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After all the Clerics had left the room, I stood and quietly followed where they had gone. They had passed through a door on the side, to the right of the entranceway. I wanted to see where they were, maybe to talk to them. I paused at the door, wondering if I would get into trouble being someplace I wasn’t supposed to be. The Cleric guys didn’t even notice me as they passed, so I figured maybe they didn’t care me being there.
So I slowly opened the door and went through. I was in a dimly lit hallway. I walked a few steps under an arch. Beyond the arch there was another door that was open. I could see it opened into a small room.
When I got through that door, one of the Clerics in black robes was standing there facing me. “I see you attended one of our services, brother,” he said kindly. “Perhaps you wish to learn more about our Order?”
“I guess so,” I said a little nervously. I didn’t want to seem too eager. I still felt like an outsider, a stranger to all this and was fearful of being discovered. I liked what the guy behind the high desk in the big room had said, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to get too friendly. Like I say, I wanted to be careful not to give myself away. I didn’t want this guy to get suspicious, but still I wanted to find out all I could about these Dome people and what was going on. So I said, easy-like, “I’d like to find out about it, if you don’t mind.”
The guy in the robe said, “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you the leader of our Order. He can explain much to you and help you decide how much you wish to know.”
So I followed him through another door in that room. What struck me about this Cleric place was, the walls and ceilings and doors and all were made of wood, all carved in different designs, not metal like everything else in the Dome. I wondered where they got all that nice wood from.
So we went through another short hallway that opened into a pretty big room. That room was all wood, too, and filled with books on shelves all around. I’d never seen so many books. There weren’t hardly any books in the village. I looked around and wondered what all these ones were about and who wrote them.
Standing behind a table on the far side was the guy who gave the speech in front of all the Clerics and me.. He was looking down at the table at some papers when we came in, then he looked up at us. He had those piercing eyes again, like he was looking into me. That made me kinda nervous, but I tried not to show it.
The guy who led me into the room kind of bowed, turned and walked past me back through the doorway behind.
The guy standing behind the table there looked deeply into my eyes again. Our eyes kinda locked together. “You are an outsider,” he said in a nice voice, not suspicious like I thought it might be. Even so, when he said that it sent chills up and down my spine. I guess he saw my uneasy face, so he said, “Do not fear, we are all outsiders. We all live here where were we do not belong, all of us.” His eyes looked upward to the carved ceiling. “Our true home is there, beyond,” he said softly with a far away look in his eyes. I gazed up, too, but all I saw was the wood ceiling.
“Where, Master?” I asked.
“Far, far away, my child. Distant as the stars, yet close as your heart. One day we will return to our rightful homes and we will at last know peace and know ourselves.”
The guy then looked back down to the cluttered table where a lot of tattered books and papers were scattered around. He moved his hand over the table. “These are ancient manuscripts and they tell of many things.” He looked at me again. “But they do not tell of our beginnings, of our heritage. This lies among those above, and therefore cannot be written in books. Only the ones who brought us here have this knowledge, and until their return we are left with only our yearnings and our pain.”
I didn’t know what to say to this, so I just stood there. I moved my eyes away from his eyes to the books on the shelves. “All these books and they don’t tell you anything?” I said. Then I gathered a little courage and asked, “What I’d like to know is, what’s all this place about? The Dome, I mean. See…” Then I stopped. That was the wrong thing to say, I thought suddenly. If I didn’t watch out I’d give myself away, if I hadn’t already. Then I thought, it’s likely he knows who I am by calling me an outsider and all, but I had so many questions. I didn’t know how to ask them and keep myself secret at the same time.
The guy looked kindly at me and said, “Do not worry, my friend. I have no interest as to your place in this world. We are all brothers here. Even the Paratakes and the Drones. They only do not realize this as yet, but one day we all will be together as one, and our differences will no longer matter. So you see, you can be sincere in your search for the truth with me. You can be honest about yourself and your questionings. We, all of us, are searching for truth, and we welcome all who are of like mind.”
Whatever nice words he said I still wasn’t sure I could trust this guy, even though he seemed legit and probably meant what he said. Lots of guys in the village say crazy stuff and believe what they say. Then I thought about what he said back in the big room and it did touch something in me, but still I didn’t want to trust him too much. There was something about him, though, that made me have some confidence in him. Maybe he did know something, maybe this guy was Zara, and he had all the answers and I was safe with him.
