my mouth.

At Around 9 pm, they gave me food which I ate heartily but didn't finish, and transported me to El Helicoide, the prison that I've talked about in previous posts, a place of torture and death. I was already resigned to my fate and kept praying under my breath while mentally berating myself for recording that unnecessary video. They checked me into the prison, a female commissioner was in charge of the operation, and once again they went through all of my stuff, including a folder at least fifty sheets long filled with my WhatsApp conversations, my Instagram and Facebook posts and other historical details, even information that I'd erased long ago. Once again, they repeated the questions regarding my motivation to record the video and once again I told them that I was there to provide spiritual service. They locked into a piece of a conversation that I had that very day with a friend, where I mentioned my experience entering into El Helicoide, and were bewildered by my saying that I did that spiritually. One of them called me crazy and suggested I should visit a psychiatrist, while a female officer went through my recent videos on IG, which fortunately didn't contain any damning statements regarding the regime. They exhibited reservations when manipulating my Runes and carved stones, and one of them seemed interested in getting a reading later, I said I would gladly provide him the service if he wanted; he was also the officer who removed my shoelaces, in case I decided to commit suicide with them, and he warned the others about losing any of my stones because they didn't know what they were messing with. Another guard took two of the Runes and showed them to others, the first one was Perthro, the Open Door, and the other one was Wunjo, Victory, both signaling to me the final resolution of this situation. There was one guy who approached me two or three times, asking me about my connection to certain people in a slightly aggressive manner, but he never really insisted on anything and eventually walked away without any further interactions. A nurse did a medical check-up on me and then I was interviewed by another agent who categorically denied torture and asked me whether they had mistreated me; he too was intrigued by my claim of spiritual service and I told him that they had to deal with ugly stuff like murder and other crimes, and that I wanted them to find solace and peace. I was then formally processed, pictures were taken, more questions were asked about my possible connection with opposition politicians and my participation in anti-regime protests, and I was led to my detention cell.

Here's a very interesting detail that I understood only after I'd been released: when they took me out of the interrogation room, there was another "prisoner" waiting to be processed. He was put in the same cell as me, and his situation seemed to be a lot more compromised than mine: apparently, he was a cop who had sold a gun online and the gun was then used to commit a murder. He seemed pretty desperate, but I chose not to talk to him at all. When I was out, I went through my memories of this guy, the times when he was pulled out of the cell, the conversations that he had with other officers and the fact that, until the last day, he never touched food or drink, and I realized that he must've been a SEBIN agent himself, playing the part of a prisoner so he could hear anything that I said. The treatment that they accorded him was special, he could talk to his "wife" over the phone on the second day and his handcuffs were removed that day too, most likely to prompt me to ask for similar attentions, but I never did.

The holding cell had a bunk bed and a pile of dirty mattresses on the floor, along with an old TV and a fan, neither of which I tried to use, and when the other guy did, the outlets short-circuited. There were also three plastic buckets under a small pipe and a 5-liter bottle with water. I chose the mattresses and picked a blanket, then spent the entire night fruitlessly attempting to sleep in that silence, praying, meditating, reflecting upon my situation, worrying over my sisters and my friends whom I'd exposed with my thoughtless recording, blaming myself, feeling ashamed, then working on my acceptance of the situation. On the ceiling, which was about 30 meters above me, there was a dirty cobweb shaped like the Rune Kenaz, the Torch, the Light in the Darkness, and together with the other two, it helped me go through the process in growing calm.

"My Lord, you brought me here, I'm in your hands, surrender myself to you wholly and if it's your Will that I stay here for weeks, months or years, that I suffer torture and rape, or that I die, then I accept it." These were the kind of prayers that I uttered in my moments of greatest anguish. I called upon many entities to cleanse the entire place, devour all darkness and bring freedom, light and peace to officers and prisoners alike. I was ready to spend my upcoming birthday in that place, to be taken before a prosecutor for a formal charge at any moment, and to be thrown into a gruesome, dark dungeon to rot. I thought of my sisters and whether a group of agents would extort them in exchange for my release, or worse, that they'd come home and rob the place, causing irreparable mental and physical damage to them and the dog. I thought of the dog and whether he'd die while I was there. In short, I tortured myself without them laying a finger on me. But I kept my cool. I never squirmed or complained, never gave in to fear.

