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Leslie Wagner Wilson is move than just a survivor. She is true testament of the resilience of the human spirit.

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These Times are Upon Us

The changes in my mood begin about two weeks before November 18^th. While I was filming for the National Geographic Documentary titled “Seconds in Disaster” just two weeks ago, I found myself suddenly emotional when Sally Brindle the interviewer asked me who I lost in Jonestown. As I mentioned my mother, Inez; my sister Michelle; my brother Mark; and my niece Dawnyelle and nephew Daron, my lip began quivering like a cat that has gotten wet, and the tears began to fill my eyes. After we took a break I apologized and stated that I did not know why I was so emotional. Then I realized it was November 5^th. Not that it was necessarily November 5^th, but it was November. The month came upon me so quickly I was not prepared.

You see every year I begin the mental and emotional journey of the thoughts that I find hard, even after all this time to push back; the thought of my mom watching in agonizing pain, her children and grandchildren dying before her eyes. When I hear an ex-member say they would have died had they been there – the other Leslie wants to yell “then why are you still here?” And then the new Leslie pushes those words back from forming those words and remembers that everyone has their own personal reality. We cope differently, our personal experiences are exactly that…personal. It is not for me to judge.

We have humanized all those that suffered and died on November 18, 1978. What I will not do is to let anyone not know the truth of losing yourself to someone else. The signs were there. Our leader; Jim Jones was not healthy; mentally, emotionally and not at all Spiritually. However, the signs were ignored in hopes of a dream e dream was so beautiful that the compromise was not hard.

What I want people to know is that you must never, never put your everything into another human being. This means your spiritual leader, your best friend, your significant other, your children; you must always maintain a sense of who you are and your own individuality. People do not join Cults they are recruited. They are searching for something tangible that they think is impossible to find within themselves or in the world they live in. An organization that tells you to disassociate with anyone who does not see “what you see.” is one of the markings of a cult. People that fall victim to this type of mind, emotional and physical control are not weak or necessary followers; they are SEEKERS. The current world environment in which we find ourselves is prime time for individuals to begin the recruitment effort to build their flocks to gain control of individuals who are feeling lost; disgusted with the economy, drastic changes to their lifestyle, finding themselves in a place they never imagined. We worked hard for the so called American Dream; the beautiful home they sacrificed for, the cars, summer vacations, great jobs. And then the rug is pulled from under us. We are seeking for solace, comfort, a connection to someone who will understand and not look down upon them.

Harold Camping is a perfect example of how still after Jonestown, there are those who can twist the truth and capture the audience of thousands. What people experienced in preparation for the RAPTURE, was to quit their jobs, go into debt and ultimately create a burden on themselves and their families. We still are searching for what can be found from studying the Word for ourselves and going within to develop an intimate and personal relationship with God. We so often doubt our own divineness which we believe the only way to salvation is through someone else’s doctrine, teachings, ideas, and suggestions.

The sign of the times is upon us… we must be ready and that means finding your connection to the Great source of life. . Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not to your own understanding (Proverbs 3:5).

Today is a day of reflection and good work. I am grateful to be here, for I could have been amongst those 918 souls who crossed over – on this day, November 18^th. Today I give love to my ancestors and love to those that perished. They will never be forgotten nor will the lessons.

Peace, Blessings and always Universal Love, Remain blessed, God Loves you.