Then suddenly I felt again my tears in that other room, and all I remembered, and all that this guy brought back to my mind with his speech. If this guy could make me feel like that, like I hadn’t felt for so many years gone by, how I had covered all that up to be hard and strong to survive in the village, and then suddenly it all coming out of me from this guy’s words…
“Come here, and let us sit and talk,” he said just then interrupting my thoughts, and I was glad for that. So I walked over and we sat on little chairs looking at each other. I felt all of a sudden weak and my throat was dry and I felt I could easy loose myself if I wasn’t careful. That guy had that kind of power somehow.
The guy just looked at me with a kind little smile on his face, like he knew what I was feeling, the way you look at a little child. “You’ve nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “We’re just sitting here quietly having a little conversation, nothing to worry about, no harm will come of it. We’re just having a little friendly chat, you and I. You see, we have a lot in common, more than you may realize just now. We are both outsiders as I say, you and me. We understand each other.”
I wanted to believe him just then, but I also knew a con when I heard it. I was really hoping down deep this guy was real and I could trust him, but trust can get you in a lot of trouble.
“We’re looking for the same things,” he continued, “for honesty and the truth. I can tell you the truth, and you can tell me the truth. You must trust me in this. My name is Zara.”
This didn’t surprise me much; I figured this guy was Zara, anyway. Then this Zara guy leaned closer to me in his chair. “I’ll tell you my truth now,” he said, quiet like. “I know all about you, I know who you are.”
This shook me up some, I admit. I think I blushed, even. This was uncomfortable. My biggest fear was that I’d be found out and arrested or whatever they do to strangers. I remembered stories in the village about guys who got into the Dome and were never heard from again. Now I was thinking maybe these stories were true, and I was going to be another one of them.
Zara leaned back in his little chair. “The truth is, you are an orphan in this big wide world with no home and no family, just you all by yourself, and you feel lonely and afraid, and you’re searching for what you fear most, for the truth is always fearful when first discovered.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” he continued on. “We are all orphans. We are all cast into this world unknowing, alone and afraid. We all fear that we are lost and will never find our homes, where we truly belong. But I have discovered another secret, my friend. There is a home for us, we need not be orphans. Our family is just there, over the horizon if we only realize this.” Zara’s eyes brightened when he said these words. He raised his arm and pointed outward, his eyes gazing into some far off distance. Zara seemed to be hypnotized by this thought of his. Then he slowly dropped his arm and fell silent.
These were comforting words, alright, but where was this home of ours supposed to be, and how would we get there? I sat quiet for a minuet watching Zara, then I said, “So, were is all this place you talk about?”
Zara looked at me and in a soft voice he said, “We must have faith, my friend. You see, this Dome, as we call it, was created for us by the ones from beyond, those who live far away, in the stars.”
This was new to me and sort of unbelievable. How could anybody live way up in the stars? I thought about it, but I couldn’t make it out. I mean, the stars were just lights in the night sky somehow. But then I thought I didn’t even know what the stars were, so I guessed people could live on them if they could. It was a strange idea, alright, but I came here to learn stuff, so maybe it was true.
Then Zara started talking again. “I’ll tell you a little history. In ancient days we were many and we filled our world, but we were unhappy with our lives, for we knew not ourselves nor our origins. Not knowing, we were lost, adrift in ignorance and confusion.
“Thus, we were in conflict with ourselves and with each other. Ultimately, this conflict lead to a great catastrophe, and we all but destroyed ourselves and our world. The ones from beyond saw this, as we were originally their children also, and they came down to us in sympathy to build these Domes we now inhabit, for us the survivors of the great destruction, to live here protected until a greater world could be created for us.
“When their work is complete they will return and bring us to our new homes and live with them above, among the stars. There we will live free and know our true selves and understand our true place. We will be healed and will no longer feel as orphans.” Zara looked at me expectantly. “Is this not a beautiful destiny for us?”
I looked away for a while. It was hard to take this all in, what Zara was saying. It was a little confusing, and I needed time to work it out, so I asked a question I had thought about before. “But, what are the stars, Zara? And how can people live on them?”
Zara sighed, but it was a happy sigh and he smiled. “The stars are the homes of the Origins,” he said. “They shine so brightly because of the purity of their inhabitants, our fathers. They are beacons to us and to each other, all alive in righteousness and in virtue.” Zara’s eyes seemed at that moment to glow even more brightly, like the stars themselves.
