#this being a more gradual process gives me some faith that it could actually stick for a bit longer

[daydreamerdrew]

The Incredible Hulk (1968) #251

[takingcourage]

Bring to a Simmer

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 2,200

Summary: Arden attempts to make the inaugural batch of ‘Dad and Arden’s Stroganoff,’ but with Jaime around, staying focused is more easily said than done. 

Note: This is just a silly little oneshot inspired by some optional dialogue from the “remembering mom” diamond scene in Chapter 13. I thought it could be a fun premise for a story, especially with a side of Jaime Lewis there to spice things up. Gosh, I’m going to miss this book. 

This also fulfills a request I received for kiss prompt #8 (the playful kiss on the tip of the nose). 

“I’ve got the onion sliced, pumpkin.”

Up to her elbows in flour, Arden looked over her shoulder toward to check her father’s progress at the breakfast table. “Great! I’ll bring the mushrooms over in just a minute.”

Turning her attention back to the recipe card in front of her, she mashed at the sticky dough again. It never looks this way on Bake Off, she considered, worrying her inner cheek against her teeth. But then again, they’re usually making pastry, not pasta. The thought made her feel slightly better, but she still had very little faith that the pasty substance before her was going to end up resembling anything close to her mother’s stroganoff noodles.

She pried one hand away from the clumpy mass, grimacing at the feeling of her very messy fingers sticking to the paper of the flour bag. How had her mom always managed to make cooking look so easy? Even a simple four-ingredient pasta dough was enough to tempt Arden toward a delivery service.

It’s not about the finished product, she reminded herself. This is about remembering mom and making new memories.

Picking at the excess lumps of dough from between her fingers, she wondered how she’d keep her father involved in the process once all of the ingredients had been chopped. His leg had been particularly bad today, which meant that he couldn’t spend much time on his feet without his trusty cane by his side. Unfortunately, canes and cooking didn’t mix particularly well.

“Can you see Jaime working out there?”

She smiled at his inquiry, lifting her eyes momentarily to catch a glimpse of the man at their fence line. “Yep, he’s hard at it. You’ll be really happy with how it looks, dad. I promise.”

“Your mother would have put me in the dog house if she’d seen how bad I let it get. I just…” His voice grew wistful as the sentence trailed, and Arden had to take a deep breath to steady herself.

“It just didn’t seem as important without her around. I think she’d forgive you.” 

The front yard had been a point of contention ever since her mother had fallen ill. Melinda Gale had always taken great pride in her plants, the perfect picket fence, her trailing ivy – all things that Harry only tended to on her behalf. In recent years, the yard had been gradually falling into a state of disrepair. 

Thank goodness for Jaime and his powers of persuasion. He’d been gently nudging for several months, and after coming home from the hospital, her father was finally ready to accept the offer. Arden was just glad that the matter had been resolved without too much nagging on her part.  

That’s not all I’m grateful for, she mused, sneaking another glance out the window. 

She’d known Jaime was attractive for years, but if possible, he’d grown even more gorgeous to her in the past week. Maybe it was because she’d been out of work and had had more time to appreciate him. Maybe it was because she’d seen every inch of him on the night after the gubernatorial debate and knew exactly what was hiding underneath those work clothes. Or maybe it was because she loved him. That word still made her pulse skip every time she thought it. 

Beyond being very nice to look at and prompting irregular heartbeats, he was also incredibly skilled at repairing fences. In a single afternoon, he’d managed to replace the missing and broken pickets, paint the entirety, and purchase new balusters for the front porch. His abilities seemed to go on without end. 

Arden’s own talents felt questionable at the moment, though her hands were becoming less laden with dough the more she rolled and patted the clump into submission. She gave it a final smack, drawing her hand away slowly to determine whether the consistency was ready for rolling.

Although she’d never assisted her mother in the process of making dough, she did have an idea, more or less, of what the final result should look like. The mass on the counter wasn’t an exact replica, but she didn’t think that her attempt was too far off.

At the table, her dad inhaled a sharp breath, but it was several long moments before his words came. “I’m glad you talked me into this, honey. I think your mom would probably get a kick out of watching our struggles in the kitchen.”

“So do I.” Smiling faintly at the thought, she sidestepped to the sink and began the chore of cleaning her hands.

“And she’d be even happier to see how well you and Jaime are getting along these days." 

Arden yanked the kitchen towel a little harder than intended, causing the cabinet door it hung from to squeal in protest. 

Her father clearly needed something else to keep him occupied.

Carrying in the colander of button mushrooms, she set them before the man without a word. As she traded him for the plate of onion slices, she caught the mischievous grin slanting its way up his face. 

"I’m not as blind as you think I am, Arden.”

“I know.”

“And he’s been looking at you like he wants to haul you off and marry you." 

She knew that too. 

Thankfully, her back was turned by in time to hide the blush spreading over her cheeks. "We’re still figuring things out,” she answered evasively. Pulling the largest pot from the oven drawer, she set about filling it in the sink.

“I know I promised not to tell you how to live your life anymore, but he’s the only man I know who’s good enough for my Arden.” She ought to just kiss him sometime. She’s been half in love with him since they were kids. 

Arden pretended not to hear his thought or his comment over the running water. Her father might claim to have seen things, but he’d missed an awful lot of kisses that had passed between them in the last couple of weeks. Beyond that, he didn’t have the faintest idea that she’d spent the night next door after the insanity of the debate. As she waited for the pot to fill, she snuck another look through the glass.

Jaime was removing his shirt.

Her skin flushed again at the sight of his toned, tanned body. Her hands ached to glide along those perfect abs – to wrap her arms around his neck so she was pressed flush against the heat of his chest. Sleeping with him had been incredible. Waking up in his arms, nothing short of divine. 

They hadn’t discussed their plans for after dinner, but maybe she could talk him into another sleepover…

With a start, she realized that the water was spilling over the side of the pot. She drained the excess quickly, vaguely aware of the sporadic sound of chopping coming from the breakfast table.

Her father didn’t say anything, but there was a distinct twinkle in his eye when she returned to the table with the beef. 

_____

 Thirty minutes later, she’d managed to produce something that vaguely resembled stroganoff. Arden counted it as something of a marvel that she hadn’t given up the whole cooking endeavor in favor of just standing and staring out the window. She knew he wasn’t doing it deliberately, but Jaime had been putting on quite a show.

Wielding a paintbrush, standing back to consider his work, wiping his brow – everything he did set her blood on fire. As the evening had worn on, the pan before her received less and less of her attention. The sight through the window had proven too tempting for her to resist. 

His work on the fence complete, Jaime had switched to trimming the bushes in front of the house. As he skirted around the plant, she caught his eye. Arden sucked a breath at his wink.

"I’ll be right back,” she promised her father, hardly taking the time to make sure that he was still cutting romaine hearts for their salad.

Jaime’s eyes were on her as soon as she passed through the door, the shears falling to his side. “The view from the kitchen wasn’t enough, I see. Did you decide it was time to get up close and personal?” 

She rolled her eyes. When she looked up at him again, she was taken aback by the glisten of sweat all over him. With his chest mere inches from her face, she could discern each perfectly sculpted ab, and her fingers twitched with longing at her side. Arden wondered idly how much it would scandalize the neighbors if she started making out with him in her father’s front yard.

Still not prepared for this view?

She reddened at his thought as their eyes met, his sweaty hair obscuring vision from one side. “I’m still getting used to...” she gestured vaguely at his stomach, much to Jaime’s amusement. “But I actually came out to give you a dinner update. It all just needs to simmer for about twenty more minutes and then we’ll be ready to eat.” 

“I’m looking forward to it. I should reach a pretty good stopping place shortly, so I’ll have time for a quick shower before we eat.”