Eternally Grateful
On this day, November 18^th, my life changed forever. November 18^th is the memorial day of Jonestown, Guyana. But it goes deeper than just those of us in Jonestown, it changed forever the lives of Peoples Temple members and families who were left in the United States; who listened in pain, agony and disbelief as the news flashed before them images of swollen dead bodies of those that they loved and knew. My son Jakari’s life changed forever; he lost a father, grandmother, uncle, aunt and cousins he would never know the love of and still suffers the trauma of Jonestown. And not just Peoples Temple members or Jonestown survivors, but those family and friends of slain Congressman Leo Ryan, NBC correspondent Don Harris, NBC soundman Bob Brown, newspaper photographer Greg Robinson, Patricia Parks a defector who was searching for freedom only to be killed… generations affected forever. To the now U.S. Senator Jackie Spier who laid wounded and bleeding in Guyanese soil, not knowing if she was going to live or die, to Tim Reiterman, the reporter who was also wounded at the airstrip who had been investigating Peoples Temple for 18 months and who authored “Raven” which unravels so much. The other Jonestown defectors; Monica Bagby shot and injured, Vern Gosney shot and injured, the Bogue’s and the remainder of the Parks family-all trying to leave a hell called Jonestown-lives changed forever. How many times over the years when the news shows the same images, do I find myself scanning quickly to see if I recognize my loved ones. My mom was wearing a beige jumpsuit I lent here…but thank God I can never find her in the carnage, it would be more painful. Today marks the 32^nd year and as I do every year I take a day off from work and relive that day and days afterwards. It is painful, yes, but even now, there are times when I can’t believe what I lost. God has held me up for 32 years even when I could not hold myself up. As it happened, writing Slavery of Faith (www.slaveryoffaith.com) became the turning point in which I found the “peace” that had eluded me for so many years. It helped with the healing of my heart, mind and soul. The journey continues to transcend to a deeper spiritual understanding. For that I am eternally grateful. If this life ended today – with the closure, forgiveness, joy and such a love of God as I have found – I would leave with all this in my heart and soul. My God, could I ask for more, certainly not. The reaction to the book has been humbling and has definitely changed the direction of my life. Its message has carried itself across a range of institutions, from churches – which I expected – to the military, civic associations and other organizations that I did not anticipate. The people I talk to are amazed to hear that 33 people walked out of Jonestown, and that nine of them were African American, escaping through the jungle with the story of going on a picnic. No one stopped us to say “How are you going on a picnic with no food?” Jonestown was not like home... there was no refrigerator you could go to when you got hungry. Yet, God’s design was to provide a story so unbelievable, no one could get their head around it and say “what?” It was too outrageous for it to even register – yet the gate of freedom was before us. The reader demographics of my book sales show that people are of all ages and have come from all walks of life. Many responses have told me that they have found hope and forgiveness. My forgiveness of Jim Jones and the freedom it allowed is encouraging for most. I explain that forgiving him allowed me to forgive myself. If we have been forgiven, how can I not forgive? I remember at one gathering of over 200 people this past year, it was my first engagement with an audience of this size, but I decided to open up the room for questions. Not sure what would come, I took deep breath and said to myself, whatever they are - remember that they are searching for understanding. I knew my goal was to not only share the testimony, but give people an opportunity have a conversation with someone who actually experienced the Temple and Jonestown. In the past they only had the media to give them pieces, but never the full view. At times the questions were raw but I felt good that the audience was comfortable enough to ask the questions that they had. The most common questions are: 1). How could so many people follow this man? 2). Did they not see what was happening in the United States? 3). Were people happy in Peoples Temple and Jonestown? 4). Did they all commit suicide? 5). Did Jim Jones sleep with me and all the women/men? 6). Why did I go to Jonestown At no time do I answer for anyone but myself. I do not begin to try to represent 918 lost souls. Everyone went to Jonestown for different reasons, suffered through for different reasons. My responses are from my understanding and experience alone. I speak of being so tired of the madness that I had to hang on to the strength of a God I did not even know. After all, we had a man we called “Father” who called himself God. Would God even hear me, as I had committed blasphemy and turned my back on him? He was a myth at that point – a thought like the thin light that comes through the sky at the time of sunrise, which you catch in a glimpse out of the corner of your eye. That was the amount of my understanding, but through that foundation of my grandparents’ faith and exposure to God, that allowed me not to give up. When I prayed, I wasn’t sure if my prayers would ever be answered, but I kept myself focused on knowing somehow God would hear me and respond. My position of faith is humbling and oh so awesome. The comments I receive are praises to me for being so young and being so brave and having Faith and coming through 31 years of pain, and finally finding redemption. And I always reply the credit does not go to me. All the credit goes to the love of God, for if you ask, you shall receive. I can say in this Faith walk that those that were left behind lost the connection with the true God years before. We can not have anything without knowing God – whether you call it the Universe, the Creator, pure unconditional love – and we will not excel nor exceed without it. The people of Jonestown laid their faith at the feet of a maniac (except for the children). My Jonestown family – even my mother – turned their backs on God a long time ago. The lessons of Jonestown were brutal. The reality can not be sugar-coated nor can the people be considered martyrs to anything, for that is not so. They died because they believed in a man – a human – and they disconnected with God. Do I blame them? No! The strategy to break the human spirits was swift and calculating. Humans can not be mentally tortured, physically starved, and emotionally turned upside down, and still continue to think clearly. You must develop a personal relationship with God. In your houses of worship, your minister is a man/woman just like you. If something does not sound correct, research. We speak of wanting a person who teaches the word – it is your responsibility to ensure that what is being shared with you is the word. Do not for once doubt your God sense speaking to you, but it is also your responsibility to take charge of your own spiritual development. God speaks to all of us – not just a chosen few. Tap into your divineness for it exists. God’s love is unconditional, inclusive and loves us all. Finally, I have taken responsibility for this gift of my life. It has made me aware daily that I was spared for this very purpose. I go to bed praying for God to continue to use me and work every day to represent in a way that is pleasing to God. My daily bread is the love of God; my thirst is quenched living a humble life, to serve. Does it get lonely? Absolutely! The beauty is that during the time of my self-destructive life, I was blessed with two additional children who kept me going and am further blessed with three grandchildren. I miss my mom, sister, brother, niece and nephew every day. But in those moments of solitude when the tears still flow in remembrance, I look up and say “Thank you for loving me. Thank you, for you saved a wretch like me.” Be blessed, I am.