He leaned close again. “Our sun is an example of what we have to look forward to, my friend. It is but a pale imitation of those heavenly orbs. It exists as a reminder of our future homes. It disappears to create our night so that we can gaze upon the perfection of those far away dwellings we eternally yearn for, and are promised to us. One day we will return to them, brought home at last by the eternal love of the ones beyond.”
With that, Zara smiled kindly and stood. He beckoned me to enter a door at the opposite side of the room. “Enter there, my friend,” he said, “and you will learn to become a brother Cleric, to hold in your heart that that will relieve you from your confusion, and you shall learn of the inner secrets of our Order, and here you will remain in brotherhood with us until that fateful day.”
I sat there facing Zara standing above me, thinking about this, what Zara said, and about the stars and the Dome, and Dirth and Henry, and the village. Was all this the answer to the questions that were spinning in my mind? Dirth had said there was more to the Dome than I thought, and he was right. Maybe Zara did have the answers, but maybe there was more answers for me to learn than even Zara and the Clerics knew. Dirth seemed to think so, and I didn’t want to be bogged down to one idea before I could scope out the rest of the Dome. I wanted to learn everything I could and there seemed lots more to investigate. And where was Henry? I couldn’t just leave that snarly old coot to wander around by himself, I figured he’d soon get himself in trouble, if he wasn’t already captured and spilling his guts out. But then I thought, no, Henry wouldn’t talk. I could trust him for that.
So I stood up, and said to Zara, “I’ll have to think about all this, sir. I don’t think I’m ready to join your Order right yet. There’s more I need to learn first. I hope you understand as you say you do. You’re a great man and I appreciate what you’ve told me and all, but I just don’t feel ready to become one of you.”
Zara frowned some. “I can’t force you to overcome your delusions, my friend,” he said. , Then he looked at me more closely, like he was trying to figure me out more. “I at first thought you were another anomaly in the program, as I and my brothers are, but now I see something unexpected in you.” After he said this, Zara seemed to draw back some from me, and his eyes had a different look to them than before.
He took a few steps to the other corner of the table and looked down at his papers. “I think its best you depart now and seek your own knowledge, wherever that may lead you.” He looked up at me again. “Maybe in time you will return. Perhaps the program has something new in store for us and for you.” For the first time I saw some uncertainty in his eyes. “Or perhaps you are something beyond my present knowledge.”
Zara then had a troubled expression on his face; he even seemed a little frightened. “Yes, you must leave,” he said more sternly. “I shall consult the one who keeps the records. You may be an unexpected blessing, or perhaps a potential threat. There are whispered legends of an enemy of the blessed ones who attempted in far ages past to overthrow their bliss, ones who came from beyond the stars to destroy all that they had made good and pure.”
With saying that, Zara stared at me so hard I felt a sudden chill and a need to leave as quickly as I could. I had that old feeling of danger, the feeling I knew so well from village life. So I tore my eyes from Zara’s, turned and walked out the door I had entered, through the little hall, through the little room and through the other hall to the wide doors of the Cleric building and onto the busy floor of the Dome.
There was the usual crowd of Paratekes milling around me. I mixed fast with the crowd to get lost in them. I figured disappearing would be safety for me until I could figure these new ideas out for myself. I looked nervously back through the bustling Paratakes to the big wooden doors of the Clerics, but they were now closed and no ones in black robes were to be seen. As I walked quickly away, my mind felt more confused, lost and alone than it had ever felt before.
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Conversion of Manners
Stability and Obedience are the vows we live by on a daily basis within our community. Conversion-of-manners is the vow that allows this to take place. When Christian’s talk of failure and sin, it comes from the assumption that we all have the ability to grow in interior freedom and in doing that we correspondingly grow in our ability to relate with compassion, empathy and love with those we live with.
There is a story about a visitor to a monastery and the visitor asked one of the monks what they did all day. He responded: “We fail and get up again, we fall and we get up again”. We never despair of the mercy of God.