At around 7 am, the guard in charge of the night shift came to take us to the bathroom. I did, but the other guy didn't. Supposedly, we were allowed to bathe, but there was only a small 8 oz plastic cup to pick water with because, at that hour, there was no running water, albeit I never knew whether this was only applicable to prisoners or to guards as well. The bathroom was run down, it stank and was extremely dirty, but that wasn't actually relevant to me, I've been to worse bathrooms. I quickly washed my genitals, my backside and my armpits, and got dressed wet as there was no towel for me to use. Then I went back to the cell, the other guy didn't go to the bathroom at all, nor did he eat when the food came, both tell-tale signs of his true purpose there, although I still thought of him as a prisoner like me at the time. He was soon taken by agents later, I stayed on my mattress breathing, praying and muttering the Gayatri Mantra, a powerful tool in moments like these. From my location, I could see the agents coming back from their night rounds to deposit their weapons in a locker located near the cell under the supervision of a ranking officer. I wasn't feeling nearly as wrong as I felt at night, I was much more relaxed, so I could focus more on what they were doing, how they talked to each other in playful insults, their general basic humanity coming out naturally. Torturers and criminals, but also sons and daughters, fathers and mothers with lives outside of that dreadful place. I increased the potency of my prayers for them and for the people who had been through horrors at their hands.

There was a guard posted in front of our cell who was dressed with a white shirt with Hebrew letters on it. I later thought that this, too, was a tactic to get me to try and talk with him. He was reading and writing throughout the whole day, scarcely ever moved. Other guards would strike short conversations with him or sit at the small table as well. Twice that day, another guard came to take pictures of me and the other guy, as proof that we were unharmed. At some point during the morning, I noticed a puddle of water on the floor and thought that perhaps the 5-liter water bottle was broken and leaking, but a guard told me that it was the small pipe over the buckets, dry at night but now dripping slowly; he told me to put one of the buckets beneath it. As for the bottle, it was filled with regular water, pretty low-quality, hardly proper for drinking, but I had nothing else, so I took that. The handcuffs weren't closed all the way, so I could actually take them off, but I only did that briefly at night, leaving them on otherwise; they left me a little leeway to move my hands around, but it was still rather uncomfortable to pick anything up or wash my hands in the buckets, and sleeping was also a bit of a challenge. I accepted all of it and kept up my work. I also made a point to look all of the guards in the eye and to thank them

Lunch came, it was cold and there was no cutlery, but it was very good and substantial. Again, the other guy didn't even touch it. I began eating directly with my hands, but didn't go far when I was taken out for another interview, this time conducted by a psychologist, a meek-looking woman who nonetheless commanded the respect of both guards and commissioners. She performed the kind of psych evaluation meant for aspiring new members of the police service. The test involved a fair bit of drawing, which I'm very good at even with my hands cuffed, so she praised me on my skill and treated me with interest and courtesy. She then asked me to change seats and posed several questions about my past, the death of my parents, my studies, my employment history and my spirituality. She was versed in mysticism, so she was pleased to see that I really did know my stuff and wasn't charlataning my way through this detention. In fact, I think she was pleased with me in general, the fact that I was centered and calm produced a positive impact. I told her about my Ayahuasca and Yopo ceremonies, my historical fencing practice and my photography training, among other things. She asked me about my opinion regarding the U.S. raid on Jan. 3rd and I told her that it'd been illegal. She also asked me whether I believed the tales of torture shared by "alleged former political prisoners" abroad and I told her I did, to which she laughed softly, calling it an "opinion". She also asked me why I'd taken that video, that there are many pictures of SEBIN HQ online that I could've used and that if spiritual service was my goal, I could've done it from home, since God is everywhere. I agreed with her but pointed out that it was one thing to visualize a place and quite another to physically be in it, and that perhaps the reason for me to make that recording was ultimately for us to have that conversation, that made her smile. She asked whether I'd seen any positive results from my service and I told her about the carving that I'd left in Petare, a place in eastern Caracas, which is now very different from how it was when I placed that carving, safer and more colorful. Among the many other questions that she asked me, there were some that I replied only partially because something deep warned me about letting her know more details. She then said casually that they'd probably release me the next day because I was centered and there was really nothing against me, not even my anti-regime posts mattered because I wasn't "inciting hatred" (AKA, calling for street protests.) All the while, my phone was right next to her, possibly to tempt me to take it or to prompt me to ask for my sisters to be informed of my whereabouts, something I avoided consciously.

I left the interview reassured and thanked her for the psychological advice that she provided, then I was taken back to my cell. I was in high spirits for the remainder of that day but, like I had done from the beginning of this experience, I reminded myself not to hold on to hope just in case this was all an act. Still, my body and my heart knew already what I instructed my mind to ignore: I was coming out of this. I finished the food that I'd left in the cell and was given dinner shortly afterwards, it was good and abundant too. While I ate, I realized this, along with my demeanor as a whole, could possibly be read as a positive sign by those watching me, healthy appetite isn't indicative of guilt or intense stress. I also realized that the psychologist who had interviewed me must've been a very high-ranking officer, and that when she said that I'd be released, she was saying that she'd give the order herself. When I was almost finished eating, two agents came for a sample of my urine. I decided to throw in a thank you and a praise for the good food.