All WE NEED IS LOVE…

A young man died one week before his 29th birthday. His name is Gidd Gomel Robinson. My relationship to him was through his mother whom I have known for 26 years. Gidds life ended by an exchange of racial slurs which ended in an exchange of gunfire which ripped through is masculine body via his chest – he was unarmed. The murderer was so out of touch he allowed his seven year old son to witness the carnage. And if that wasn’t enough he shot my best friend’s son in front of his three little girls; ages, 7 months, 2 years and 4 years of age. Gidd was just leaving his house to walk his 4 year old to kindergarten. How in the world do we explain that Gidds senseless murder rocked West Sacramento, CA. Gidd grew up in an area known as Broderick. It is also synomnous with the infamous gang the Broderick Boys. His family’s friends consisted of gang members, non-gang members and many, many, who made their home, their home. Gidd has a younger brother named Juan. When you spoke of them you automatically said Gidd and Juan or Juan and Gidd. They were three years apart, but usually as children and young men, when you saw one you saw the other.

When I called his mother to congratulate her on managing to get a photograph with Maxi Priest, one of her favorite musicians, her phone was answered by someone else. When I introduced myself and asked for Gwen, she said they were at the hospital and she could not talk. I could hear Gwen whisper in a tone I was unaccustomed to hearing “who is it?” and the receiver of the call said Leslie. The next voice I heard was my sister Gwen’s. “Oh Leslie” she says through tears. The first thing entering my mind was that her sister Birdie who she has been caregiver to for ten years due to a car accident and subsequent brain damage was in the hospital. “Birdie?” I asked. “No, Gidd!” she stated through a cracked voice full of tears. “Where is he Gwennie?” “They killed my baby!” she cried out “No, No, No!” I shouted through the phone, and my tears flowed. I knew it was not the time to ask how, when, where, so I told her I was on the way. When I arrived in Sacramento four days later, my sister was strong as anyone could be. She greeted me with a big hug and held on tight. I told her I am so sorry, sweetheart, but God has you.” She continued to show strength that only one of immense faith could sustain. That was Sunday.

On Tuesday, I accompanied her to dress her dead son. Not knowing how I was going to handle it, I felt it was an honor. As we walked into the area, he laid on a cold slab with a sheet to his neck. The first thing I noticed was the staples in the crown of his head, from one ear to the other;evidence of the autopsy.

She went to her son, and kissed and rubbed his forehead. She had seen him before the funeral home did their work, so he was softer then, she stated. This time his body was cold, yet he looked as if he was sleeping. Gwen requested no makeup, so he looked natural - 29 years old and gone from this world. When she did break down, I stood behind her placing my arms around her, my head to her shoulder, sobbing with her. When we were done, the two wonderful helpers assisted us with the dressing. Never had I touched a dead body except for my grandfather and grandmother. It was surreal, yet I knew God had sent me for a reason. It confirmed that life can be taken in the blink of an eye and that life was too short to deal with pettiness, inconsequential minute issues, that we must enjoy and live each day as it is our last – with no regrets. And how blessed I am to survive when 924 did not.

The coroners tags still attached to his toes, “Should we remove them?” I asked one of the assistants. “No, you can leave them on.” I wondered why, but followed his instructions. As we put one sock on his foot, at a time, we moved his jeans along his long legs to his torso, positioned ourselves one side and the other to put his white button up shirt on him, and finally his shoes. I cried silent tears, as my heart ached for my sister, his wife, his children, his brother and the host of people that loved him, as his laughter we would hear no more, his deep voice disappearing through this life and into the next.

This tragedy has a redemption factor. As I mentioned many of Gidds friends came from all walks of life and he was well loved. Gidd was laid off and was breeding pit pulls, but had no life insurance. His friends, the hard core gang bangers, those that were not and many in between got to work and through a series of car washes, barbeques, selling of T-shirts- raised over $6,000 in four days to bury their friend. I was amazed and joyful. Goodness comes in all forms. They honored him with love – they honored him with faith – and they honored him for being the man he had become. Now Gidd was not the young man that did well in school, or was obedient to his mother and teachers, but a little bit of a trouble maker. But through all of that he was loved.