I do apologize for this overdue update. I'm here to talk more about my little family. The pack as you know, The Scattered Ruins, has grown a bit more. Up to 11 members now and still a few more to come. Many plans for us all have been set for this summer. Our main event being the meet up at my place. We are going to be cooking out, sleeping out in the yard under all the stars, hanging at the park, and going to a wolf park about an hour form my place. The pack had had some major news, a lot I am not going to be going into, of new members and stuff outside of it all. Welcoming new members is always a hard time as some may not get along with others. As the alpha I'm constantly making sure everyone is ok and safe.
Besides the pack I have my own events planned. I have two graduations and three open houses to go to. After my sister finishes summer school we are heading to Kentucky until a few days before a Slipknot concert. We are returning for a few days over the summer to camp out and get in to see Slipknot. We are buying pit tickets for the event, with about four or five of us going to the event. Besides these major events nothing to special is happening.
Well iv given you an update on what's going on. I'll try to do more updates and statues over the summer since I won't be as busy as I normally am. Major events and updates will always been spoken about within this blog here.
So for now this is Lunar Wolf signing out. Have fun my mates and make it a great summer.
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These are the Aspie stereotypes I dislike the most, and why they don’t apply to me.
-Aspies are nothing but fleshy computers (I can think creatively, a computer cannot)
-Aspies stink at social communication and etiquette (I have decent social communication skills, but etiquette? Ya not so much…)
-Aspies are apathic and do not care for the emotions of others (I am VERY empathic)
-Aspies are “anal retentive” and only care about useless factoids (I care about more things than factoids)
-Aspies speak in a monotone devoid of even the slightest emotion (My voice is quite emotional)
-Aspies don’t swear (I admit this is true for me)
-Aspies talk with an air of superiority (I never speak to anyone like this)
-Aspies are doomed to stay single unless a girl takes pity on them (I cant really say much about this one, I’ve never had a GF)
-Aspies are only male (I have known female Aspies)
-Aspies are little more than children and need constant care and supervision (I spend a good part of my life alone, and I can take care of myself)
-Aspies are only into “Autistic things” (What, pray tell, is an “Autistic thing”?)
-Aspies have embarrassing “episodes” (I have meltdowns from time to time, but I wouldn’t call them episodes)
-Aspies are just faking it for attention (I despise it when people say I’m “just faking it”)
-Aspies are your typical nerds/geeks (Aspies can be anything, we are not nerds or geeks in the traditional sense)
-Aspies aren’t emotional (I am quite emotive.)
For those interested, sorry I haven’t posted the next Chapter of the Void story yet. I’ve been busy with other projects and stuff. Well, I say “projects” because it sounds important, but in reality I’ve just not been in the right state of mind, and have been busy improving my house and being lazy and distracted. I have some other excuses, but that’s enough for now.
The other thing is, I’ve got to come up with an idea of what happens next in the story. I like to think that the author always knows what’s going to happens next, but this is not the case with me. I often begin stories not knowing where they’re going to end up. It’s usually a surprise to me as well as to anyone else. I hope this doesn’t discourage anyone who wants to think I know what I’m doing.
I’m wishing to end this tale soon, come to some exciting or more likely stupid conclusion. Wrap up the loose ends, such as: What are these Values, anyway? How can the guys free them from the Depository? What about the guards? To what extent are the Vulgarians involved? Will Zarkor come out of his trace? Is there really the good stuff hidden away in this Void or are there some deeper intrigues going on?
My poor brain has to figure this out somehow and come up with some satisfactory conclusion to the story. I sort of put trust in the characters to work it out for themselves, in a way. I pretty much know their reactions to circumstances, so that helps some. I must say I rely on Zarkor’s Dumb Luck Brain Implant to hasten a conclusion to this mess. It’s worked before, his dumb luck I mean. It’s like a shortcut he uses to resolve sticky situations. His superior intellect and infallible intuition he constantly talks about sadly are usually not up to the task at hand.
I will turn my mind’s imagination to all this presently, I promise. Well, actually, I’m not making it all up from my imagination. See, the guys themselves are telling me about this Adventure, but lately they’ve been too busy doing their stuff, and they tell me about this Void Adventure of theirs when they have some free time to relate it to me. I mean, it’s hard to communicate to me when they’re in the middle of it themselves. I like to think this is true. If you live with fictional characters long enough they do sort of become real to you.
But I actually know they don’t really exist. I think.