Later that night, everyone was watching a national baseball game where Navegantes del Magallanes, the team of my parents, was winning by a great margin. The other "prisoner" asked the guard at the door if he could turn the TV on and I watched the team win, feeling the strength of my parents' presence beside me. I slept deeply that night, and was woken up by another guard calling me to go to the bathroom. Again, the only means for me to bathe was a 8 oz plastic cup. The guard looked for a bigger cup to make things easier but we had to leave the bathroom again for a moment and, when we returned, the bigger cup was missing, someone else had taken it in that short while, so I still had to use the small cup. This is also part of the strategy that they use to gaslight, confuse and strain prisoners, but it didn't bother me much. This time I took a bit longer to wash my body, especially because my backside was dirtier and I had to use my hand to clean it; there was a small piece of soap on the floor that I took full advantage of. We got our food, the other guy ignored it and then some agents came to talk to him twice about his alleged predicament. He was taken out once more and when he returned, he finally ate something. At midday, he turned on the TV to pass the time. The guard who'd come earlier to take me to the bathroom brought twice as much food as before "in case you wanted to eat more". They don't care whether the food gets spoiled, apparently, and there were likely many prisoners in that place who got no food at all during those days. As we ate, the other guy turned to me and asked me why I was in there, then he said that I'd be released that day, not as a random comment but as a statement, the clearest sign of the true reason for his presence there

At 2 pm sharp, they called me, took me to a room just beside the reception and the same commissioner who was there the night I was taken in sat in front of me and told me that they'd let me go, that they never do that, that my prayers had worked and that my ancestors had protected me. I told her that I had also prayed for all of them. She ordered the guards to get all of my things and left. As I waited for the last medical check-up, I noticed I had visual access to surveillance and could see the camera in the detention cell. They could see everything that I did, meaning that they must've seen me muttering my prayers and even smiling from time to time (I forced myself to smile at first, so I could recover my center more easily). I wondered what they must've thought when seeing my behavior, I think it must've seemed very odd to them. Inside the office, I also saw mice running down the internet and power cables, and over the kitchen counter, and noticed the disarray of the place in other details like the leaning panels of the cubicles and the stains on the walls, and I reflected briefly upon the fact that they'd work in such lousy conditions, perhaps as a way to keep themselves and their detainees in a particular state of mind. Then another commissioner came and warned me not unkindly about recording either the HQ or El Helicoide again, because the situation was very difficult any action could be misinterpreted. I signed the receipt for my things (only a pen and a handkerchief were missing), some guards asked me about my Rune readings and once again I offered them the service. The nurse came to do her examination, the paperwork was finished and I waited for a bit longer. A young officer expressed surprise at my release, saying that the people who enter that place never leave, thus betraying the denials that I'd been hearing since I was detained. The officer that had asked me about my readings also told me that the situation was difficult for everyone, including them. Then I was taken to an unmarked vehicle, pictures and videos were taken of the process, and I was driven to Los Símbolos subway station, where once again they recorded more videos and I was given back my phone. My subway card was missing, obviously taken by one of the guards to force me to walk. I went back up and they were still there, waiting to take another picture of me. Then, at last, I was free to leave.

I took a moment to decide whether I should get to a tech shop to install my cellphone chip again and contact my family, but I chose to just walk home, enjoy the weather of the Wednesday sundown and watch the people on the streets, just going about their business. I felt reborn, exultant, ecstatic. I had brushed the greatest danger of my life and come out unscathed, with only two days of detention, a pen, a handkerchief and a subway card as payment. Upon arriving home, I learned that my sisters had coordinated earlier with my closest friends and my girlfriend to find me, and that they had driven the entire day to file a report with the CICPC (the Scientific Police), visit hospitals and eventually even the morgue. Fortunately, there were no further consequences and I resumed my life the next day, with a new perspective of the world and of my spiritual work.

That Friday, Jan. 30, Delcy Rodríguez, current acting president of Venezuela, announced the shutdown of El Helicoide as a detention center to be transformed into a place for sports and culture. Many prisoners remain in this and other facilities in the country, and those who have been released speak of the horrifying ordeals that they had to endure; some of them can barely walk or have to use a wheelchair after what was done to them, and unfortunately, hundreds are probably dead already. In that context, my own tender was almost like a stroll in the park, but I hope that my time of service in there helped those inside somewhat. I'll continue to meditate, visualize, pray and summon the highest energies not just for the victims of this barbarous regime, but for the officers who'll have to go back into the fold once the power structure that they've been a part of collapses completely. What I lived, plus the stories that I see online from others who've been through much worse, has strengthened my conviction to work for reconciliation and forgiveness in this country, that's the only way that we can truly move on, and I think it'll be political prisoners first and foremost who will lead that process. I want to stand beside them when that happens.