The day of his burial over 200 people came to pay their respects- it was standing room only. Some of the pall bearers, who I was in charge of organizing, wore thick chains around their necks, representing the dog breeder they were laying to rest. The minister mistook this for some type of negative symbol, and made a statement to that effect when he went to the pulpit to speak. “I am not going to have any mess jumping off in here, because there are 80 year old women, etc.” No, Lord I thought. Was I disappointed? Yes. Did he know the hearts of those wearing the chains? Was he aware of what they accomplished? Later after someone whispered in his ear, he returned for the eulogy and offered an apology. He stated he did not understand the significance of the chains. Uhmmm, redemption. It saddened me because as a man of God he was already judging who was in the room and what he anticipated without weighing the enormity of these folks with chains around their neck were the ones that made the funeral happen, but not just that they made it happened, but who there were as human beings. Jesus went to those that needed salvation. If we all judged people by how many tattoos they had, piercings, hair color, nail polish, clothes – then who are we? Is salvation only for those that go to church every Sunday? Or is it our duty as messengers to witness to all people? Are we to exclude those that don’t look as we think they should? Do they have to have on three piece suits, big hats, and be hair neatly coiffed and dressed to the nines? Uhmmmm… what do you think? Is this a problem in the churches?

His sermon consisted of Gidds death not being God’s will, because God did not and does not create evil. Agreed. It was the responsibility of a man who was void of God consciousness that ended life as he knew it and the lives of many others; his own son included. The minister spoke about Gidd’s life not being in vain, and made a plea to those who wanted to make a change to raise their hands. I don’t know if he met with them afterwards to give them counsel. But all in all it was a decent attempt.

As people formed a line to speak of memories and anecdotes about their friend, we laughed, we cried and we felt somewhat renewed. The most touching of all moments was when his wife, Jennifer reached the pulpit and read an essay her husband, Gidd has written upon the birth of his first daughter, Aneesa. The essay began with “I used to think all women were f---- b------; until my three pound daughter was born. He continued with what it meant to be a father of a daughter and the immense change that occurred within him. We all cried. Here was another soul lost before its full potential was realized. Gidd loved his baby girls. He stayed home with him while their mother worked and was even teaching one of them ballet. We all got a chuckle out of that, because if you knew and saw Gidd you would wonder how his size ---- shoes could ever turn a poirete.

His aunt came up afterwards and read another essay he had written about his seven month old daughter, Attiana- the sound of sobs could be heard throughout the chapel. His wasted life sunk deeper into our existence.

On the way to the internment, we laughed and we cried. His resting place for his body is behind a marble stone which says Garden of Peace . As I grabbed a handful of dirt and baby breaths I let them go slowly dropping to the casket that held the shell of my friends son. I wanted to go and hug my children, grateful for them still being alive to enjoy.

What the world needs is LOVE! God is LOVE, LOVE = PEACE, AN END TO WAR, AND END TO PROVERTY, LIVES REALIZED. Many people say that these are the last days, the signs are there. But we must be prepared for the Love Revolution!

Be blessed.

Hello World

This new technology caught me off guard. My daughter Monique, informed me that I needed a blog. After doing some research I knew she was right. So you will see that sometimes I am a little slow at the gate, but eventually I get it. This is my introduction to the world. Since this is my first time, some posts may be long and others short. So here we go.

Since the airing of Escape from Jonestown, my life has transitioned once again. From the first three hours my website http://www.slaveryoffaith.com/ was linked to the CNN Presents website the emails began to arrive. I was amazed and surprised. As I began to open the first few, tears filled my eyes as I was not expecting the emails to be so personal, so open or honest. All of a sudden I cried out to the Creator saying “you were right, they wanted and needed to hear, I can help to change lives” and my transition began again. For now I realized that people were reaching out to me to hear the story and to line themselves with Faith in a simple everyday person who happened to have been through a lot of craziness in her life.

The responses have humbled me and affirmed the fact that the story had to be told. When I think back to Jonestown, I realized how fortunate I was to be able to live to tell the story. Those last month’s I was detached in order to keep going. My mind was tired and so was my body; but I knew if I reached that dark abyss the hopelessness would take over. I could not have made it through. You either move in Fear or Faith. Fear stops you –a paralysis sets in, so you stay in the same place. It’s as if you can’t breathe and you may have an accelerated heart rate – but you know it is fear you just have not been able to move past it. It also tells the universe that you are not trusting. Now Faith is knowing and believing that circumstances can and will change, even though you have no idea how that will manifest. A declaration of belief.

Fear is what is crippled me, but as soon as I put a good faith effort forward I was amazed at the blessings,as God rewarded me for finally seeking a purposeful and meaningful life. Faith is the break through that barrier it is wide open with blessings over abundant.

In the Game of Life Faith Wins

Peace, Blessings and always Universal Love