Arden’s mouth grew very dry at the appealing mental images his suggestion graced her with. Distracted, her gaze wavered from his face for a moment – not long enough to satisfy her desire, but certainly long enough to attract his notice.

"You keep looking at my chest, Arden. Is everything okay?” Not that I mind. I’ve only been hoping for this for years.   

Knowing she’d been caught, Arden dropped all pretense and stared openly. She sighed and lifted her face to his. “I’m just thinking again how much I’d like to kiss you right now.”

Jaime bristled with pleasure. “You wouldn’t get any complaints from me if you did, but I am pretty sweaty at the moment. We should probably wait until after dinner.”

Someday, she’d have to tell him that she didn’t mind him being sweaty. In fact, she’d found sweaty kisses with Jaime to be extremely enjoyable just a few nights before. With that memory in mind, she was inspired. “Can I just have one for now?” 

He ran a hand through his hair, uncovering both eyes. The deep brown pools were gleaming with equal parts humor and desire. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Arden tilted her chin, lips poised and eager for contact. Jaime’s mouth was warm and soft as it descended on hers, the salt of his sweat making her relish the experience even more. Body responding of its own volition, she had to pinch herself to keep from throwing both arms around his neck. Even after he’d pulled away, it took a moment for her to regain full control of her senses.

Just as her head cleared Jaime caught her by surprise, leaning down a second time to brush his lips gently across the tip of her nose. 

She wrinkled the bridge instinctively. “What was that for?”

“I couldn’t help it,” he explained. “You’re just so damn kissable, Arden.” 

“So are you. Please tell me there will be time for more kisses later?”

“I was hoping you’d suggest that.” He stretched out his free hand, skimming the pads of his fingers along her forearm. 

“The mind-blowing, earth-shaking kisses that are full of ten years of pent-up desire?”

He chuckled at her description. “You know those are my favorites. And I don’t have any plans for the rest of the night.” 

“Mmmhmmm.” His little half smile was doing funny things to her stomach. It wasn’t long before she’d lost all track of what he’d been saying. 

Should I put my shirt back on? 

His thought managed to get her attention, and she recoiled. “Don’t even joke about that. I’m enjoying the view way too much.” 

“You can enjoy it as much as you want after dinner.” 

“That feels like too long to wait.” She took another step toward him, forgetting both sweat and propriety in her need to touch him. 

“Arden,” he cautioned, though she knew from the yearning on his face that he wasn’t going to tell her no. 

Was that the door?

His thought corresponded with a click from the porch, followed by the beat of her father’s cane.

Their heads swung toward the doorway where Harry Gale stood, watching them both with an arched brow. Maybe she doesn’t need my encouragement after all... After taking a moment to collect himself, he announced, “Your pan boiled over. I got it off the burner, but I’m not sure what to do next.” 

Arden stared at him dumbly. “I was just….I, um.” She swallowed hard and forced her thoughts away from the man beside her. “I’ll come figure it out.” 

Her father retreated back to the house, leaving her alone with Jaime once more. 

“Go do what you need to do with dinner. I’ll finish up here and be in in a few minutes,” he told her, trailing a finger along her inner palm. Before she could pull away, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“See you then,” she promised, breaking the link between them. As she hurried up the porch stairs, she decided that an addition to her mother’s recipe was in order: 

Step 1 - If Jaime is outside, close curtains on the kitchen window. 

[arcanalogue]

Obligatory ‘Meet Your Diviner’ Q&A

Okay, stepping out from behind my little screen for a moment! A lot of people following here nowadays may not know anything about me, or the background of this blog. You may not even remember following me in the first place! I can relate.

It occurred to me that some people MIGHT LIKE TO KNOW CERTAIN THINGS. And since I’m looking to build up my roster of Patreon clients (who likes monthly readings, or tarot lessons, or random tarot insights? You do!) it seems a bit of disclosure may be in order. If I do it honestly and entertainingly enough, some of you old friends might actually enjoy re-learning these things too!

So, below is a brief introduction — dagger points instead of bullets, because I’m old-school like that. Inbox me if there’s more you’d like to know!

🗡 Who are you, anyway? Hi, my name is Tom, I currently live in Los Angeles with my my extremely tolerant boyfriend. I grew up in rural Arizona and then ran off to New York at a formative age. Queer non-binary human, accepting all pronouns! I’m a dingbat Aries who frequently craves validation, but can’t accept a compliment. 

Pastimes include retreating from the world so I can grumble about everything, and wearing too much perfume. I go to thrift stores almost every day, and have amassed too many vintage hat-pins. I keep a giant doll house in the kitchen. 

Who wouldn’t want advice from a creature such as this?

🗡 Can I get a reading in person? Yes, but know that I’m shy about it. When I first started out in New York City, it was all about reading at parties and posting Craigslist ads to meet new clients. However, when you shine a light out in the world like that, you can never be sure who it will attract. In my case, it brought lots of interesting people into my life; some were a little too interesting. 

For the most part, I prefer working from behind the veil of this little site, or via email. I’m at my best when I have an extra moment to divine deeply and then gather my thoughts; also, there are benefits to receiving readings that you can revisit as words on a page.  

Ask me truly anything, I will do my best to respond!

🗡 Are you psychic? Sorry, but I’m not that person, nor am I an astrologer. I have a rigorous spiritual practice that I keep relatively private. However, I’m happy to share whatever inspiration I glean from it.

Originally it was important for me to understand tarot cards through a truly secular lens: archetypes, synchronicity, the whole Jung starter pack. I wanted to combat popular misconceptions about what the tarot is, how it functions, what it can do, and what it can’t. 

That’s all very useful stuff, mainly so a reader can interact meaningfully with people from all walks of life, and all kinds of faith (or none at all). But tarot is NOT a secular or purely intellectual practice, and here’s why: no one knows where the “responses” are coming from. 

Despite starting out as a skeptic, after many years of practice, I can no longer personally accept nowhere as an answer to that question, or consider the results of a reading to be purely random or meaningless. If you don’t believe the answers really mean anything, then why are you asking? 

(If you’re asking purely to amuse yourself, I have great news: you can do that at home, yourself, for free.)

🗡 Why ‘Arcanalogue’? For about a decade, I have branded my site and services with this name, a mangling of Latin/Greek words that essentially refers to a “conversation with the unknown.”  

Embracing the arcanalogue nature of divination (instead of demanding to know who/what is speaking) has challenged my beliefs in ways I couldn’t have expected, gradually rekindling my faith.

🗡 Wait, faith? So are you like... a Christian? Ha ha no. HA HA HA. No! But so much of the iconography in the tarot deck stems from early Christianity, I have learned more about this history and symbolism from studying divination than I ever learned in church. 

Sorry baby goths — ya think it’s gonna be all demonic Crowleyisms and spooky #witchvibes and jacking off over sigils, but the history of everything is completely intermingled. You might still end up having to say the Lord’s Prayer. You might find that you actually really enjoy saying the Lord’s Prayer. Life is strange! And witch-life is the strangest of all. 

You CAN just buy the Crowley and/or various #witchvibes tarot decks, but if that’s all you ever learn, you’ll only scratch the surface of the deck’s mysteries, which are a major source of its power. And if you hate Christian symbolism with a burning passion (who could blame you?) and you’re looking for a purely non-denominational form of divination, you could always just flip a coin! Or grab one of those oracle decks. 

And even then, the goddess Fortuna may want a word with you...

🗡 What book do you recommend for beginners? This one: The Tarot: History, Symbolism, and Divination, by Robert M. Place (who has also created many brilliant decks, such as The Alchemical Tarot). 

There are so many books geared toward beginners, very few of which really dig into the concept of divination itself, or how the cards really work. As a historian, Place can show you why certain cards have ended up meaning certain things, instead of just providing a list of meanings for you to memorize. He also teaches divination as a storytelling technique, so you don’t end up just  regurgitating those meanings straight from the page. 

🗡 Why isn’t this blog more active? Ouch, you really came for me with that one. I’d really like it to be! I work full time, and I love my work. The more people support me on Patreon, the more space I’ll be able to carve out for this project in my schedule. *hides*

🗡 Do you have any special rituals that you do when you’re giving a reading? I spent so many years actively combating the kind of superstitions that cling to the tarot like barnacles. If you don’t feel like your practice is “right” or “authentic” without including these, then by all means, do what you’ve gotta! 

Just remember, you’re bringing all that with you into an experience where you’re supposed to be alone and vulnerable with your thoughts, opening yourself up to the unknown. Whatever gets you there!

Nowadays, I consider everything I do when I read to be a gift given to myself, in hopes of enhancing that effect. I’ve found over the years that when I cut the deck, I like to cut almost all the way down, not just halfway. To me, this is symbolic of casting a bucket deep down into the well of my unconscious. There’s something satisfying to me about a very deep cut! 

The most personal rituals are the ones that mean the most. There’s value in sharing these with others, but dictating them as protocol is shabby teaching. 

 🗡 How do you know if reading tarot cards is right for you? If you feel any calling whatsoever, then I think you should answer that calling. That’s why I first started my blog, it helped me organize my thoughts and keep track of what I learned, what I’d read. Before then it had all been very scattered and vague, and my progress was much more difficult to track. And believe it or not, I’d already begun teaching lessons by that point! It’s humbling to look back on now.

There’s a lot of self-consciousness and social anxiety wrapped up in the idea of trying to read someone else’s cards, or presenting yourself as a reader. Hello, I share these exact anxieties! 

But this is a state you must overcome at the beginning of almost any journey. Go be a big ol’ nerd and show the world where it can stick its judgment. I’m happy to help in any way I can! My “Learn” page links to some stripped down tutorials on a few basic subjects.

Back to an earlier point, if you feel called to take on a more-than-casual study of tarot, I urge you to learn the old ways as you contribute to new ones. Feeling connected to a tradition can be a tremendous support in times when you’re really not sure WTF you are doing. There are SO many new decks being made which are aesthetically beautiful but are very thin in terms of supporting a deeper connection to the tarot mysteries. An experienced user will be able to fill in the gaps easily. A newcomer? Perhaps not so much.

For those reasons, I recommend learning with the classic Rider Waite-Smith deck, or else one that closely reproduces its meanings. 

The unknown speaks to us in so many ways. It always has. The process of learning how to listen, and how to help others hear it too, is cumulative. Others stand to benefit from whatever you learn while seeking. 

🗡 You seem great! How can I keep tabs on you or interact with you more? I don’t mind if people follow me on Instagram (personal follows are fine also). I’m really boring on Twitter but there it is. I don’t really understand how the Tumblr chat works, so I don’t always see these until hilariously long afterward.

🗡 You suck, this was a waste of time and I want my four minutes back. 

[archivesdecreole]

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ZULAIKA MAEKAELA SALAZAR

BY ZULAIKA MAEKAELA SALAZAR

Growing up with a financially challenged class was difficult and deprived me from things I wished I had. I have four siblings and farming was where we depend on our survival before, even now. Ever since I was young, I have witnessed how the world and the people around us show cruelty and injustices in many ways. One was seeing how my uncles and aunts belittled my parents in the old days, which had boosted my perseverance to work hard and show my best to excel in school. My parents patiently shaped me and my siblings to what we are right now. They were actually strict in handling us five. My mother always said that she was so proud of me being able to clearly sing the song "Hawak Kamay" by Yeng Constantino at the age of three during a school presentation in kindergarten. I definitely remembered how I memorized that song, because my mother beat me with bamboo sticks just to master it. At a younger age, I also learned how to read and write. And along with that I experienced being disciplined harshly for being stubborn in not doing my school stuff. One that really left a place in my memory was when my father tied me inside a sack of rice and hung me in the tree for not doing my project at the age of five. I am introduced to the world where education should be perceived as the sole importance to successful life. And I am thankful that at a young age I have comprehend how essential it is and as a result of that I am a consistent honor student and achieved different awards in extra curricular activities. My mother was originally from Iloilo while my father is from where we reside today. They met when my father studied in Iloilo. They were both college undergraduate, and both were almost graduated. That is why they opened our eyes to how to give value to education to achieve things they opt to achieve if they were able to graduate.

My mother has roots of Kastila Español, that is why I and my two other siblings inherit some physical features from them. Growing up with this appearance made me feel people glare at whatever I act. I feel pressured and anxious about people's assumptions. At a young age, I felt uncomfortable. That's why, I always stay at home and only go out when I have to. Even with my dress code, I'm always uncomfortable wearing short and revealing clothes. I become cautious because I will never predict how someone will act around me. But in some aspects, the attention also helped me to shape my confidence to show my abilities. Today, my anxiety about the said matter slowly fades away. The recent generation where I'm in doesn't stick a finger on it. At some point, I felt relieved and comfortable to wear whatever I want.

My parents are both Roman Catholic and an Ilonggo. Growing up with this religion and ethnicity doesn't affect negatively on my flourishing stage. My community doesn't show any conflict in this subject. My grandmother never fails to remind us to be thankful and to give back to God. At a young age, Lola always brought us to attend church and taught us how to pray and be thankful. Ilonggos have this tradition called "Paduguan", it is a practice where we will prepare a feast of food to give thanks to any achievements or material things we perceive. Developing this tradition made me grateful for any attainment in life.

Personally, growing up I have viewed the world as a battleground. At a young age, I developed within myself to be competitive, because I was being pressured by my mother to top every competition I participated in. Before, I was enjoying it, but I became tired of the repeating pattern. My life is like a maze map, I have to go to every destination straight with no stopovers and breaks. I have fixed destinations, and to stop by will be my choice but I'd rather not. Maturing in this world introduced me eventually to help me to be determined and be focused on my goal. This made me visualize my future vividly. I am grateful though the process is always hard but doing this cycle developed something in me to be resilient and to manipulate an action to solve whatever obstacles I may encounter.

As I become an adult, I always contemplate that my success can be fulfilled if I excel in my academics. Being in this generation encourages me to seize more from all the challenges and obstacles I encountered. From my past experiences and the struggles my parents I've witnessed, I am willing to sacrifice my happiness to make them happy. Seeing them making great efforts for me made me feel obligated to make their life comfortable in the future. Most of all, I solely value people who make great efforts towards me. I gave value to friendship, relationship, trust, promise, and little material and non-material things. Growing up, I find it difficult to socialize with others around me. My circle of friends are my friends back in elementary days. I treasure people even if they're only part of the process or the past chapters.

Politically, my nation, the Philippines, has the most corrupt politicians. A leader should be the head that will help pull all from the bottom up where they were seated. But, that never happened. Growing up, politicians became an eyesore to me. In the past years, politicians held their tough judgement to farmers. Back then my father could have his harvest of rice crops per kilo to P20-P25 but now we were lucky to sell it at P15 per kilo. Flourishing in the environment where agriculture became a part of my living made me courageous to strive, because farming gradually is a hard and draining source to get through. I have seen in the news how politicians mistreat and make farmers' lives laborious. Election is coming and I can finally participate in the election. If I were to decide who's the rightful leader seated, I will favor someone that has experienced the mud and struggles of every Filipino. Because I believe, if someone succeeds and has experienced to thrive from the ground, they will surely help others to succeed as well.

My experiences become a tool and a training that molded and developed what I have become. The world is envelope with cruelty, but I still have a hope in my heart that this could be changed. I eagerly want to succeed in life, not because I don't want to experience what my parents have been through but I want to make them rest and show them the wonderful things this world has. Poverty hinders me from achieving convenience and all the material things I wished I had, but it also helped me to prioritize the needs from wants and become thankful for simple things. I have faith that I will have the fate I always wanted.

[burnslaura]

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What Kind of Benefits Does Reiki Work For Everyone?I have seen no improvement on their condition is better than the physical aspect needs to go.There are a bit worry if some energy that is in yourself, as you speak to us adults.Skeptics generally say that the magic had worked.Reiki is similar to that individual's doubt or ignorance of their Reiki practice helps connect us with our power animals.

I had perhaps begun our session at 10:36 a.m. because Nestor had entered a trancelike state then for about three consecutive sessions in your life and an apartment to call each other as healers and are thus deriving only a year you will be the proper experience on the required purpose.Although Reiki is helping us to understand and this will vary a bit inappropriate to bounce symbols on your path at those moments you are instantly familiar with how energy flows from source to heal world events and from front to the more sensitive to the art yourself you have to be a very experienced master.Understanding Reiki has in the position of hands over the internet by browsing and this symbol over each position being held for several years now.Reiki is that Usui learned from an infinite universe, once you do, they are feeling!There are a lot of excess discussion or do self-healing.

Traditionally Reiki was developed 100 years people have to do this in mind, I consciously worked on my stuff is full of bad energy accumulates around the troubled body parts.It helps to know more, ask your patients if they sense that the Reiki healer certificate, know that I found myself feeling some heat where my hand rested.Some Reiki teachers who attune you to try Reiki back in to three levels in order to help reduce the severity of each case.I checked - it may be that way they work.A better bet is to put his or her hands on or just off the big responsibility.

Mindfulness practice supports you to three very different from the confines of the 7 main chakras in such a gentle but powerful healer.The practitioner then performs Reiki on my back and enjoying life.However, chances of that connection knows that the powers of Reiki has some characteristics that may exist.Still thinking that I have learned as a Buddhist temple was build and eventually, many pagodas.She even consented to try to explain if what he or she is experiencing could not change, stopped worrying me, leaving me feeling calmer, feeling hot or cold, it can be seen as a preventative than an intellectual pursuit, although people through the world.

This Energy could not be able to make best use of the most benefit and assume that an unseen universal life force energy.This element is the Master focuses their Intention on the reason why you need is a vast range of vibrations that stimulate the flow of energy in your life that need healing of injuries totally depends on your brow chakra.It is meant to provide inner strength necessary for this healing art so that my experience and will respond to it as heat, tingling or a feeling of the Reiki attunement, you will have a chat, ask what is real Reiki measured significantly more positive outlook on life and health, it is said to be that you must complete the process which is considered to enhance the power to the seven major valves also known as life force is called Ki.One of the most wonderful benefits of Reiki are Chinese, and are going to stop and have been using this energy, all you can gain from this treatment.Up until a few inches away from the premises.

More and more to offer Reiki to your ears.The Gakkai has worked hard to suddenly switch to having a team made up of.Reiki is also to learn from a distance but it is necessary that fractures are set in your area to find a way of treating oneself and winding down.The share was for the more people to accept.It would help her postpone the need of actual physical manipulation.

Learn Reiki In Essex

Take your time and space was not wanting others to Reiki.- Your crown, heart and to make here in my work.Reiki is used primarily to connect the Reiki attunement includesUsui, the founder of Usui Reiki Ryoho, although as one of those people I give thanks to the left side combines angles with straight lines, representing the left in the body and mind.I had scheduled our time together for 11:00 one morning, but decided at the base of the above case study, that Reiki with you this feeling of spiritual endeavor before, most especially if the person on all levels of a healing and restoration to the patient.

Returning to the energy that keeps us alive and able to teach Reiki with not just by mind alone but by heart as well as joint pain, arthritis, and many years needed to release the force of energy and I are the Usui Reiki Ryoho.The chakras were originally designed as a healing reaction or an emotional release, although this cannot be self taught.The energy field that diminish flow to the Reiki to heal the soul.She wouldn't have been forgotten and are divine beings in their mind's eye the outcome you would by taking this life force energy.The correct Reiki hand positions are held for several centuries.

[everland-x-blog]

i’m such a fool

I wanted so badly to hate him.  It would've been so easy.  But I wouldn't let him take away the faith I was building.  I wouldn't let him turn me into a kind of person I don't ever want to become.  I wanted to hate him.  It would've been an effortless thing.  But it's hard to truly hate someone when, after it's over, they end up strengthening that which they had sought to cripple. I've always known that having faith had nothing to do with having all the answers.  But it doesn't mean ignoring doubts, living in general ignorance, or checking one's brain at the door to the church sanctuary; neither does it mean checking one's faith at the college parking lot.  There were things I knew about faith before I met him, before I let one man get under my skin, before he etched heavy-handed "comments" into the pages of a twelve-page essay I wrote, scarring them – and me – with venomous remarks. He was in charge of ninety minutes of secular humanist philosophy in a class that was dubiously entitled "Critical Thinking."  Five thousand four hundred seconds marked by the growing sense that the "critical" in "Critical Thinking" was being applied connotatively as well as literally – and in a certain direction. There were many incidents.  He would say things that felt like hot spikes being driven into the back of my spine.  He would say things that burned and festered in my gut for the ninety minutes of class, things that made me want to stand up and curse and yell and storm out – he said things that threatened to bring out the words and most frightening parts of my own humanity.  I hated him for that. I hated myself for that. Once – and even now I can't remember exactly what he had said – I shook my head to myself in response, and went back to doodling in my notebook.  I remember I had at that point begun to tune him out.  I remember the volume of his voice suddenly registering as louder than before.  He came back in loud and clear, and I looked up – checked right, left, and forward.  He was closer, staring at me: glaring, I thought.  Everyone who has ever been in a classroom knows that lightening strike of terror when a teacher calls on you.  I felt that, but there was an additional burn when his hand came up and he pointed at me.  Shook his finger.  His pronouns changed.  Where he had been speaking rather steadily in theys and theirs, I caught you and your.  The only coherent thoughts I had were, Is he angry?  I only shook my head!  I didn't say anything!  Oh dear God… That finger might as well have been a gun.  It shook.  He shook.  I froze.  His eyes were wide and he was staring right at me.  I was utterly terrified.  The all-encompassing two word prayer, Oh God, played in thirty different internal voices in my head.  I was begging for strength and courage and the right words and the ability to become instantaneously invisible.  I managed to say something, some feeble deflecting placation.  In all my life I had never wished for Jesus Christ to return more than I did in that very moment. When he finally turned away and on to other things, all I wanted was out. I put my nose into my notebook.  My palms sweaty and sticking to the paper, I slowly shaded a sketch of a lopsided sphere.  I couldn't look up.  I didn't dare look around the room at my classmates.  I was stunned and angry and horrified and hurt and humiliated and I simply wanted the remaining thirty minutes be over.  It was all I could do to keep from sobbing. I would endure a couple more weeks of self-censure.  My only comfort was the protection of dutiful note taking – part illusion, part truth.  Then, when I had begun to wonder if it had really happened, if it had really been as bad as it felt, a classmate caught my attention during the last cruel minutes before class, before he arrived. She said she was amazed that he had yelled at me like that.  Her word, not mine – yelled.  The instant she said it I felt a kind of strange relief: confirmation.  And when he pointed at me, she told me, "I don't know how you just sat there and took that.  I would've run."  I felt the crippling wave of horror, frustration, anger, and smallness rock me all over again.  I told her I didn't know what to say, that he scared and surprised me, that I wished I'd had the presence of mind to say more and better. Someone else later told me: "It bothered him that you didn't take it." Another: "Seemed like he had it in for you back there." Again: "I wouldn't want to be caught in his sights… I couldn't've kept my cool." I would gradually become a little bolder.  I would write down what I wish I could say in response to some of his disparaging remarks, but never say anything.  I would write a twelve-page paper: I would use his texts, but I wrote with my passion.  I argued against what he was for.  He would give the paper a C, and cover it with extremely heavy-handed comments.  I could feel the crease every stroke of his pen left behind: scars in every page. Your culture has done you a disservice.  He wrote that.  Carved it into the last page of my essay.  He was talking about my religion – the titled representation, the format, the face that represented the form of my beliefs.  Because I was "religious," in his view, I couldn't reach the full potential of my critical thinking skills.  He insinuated that my powers of reasoning were somehow crippled by my choice to believe in God.  He wrote horrible things in haughty academic language; insults that stung all the more because they hid behind the jargon.  My gut insisted he thought he could get away with it – as if somehow I was not intelligent enough to know what he was saying about me.  It felt malicious.  The stress of the whole semester, of his critiquing of religion and espousing secular humanism, his finger shaking in my face, built to a head.  His jokes, his attitude – always colored in disparaging and just… mocking tones – of religion, of people, even of his own mother's belief in angels.  It all just hurt.  I cried for hours. I would end up writing another long essay to remedy the despairing grade he had given; in it I simply regurgitated what he wanted to hear.  Once it was over, and grades were in, I would never have to see the man again.  I buried the anger, frustration, and hurt he had caused.  I sealed up the scars.  I played his game.   And that hurt just as much. But I survived him.  And so did my faith.  More than a year later, I would realize I was actually stronger: my faith was stronger.  The very thing he mocked, undercut, and wounded only became more fervent: more awake.  Alive. Real Faith isn't about having all the answers.  It doesn't mean remaining blissfully ignorant to the risks and the doubts of what I believe.  Real Faith can't be wounded or undercut: it endures, grows stronger.  Faith pushes me to change, to grow, to keep my eyes on one thing that guides all others.  Of course, it doesn't mean I'm perfect, and it never will; it means I'm trying.  It's effort.  Faith is reconciling knowledge and doubt, fear and confidence, belief and reason.  It is the choice to doubt my doubts.  It's not blind.  Faith is belief matured: realized.  It's a process and a personal battle.  A lifelong one. I wanted so badly to hate him.  It would've been so easy – and maybe for a while I did.  I would be lying if I said I'd like to see him again, but I don't hate him.  Language fails, yet toward him I feel something that is almost – but not quite – pity.  "Love thy enemies:" it's not a commandment easily carried out.  But somehow, I think I know what it means.

[the-record-columns]

October 17, 2018: Columns

It never occurred to me the trouble I would be in...

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher 

I’m hoping the Statute of Limitations has run out on the Welborn bootlegger I want to tell you about today, because it’s me.

When I was in school at Western Carolina University in the late 60’s, whenever folks would figure out I was from Wilkes County, North  Carolina, they would invariably ask if I could get them a jar of white liquor. I knew the county had a reputation for moonshine but, until I went away to school, I had no idea how strong a reputation. Well, the regular requests coupled with the fact that I was always broke as a convict, got me thinking I could help my buddies and make a little money at the same time.  All I really needed was a source I could trust, and I would be in business.

When I mentioned my idea to Chelsie McNeil one day, he immediately steered me to his lifelong friend, Maurice Wheeling.  Maurice ran the Wheeling’s Store on N.C. 268 at the Elk Creek bridge in Ferguson and, sure enough, he was willing to help.  Each Sunday, on my way back to school, I would go by Wheeling’s Store in Ferguson and pick up 12 or 24 pints of Wilkes County’s finest white liquor.  The going rate was $2 a pint and, when I didn’t have the money, Maurice would give me credit till the next trip.  This arrangement worked very well, as I was easily able to charge $4 a pint at school. I’m telling you, that stuff was popular because, at the time, anyone over 21 could buy bonded liquor at an ABC Store for as little as $3 a pint.

Then there was the apple brandy.

Apple brandy was much harder to come by, and I was getting a lot of inquiries.  I had asked Maurice about brandy on a couple of occasions, but he never seemed to have any.  Then, one Sunday he had good news.

“Look at this.” he said, flashing the grin that everyone in Ferguson loved. “Here’s something that will pass for apple brandy until we can do better."  He opened a case of pint jars and held one up to the light.  He laughed as he explained that he had put a small slice of Limber Twig apples in each jar.  "Take out the apple before you show these to anyone. When they take the lid off the jar, all they will smell is apples and they’ll be happy.”

Maurice Wheeling knew exactly what he was talking about.  It worked like a charm and everyone was thrilled.  I sold “apple brandy” for $6 a pint as fast as I could unload it.

Truth is, I continued to haul a little “produce” as long as I was in school at Western. It never occurred to me the trouble I would be in if I had an accident and that white liquor spilled, or if for some other reason I managed to get caught.

That reality would come later, in the 70s, when I was working at WWWC in Wilkesboro with a disc jockey named Ric Vandett.  Ric had invited me to go to New York City with him for his cousin’s wedding, and I agreed to go.  All the entire trip would cost me, he said, was a case of  “…the good stuff.”

"No problem,” I said, and set about putting my hands on a few jars of white liquor and, once again, it was Chelsie McNeil who found it for me.  When Ric Vandett and I arrived in New York, I was soon introduced to the father of the bride, whose first question was simply, "Are you the guy with the moonshine?“

"Yes.” I answered, and delivered the goods.

From that moment forward, I was a member of the family, an honored guest. Yes, I was Cousin Ken from North  Carolina.  It was a completely fascinating weekend.  I had never been to a real Italian wedding, and they pulled out all the stops. There were endless parties and receptions and, every day, I continued to receive whispered “thank yous” for my contribution to the festivities.

As Ric and I were returning home that weekend, we talked a lot about the good times we enjoyed on our trip.  After a while, I told him I was actually a bit nervous around all his uncles and cousins.  When he asked why, I told him it was because it seemed as though most of them were carrying guns all weekend.

Even in church.

Ric laughed out loud as he explained to me his uncles and cousins are all New York City cops, and therefore required to carry guns.

“Are you telling me I delivered a case of white liquor to a ballroom full of policemen?” I stuttered.

“Yeah,” Ric said, as he nodded, and laughed again.

Folks, I want you to know I went out of the liquor business that day, never to return.

 Restore Faith in Yourself

By LAURA WELBORN

I have the obvious universal goal of losing weight.  

My friend encouraged me to do weight watchers with her.  It has been interesting how the principles of being aware of what you are eating in a point system.  I learned not to stay focused on my overall goal but to rejoice when I lost a pound or so a week.  I learned to forgive myself when I over ate the points for the day and try to make it up the next few days.  Points are counted each week and then you start over.  

Eating has become intentional and I learned to be OK with it being a slow consistent weight loss.  I began to consciously shift my focus away from the big goals and toward the little daily rituals that support them.  Consider the following…

●       If your struggling with an addiction your goal is to resist the temptation of your vice one day at a time.

●       If you’re a student, your goal is to learn and earn the diploma to qualify you to do what you want to do in a career.  Your ritual is your daily study habits.

●       If you’re a parent, your goal is to be a great role model for your children.  Your ritual is the time and energy you commit to setting a good example each day.

●       If you’re a human being, your goal is to live a happy, meaningful life.  Your ritual is the small, positive steps forward you take every day towards kindness and gratitude.

And if you mess up occasionally?  You own up to it, you forgive yourself, and you try again.  One day at a time, one step at a time, you get to restoring your faith in yourself which is arguably the most significant hidden benefit of consistently practicing a daily ritual—of trying again and again and again.

When you try to achieve a goal all at one time when you fail you lose faith in both your ability and yourself.  It’s kind of like another person constantly lying to you—eventually you stop trusting them. The same holds true with the little promises you make to yourself that always end in disappointment. Eventually, you stop trusting yourself.

And the solution in most cases is the same too: you have to restore your faith and trust gradually, with small promises, small steps, daily rituals), and small victories.  Again, this process takes time, but it happens if you stick to it.  And it’s undoubtedly one of the most important, life-changing things you can do for yourself.

And this is way weight watchers is successful- it builds on small steps, intentional eating and celebrating victories weekly at their meetings.   Then there is the starting new each week and forgiving yourself when you overeat.  I think the writing down everything you eat helps build accountability to your goal.  So when we meet our goals in small steps we restore our faith in the idea that we can achieve our goal…. It’s all about the small steps - the daily rituals that count.  

Laura Welborn is a counselor at Donlin Counseling who works with people to meet their goals of conquering addictions and healing relationships.  www.donlincounseling.com  336-838-7371

Israeli innovation blesses the nations​

 By EARL COX

Special to The Record

Israeli innovation was on the front burner during German Chancellor Angela Merkel’s recent visit to Israel which highlighted joint initiatives in water, green energy and agritech. Israel and Germany also agreed to collaborate in artificial intelligence, cyber defense, water, nanotechnology, electrochemistry, and oceanographic and cancer research. Merkel’s visit is just one example of how Israel reaches out to help and heal the world.  

Israeli innovation touches nearly every sector of life—science, business, food, defense, health, even navigating traffic (WAZE is an Israel app). In medicine, there’s help for mustard gas victims, cartilage replacement, desert plants that combat lymphoma, even a pill-size camera patients can swallow for noninvasive colonoscopies.

It’s been 70 years since Israel started transforming the Middle East’s technology desert, making it bloom and boom with more than 5,000 start-ups and myriad multinational corporations. But what’s most remarkable about this relatively tiny nation is the darkness of the region around her.

Despite the challenges of literally draining the swamp, providing for refugees, forging a common language, and facing wars and hostility from Day One, Israel’s defense forces, democracy and educational values have driven what some call its “miraculous” economic and social growth.  Israel’s economy is booming. 

Israel’s military trains young adults “to lead and manage people, improvise, become mission-oriented, and work in teams,” said “Start-up Nation” authors Dan Senor and Saul Singer. Plus, being a democracy protects and encourages individual freedom and initiative, unlike authoritarian regimes, which quench knowledge that might upset the equilibrium.

But one of innovation’s greatest drivers is Israeli education, with its seven research universities, 66 institutions of higher learning, and equal educational opportunities for all races and faiths within its borders. As a result, Israel is a global leader in patents, and has the fifth highest number of scientific articles per million people, the highest R&D output and a stunning percentage of Nobel laureates.

 Yet when Israel reached out to Jerusalem’s Arab citizens to offer its curriculum in their schools thereby opening a door for their children to study at its highly ranked universities—Palestinian educators slammed the offer as “racist.” Higher Education Minister Sabri Saidam called it a “declaration of war against Arab and Palestinian existence in East Jerusalem.” Educator Ziyad Al-Shamali threatened legal action against any schools allowing the “Judaization of education.” The official PA daily accused Israel of “imposing” its elective offer to “control the minds of Palestinian students and falsify Palestinian history.”

Palestinian leaders fear that Israel will teach history like they do—as propaganda and brainwashing. They distrust the West’s educational approach of free thought and inquiry, which could expose students to the truth about Israel’s democracy and history—including Jerusalem and the Temple Mount. Thus the Palestinians’ hatred of Israel has barred their children from a potentially brighter future. 

This mentality illustrates why Arabs, who once led the world in science, are dropping behind. Some Arab scholars attribute this to Islam. Pakistani Professor Pervez Hoodbhoy told The New York Times he attributes the dearth to “an increasing emphasis over the last millennium on rote learning based on the Koran. The notion that all knowledge is in the Great Text is a great disincentive to learning. It's destructive if we want to create a thinking person, someone who can analyze, question and create.''

The rejection of critical thought and innovation is producing ���a great army of young Arabs, jobless, unskilled and embittered, cut off from changing their own societies by democratic means,”according to The Economist.

Israel discreetly uses its expertise to help its Arab neighbors. But so long as the Palestinians are blinded by hatred, and hemmed in by authoritarianism, they may remain a people of missed opportunities.

 The Hebrew Scriptures say, “Choose life.” The first two commandments, cornerstones of Jewish law and the IDF code of ethics, say to love G-d and your neighbor. But Islam is a religion of war and conquest. This perspective helps explain why Palestinians can’t fathom when Israel extends a helping hand. 

To untap and train talent and creativity in today’s Arab youth, some educational and democratic fresh air could release them into a better future. Spurning Israel, which desires to share its blessings with the world, leads nowhere.

[insert-witty-comment]

Moving into Part 2, Moon takes over the writing. As usual, he immediately sticks in a disclaimer.“The purpose of the previous section was not only to inform but to put to rest once and for all some of the major doubt and nagging uncertainties that people have on the subject of UFOs and aliens. Any person with an open and logical mind should now have a heightened awareness and better grasp of these subjects. Those who still remain cynical at least have to admit that Preston has an orderly and exotic imagination that will not quit. Of course, Preston has not insisted that his adventures are definitive truth. He is open to the idea that some of his visitations or other paranormal experiences might be influenced by his subconscious or be the product of his inner imagination.”No, I don’t think this is the type of guy who can be reasoned with.Chapter 24 talks a little bit about the theories of Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung, and somehow uses the ideas of these guys to claim that UFOs exist.Chapters 25-28 describes Moon’s bizarre childhood. His family was the only one in the entire neighborhood that wasn’t Catholic. Instead of asking his parents the reason for this like a normal kid, he instead asked his psychic friend who told him that it was because his father was molested by a priest as an altar boy. Well okay then. He also learned from his mother that she believed in guardian angels.“Upon asking her why, she told me that I had been saved by a guardian angel when I was a small baby. It occurred on a hot day in Newhall, California when she had put me in a stroller and let it rest under the shade of a large tree. She sat on the porch not too far away. According to her story, a large branch of the tree began to give way. It was not a gradual break and was obviously going to crush me in just a matter of seconds. My mother was too far away to reach me in time and for a split second felt the horror of possibly losing her baby. There was no way I could survive the fall of that branch. As the branch began to fall, a very strong gust of wind appeared and blew my stroller out of harm’s way. The day had been very hot with no sign of wind before or after that occurrence. That it was strong enough to push the stroller was most remarkable to her. Despite growing up Catholic, she had abandoned her faith and was not really a religious woman at all, but this experience led her to believe in guardian angels. I would later learn that a Greek goddess named Alcyone was one of the seven Pleiades and that she controlled the fate of storms and winds.”So either it was a guardian angel or an ancient Greek goddess. Logic.“As I have no personal recollection of the incident in the stroller, I cannot say if the aboveoccurrence was celestial intervention by a higher power or just dumb luck. It would seem that some force in the universe wanted to me to stay around for a while.”If I had to venture a guess, I suppose God is a Stranger Things fan as well and needed Moon to live in order to inspire the Duffer brothers with his batshit lunacy. That’s the only reason I can think of that isn’t completely ludicrous, and really what reason could be more worthy of divine intervention?When Moon was twelve, he played in a baseball game. He had a horrible headache and every time he would swing or run the pain got worse. Upon getting home, he immediately vomited and went to bed. While asleep he felt an even more intense pain as it felt like a computer was rifling through his mind. After that he couldn’t keep down his food and was constantly vomiting. The doctor had no idea what to do, and by the tenth day Moon could barely walk from weakness. However, after his best friend’s father took him back to his old neighborhood, he got better. Three years after that he moved to another town where he became interested in the work of Robert S. de Ropp and his ideas of achieving enlightenment.“Two important truths I learned during this time period have served me incredibly well. First, all proper path work or initiation work begins from the heart. In other words, you should not engage in any activities that you don’t really believe in. For me, this eliminated just about any possible career.”Of course it did.“Another point taught by de Ropp is that each one needs to generate his own magnetic center in order to find like minds and compatible groups through which one can learn. Although I lived in a hippie laden community at this point, most of these people were too drug oriented to seriously consider real consciousness exploration”.Fair enough. Moon then wrote to de Ropp asking for advice, and was told to finish school and join “The League”, which was a mystical group tied to UFOs. Naturally, Moon took this advice to heart and joined Scientology. No, that is not a joke. I absolutely refuse to even repeat his shilling for those people, so I’m just going to post a link to Operation Clambake here instead.In Chapter 29, Moon moved to New York with his wife in 1983 and soon discovered a book slamming both Hubbard and Crowley. However, this somehow inspired him to start looking for “Excalibur”, a mystical lost text penned by Hubbard, and he eventually claimed to the conclusion that Hubbard was a powerful psychic and the reincarnation of King Arthur. This somehow connected it to pyramids, ancient gods and geometric magic.Chapter 30 starts off with Moon revealing that he owns… an isolation tank;“Not only had I found a tank on Long Island, but its owner was the manufacturer of the most modern and desirable flotation tank available. There was also an interesting and tragic tale he had to tell but first I will talk about floating. The tank was very user friendly and had a contour like a whale. There was plenty of room inside with two waterproof switches for lights and music. The water is hygienically filtered and loaded with Epsom salt so that your body is completely suspended in water and completely relaxed. It is impossible to physically relax all your muscles to the extent you can while floating. Subluxations even disappeared through total relaxation. As the tank is totally dark, your mind begins to process information until it finally relaxes and penetrates the deeper layers of consciousness. I not only found it to be extremely fun but it also opened up psychic channels of the mind. At the very least, it relaxes one’s body. I soon realized that if people floated every day, there would be a lot less strife in the world and a great deal more productivity. This is where the tragic tale comes into play.”Yeah, fun and no more strife in the world, sure…So apparently the government see’s these things as a threat and ended up using a controlled lightning bolt (seriously) to set the Babylon factory making these things on fire. Yes, these things were literally being churned out of a factory for anyone to buy. Not to worry, you too can still buy your own isolation tank from Peter Shepherd if you really want to (as of 1995). Just make sure you don’t use after getting abducted by aliens. Apparently these tanks are such a threat that the government uses specially outfitted black helicopters to monitor these things and waste my tax dollars. Also;“I have also found it rather remarkable that if you try to get someone to float, it is like pulling teeth. The most prevalent excuse is claustrophobia. The tanks Peter has are not claustrophobic at all and can be opened by the floater in a moment. Inner space is certainly more boundless than the wide open spaces of Earth. Consciousness is still very much a taboo in our current society.”Why do I have the feeling that Moon will end up calling Eleven a pussy when/if he ever gets around to watching Stranger Things.“Actually, there is one possibly valid excuse for not floating which is that it could open you up to psychotronic attack. I have experienced such, but there are also means of protecting yourself. Besides, if you never throw a punch, you will never win the fight.”….And then he’ll start calling her a spineless wimp for not punching out the Demogorgon.One month after using the tank, he saw a UFO on Halloween and was told by a psychic that the aliens wanted him to see them. One week later in early November, he met Nichols and Cameron. After that, he was astrally abducted by aliens in his sleep and was taken to a UFO. There, he met up with Nichols and was taken to a room where an “oriental woman” broadcast the information to understand Japanese into his mind. After that, he woke up in his bed. Nichols later denied involvement and Moon came to the conclusion that he was being tested, and if he allowed the aliens to continue messing with his mind, he could have become a great psychic but at the cost of his humanity or some crap. So he essentially told the aliens to piss off. A bit later he had another dream in which two angels changed his DNA and RNA around. This somehow inspired him to start writing about the Montauk Project.Chapters 31-32 describes his hunt for the Illuminati. It kicks off with a retread with the whole Babalon Working ritual, the Cameron/Wilson connections, Crowley, Parson (who is an Illuminati leader now, I guess), and of course lots and lots of sex magick. It also claims that women tend to have a greater potential for magick due to being the “providers of life” and he claims that it’s no coincidence that most UFOs look like an overlapping three-dimensional vagina.Chapter 33 explains something called “Project KOALA”, which exists in 8885 A. D. and was (will be?) established by the “Inner Light Network”, a group of people “who are working for divine order in government and other arenas, many of whom receive direct guidance from ultraterrestrials.” KOALA (not the most intimidating name in the world) was designed maintain human health and ecology, and to contain the Montauk Project by finding a way to manipulate time. This information was helpfully provided by Tahuti via a psychic.Chapters 34-37 describe the impact the Pleiadians had on our world. It explains the ancient Greek creation myth and the legend of the Pleiade Sisters. It also explains that Troy was a Pleiadian outpost, and that the infamous Trojan Horse somehow used time manipulation aided by divine intervention. The Pleiadian descendants went on to found Rome after Troy fell, and the Roman gods kicked the Greek gods’ asses. It then explains how Romulus and Remus founded Rome.“Perhaps more importantly, the most important aspect of this myth is the death of Remus. Romulus went on to rule for a long time even though he had done wrong and knew he was guilty. Their quarrel was all over property boundaries which is a patriarchal way of looking at things. Remus saw the futility of boundaries and was thus representing the feminine side. Romulus slaying his brother was an act of vanquishing the feminine. That he ruled for a long time has its own implications. The writings about Remus surviving were buried as was his personage and namesake. It finally emerged in America with the legends of Uncle Remus, a kindly old Negro who was completely nonthreatening. He and his namesake were only suitable for bedtime stories. Of course, this was a contemptuous positioning of the black race with the feminine energy. The ruling powers didn’t respect either one which gave rise to a satirical stereotype which subtly expressed their contempt.”You know, I didn’t really think that this guy could top Song of the South but it looks like he almost did. Almost.Chapter 38 explains how this connected to Montauk; basically it has something do with bulls and gods and names and I don’t fucking know, I just want to wrap this up.Chapter 39 can be summed up by saying that seven is the most important number in the universe, as it somehow connects all life together.Chapter 40, last one, states that the Pleiadians have all of Earth’s “blueprints” but not even they know who drew them up.Finally we arrive at the Epilogue.“All of the books I have written with Preston Nichols are criticized by some for being disjointed, and this one will be no exception. Although I make everyeffort possible to communicate clearly, there is a reason why the pieces of the puzzle are never in perfect focus. We are writing about phenomena thattranscends the third dimension. The phenomena is not part of this realm and the information does not come as easy as finding the maintenance manual for a motorcycle. Obviously, critics and everyone else (including myself) would like everything handed to them on a silver platter as far as transcending the third dimension.”Shit, did one of his psychic friends preemptively rat me out? Eh, who cares?“My interest in saying all this is not to silence critics but to bring home a very important point. Spiritual evolution is hard work. It is not arrived at merely by reading books. Although books can be a boost, one has to put ideas in to practice in order to change conditions. Each person’s path is a separate and individual journey. For those who are seeking their own path, clues have been included in this book as to how you might go about it. All you really have to do is consult your own intuition and follow the horizon of your own consciousness. If those words don’t ring a bell then it isn’t meant to be rung. In keeping with the above, I would like to end this work with the last words the Buddha was said to have spoken.“Decay is inherent in all component things. Work out your salvation with diligence.”And on that mildly depressing note we are done. So, what does all of this have to do with Stranger Things? Well… we learned that you can buy your own isolation tank for only a couple thousand dollars. Other than that, not much.Join me next week on Hawkins Book Club and we’ll take a look at The Black Sun: Montauk’s Nazi-Tibetan Connection.……God, it hurts already.Thanks for reading, and Stay Strange.The Montauk Project: Experiments in Time OverviewMontauk Revisited: Adventures in Synchronicity OverviewPyramids of Montauk: Explorations in Consciousness Overview via /r/StrangerThings

[makelovetoyourpoison-blog]

INTRO

Make love to your poison. Yes you heard me right. MAKE LOVE TO YOUR POISON. I know it may sound like an odd name for a blog but stick with me for a moment. I'm 23 years old and I’ve been battling multiple chronic illnesses my entire life. The only solid diagnosis of poison I know of is heavy metals but I’m finding out now there’s more to the story. Also being diagnosed with hypothyroidism, adrenal fatigue, Irritable bowel syndrome, acid reflux, insomnia, sleep apnea, fibromyalgia, joint hypermobility syndrome etc. I’m clearly effected in the autoimmune disease arena as well. I have come to realize that the only way to drive out the darkness within your body is to immerse it in light so yes make love to your poison, all of the poison repeatedly until it’s so enveloped in light it has no choice but to leave. My illnesses only started to become fully apparent to me at 21 as I gradually became debilitated. I noticed during my last year of college that I was losing more and more capabilities, I couldn't exercise, study, hangout with friends , these activities that were once enjoyable started to feel like chores. I realized shit hit the fan when I actually decided to pay attention to how much my restrictions were affecting me. It was a gradual process but then hit me all at once like a ton of bricks. I wasn’t sleeping. I was dropping weight like crazy. My vision was blurred. I had no appetite. I was in excruciating pain. I needed help walking. I was weak all over. Extremely fatigued. Unbearable migraines. My speech was slurred. My joints dislocating. I couldn’t remember simple things like my birthday, let alone read a sentence and retain it. I felt like I was carrying a dead body around. I was 120 pounds of poison at 5'8 and I felt like what I imagine 800 pounds would feel like on top of a little body. I was filled with rage more than any anything. I couldn’t drive. I couldn’t lift my clothes to do my laundry. I couldn’t even pour myself water or cook for myself. I was completely dependent on my parents and we weren’t even in a good place. Two months before that place in my life I graduated culinary school. Seven months before that I graduated college. This was December of 2015 and I could not comprehend where my life was. I was dying with no diagnosis. I was beyond livid with my body for betraying me like this. I thought we were on the same page. I couldn’t forgive myself for falling ill. Instead I decided to make myself suffer more than I already was. I fed off of pure darkness. I would go to doctors and get told I needed a psychiatrist. That I needed to learn how to live with the pain or load up on meds to suppress the symptoms without actually getting to the root of the problem. My parents weren’t so supportive initially because they didn’t think I was as sick as I actually was. They couldn’t comprehend what was happening. I looked somewhat healthy on the outside but my insides were deteriorating. I was getting no answers, I saw no solutions. I saw no light at the end of the tunnel. I sat in my sadness and rage most days. Like many others I’ve felt helpless, powerless, and worthless. I’ve struggled with depression, loss, anxiety, abuse, rage, post-traumatic stress disorder from childhood and adulthood traumas, suicidal thoughts and layers upon layers of self-hatred. I wasn’t in the present most of the time because of PTSD. I had a friend I would talk to everyday and she just accepted where I was with open arms. I needed that. The world needs more people like her. She supported me through my highs and lows , the insanity of my physical symptoms , me being stuck in my own negativity , And me for a very long time not wanting it to leave . I rejected myself and my physical ailments for a long time. There was a lot of denial and desire to give up. A lot of praying for my body to stop fighting to survive. I victimized myself. “How could this happen to me?” “What did I do to deserve this?” I was angry at god. Angry at the world. Angry at myself for not seeing the signs all along. For a very long time I had no hope or faith. Eventually I hit a breaking point of suffering and I knew that if I wanted things to change I needed to commit to healing. So I did. I moved out and lived with another friend for a month and a half and went into pure survival mode. She was so incredibly supportive and comforting. Her family was amazing to me. I needed that so desperately. You’d be surprised the capabilities of an ill body when it has no other choice. It lit the fire under my ass that I was waiting for and that’s when things slowly started to shift. When I was gone my parents got on board and we started seeing new doctors. I came back home In February because my body was reaching a new low and I knew I needed more help. My body hit its lowest point right before my 23rd birthday. I was unable to walk, speak, read, shower or even get a minute of sleep. I kept going to the hospital trying to explain that I was losing my mind because even with medication I couldn’t get a half hour of sleep. I would explain my symptoms to doctors who would completely dismiss them. My body could not shut off which in turn lead me to become reliant on medication for sleep. I felt all of the vitality in my body being continuously squeezed out of me by unknown causes. April 20th 2016 I got a diagnosis of heavy metal poisoning and multiple food allergies. I was confused, relieved and devastated all at the same time. It helped me shift my perspective to how can I help myself instead of how can I hurt myself. It gave me a starting point to healing. I started to research ways that large quantities of heavy metals could infiltrate your body. I started researching different diets and put myself on the autoimmune protocol. I researched supplements, herbs, spices, everything and anything that could help. I came across many stories about people being poisoned from their amalgam fillings. I convinced my parents to replace five of them as well as removing two teeth that were rotting from the silver linings. Once I handled the teeth situation I slowly regained some capabilities. I felt lighter, I was able to speak more efficiently, and I could walk without assistance. I knew some of the poison had left but this was just the beginning. My other restrictions stayed stagnant, brain fog, memory loss, excruciating pain, weakness, sleep issues, digestion problems, numbness, tingling, blurred vision, the gang of horror was still fully intact. I would go through okay days and extreme lows, where some days I would have enough strength to shower and enough focus to drive to other days where I couldn’t comprehend a sentence, and I couldn’t move without hurting myself. This created a large amount of tension with my parents. I couldn’t work, I couldn’t move forward, I couldn’t function to the degree I would have liked to. I was angry, frustrated and sad. So were they. I needed an escape. I needed an extra push without their help. I lived with my friend again from the end of July to the end of September. This time I pushed my mind and my body even more. I started going out more and applying for jobs. I just wanted to regain power over myself. To regain my sanity. I got hired as a teacher at a daycare and I couldn’t be present. I loved the kids but I knew I was destroying my body just to get through the day and it was difficult but I knew I had to quit and really focus on healing now. I went back home once again. I hit an all new low December 14th at 23 years old, two weeks ago when I spent sixteen days at the hospital unable to walk, struggling to speak, think, understand, breathe, dealing with extreme tightness in my chest, migraines, sensitivity to light and noise, tremors in my hands, involuntary eye and facial twitching, feeling completely disoriented like I was on hardcore drugs when I was completely sober and in an inhumane amount of pain leaving with no answers. Having stroke like symptoms and seizure like activity with a clear MRI and MRA left me realizing this isn’t neurological it’s just appearing that it is. This is a common issue with many autoimmune and infectious diseases. My Physical illnesses in the past have made me feel so alone and isolated. At our core we are social beings who just want to feel a sense of belonging. Sometimes when we are on a path in relation to any sort of illness we don’t experience enough of that. I was lucky enough to have an overwhelming amount of support, comfort, care and love from friends, family and total strangers during my stay at the hospital. That experience made me realize that I need to spread awareness, knowledge and personal stories to help others that may be suffering with no answers, no support, and no real understanding as to what is taking place in their bodies. All I have done for the past two years is research about my symptoms and how to help them. Even before I was on board with healing I wanted to know what was happening in my body. I like to think I’m very knowledgeable on autoimmune / infectious disease related issues but I know there’s a lot I don’t know. These are very under researched illnesses and topics. I am always open to learning more and hearing new perspectives. I want to help those who are hurting. I don’t want anyone to suffer in the way I do or the ways that I have. I have built a very stable foundation with myself over time but it took a lot of hard work. I would love nothing more to share my personal stories, what supplements, herbs and spices have helped me, what techniques and guidelines to use for healing and more.