As I’ve said before someplace, Zarkor is never happy with my written report of their goings on. He says I don’t give him enough credit for solving all these problems they run into. Actually, he says I don’t feature him enough. In other words, I don’t write enough sentences, quotes and paragraphs about him. He says Zerak and Cloney are only incidental to the story, and, really, why include them at all?
This attitude is a somewhat harsh evaluation of Zerak and Cloney’s contributions to the resolutions of the situations they get themselves into. But that’s Zarkor.
I think this is another reason why the next Chapter is taking so long to be put here. The guys are arguing among themselves as to what actually happened, their personal contributions, each having their own perspectives on events. I try to be fair to all of them and have the task of collating and sorting out the various details to try to come to an honest portrayal of the truth.
What I finally write down, Zerak and Cloney are generally happy with, but of course Zarkor often sulks when he reads my finished copy. I do think he realizes the accuracy of my reports, but still he complains I leave out a lot of his dialogue and action, his importance to the narrative.
I’ll hunker down…or rather the guys will eventually tell me what happens in the next Chapter, soon. So I guess, watch this space. Oh, and thanks for reading this, whoever you may be, anonymous as you are. I do really appreciate anyone’s interest. J
One more thing. I often wonder what readers think of all these Z&Z stories. I guess I’ll never know.
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(( this little story or whatever you wanna call it is gonna have a lot of swearing in it so if you don't like people who swear or can't stand it as it is, you can stop reading now even though the words are bleeped out.)) ((there may be more than one part))
Almost three years ago, I met you, and you met me. It felt like a sigh of relief, the world being thrown off my shoulders. You felt like a pain pill that took it all away. Everyday we would meet outside on the sidewalk and then go into the back field. You were such an amazing friend, though there were times where your mom was a b****, yet I ignored her, you were one of the only things that mattered to me.
I remember your 14th birthday party, I still remember all your friends that I may never see again.
I still remember how your friend showed me "Don't Hug Me I'm Scared: Time". She was the main person who got me into the fandom and kept watching theories and videos about the series. I remember how we made videos and made parody videos that were ******* hilarious and made me laugh so hard that I almost peed my pants.
Then things started to change, your mom started to act more of a b****, and you started texting me less. What happened, where did you go, why were you ignoring me? I still don't know to this day. You invited me to a New Year's Eve party and I agreed to go, you never texted me after that. I texted you that I was ready to come over, you said you didn't see me as a friend because I ignored you? Really? You're the one who didn't text me that past week.
After the New Year party, you came up to me like a little child and started crying and asking ((forcing)) me for forgiveness, so I gave in. Oh boy, was I an idiot.
Part 2 coming tomorrow or Monday
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In the last five months, three of my coworkers have been robbed at gunpoint while walking to work in the early morning hours. Another coworker avoided being mugged by retrieving his concealed weapon when he saw two men wearing ski masks approaching him. They saw the gun in his hand and made a hasty retreat. Those were frightening moments for my coworkers; maybe 'traumatizing' is a better word. I had some similar experiences in my younger days, though I wouldn't say I felt traumatized; I was startled and stressed out, but because of the way the situations played out I felt that I had some emotional and physical control over the outcomes.
Both situations occurred while I was working for a warehousing company in Utah. I worked with a good crew and we had some good times. Thursdays were our easy night on the night shift: we worked five or six hours to finish up the week’s orders, then all of us single guys headed over to the Silver Cloud on 9th and State to shoot pool and listen to the band. I eventually transferred to the Produce division to drive trucks on the day shift. Late one Thursday night I was in bed when I heard a loud knock on the door of my tiny ground-floor apartment. I thought, “Uh oh, it’s the night crew wanting me to hang with them.” I ignored the knocking, and then a loud “Boom!” catapulted me out of bed. Why was the night crew breaking down my front door?
I have a certain voice that I call my ‘scary voice’. I’ve only used it four or five times in my life because it has a startling effect on people, probably because I look like Mr. Rogers but my 'scary voice' sounds like Godzilla. Anyway, I stuck my head into the living room and said “What’s going on out here?” (paraphrased to meet family-friendly standards).
Three young men I didn’t recognize were frozen in place, arms stretched out toward my television, stunned looks on their faces, backlit by the streetlamp in the parking lot. We stared at each other for a second, then all three bolted for the door. Their getaway driver burned rubber out of the parking lot, not even waiting for his buddies. The roar of the engine probably awakened the entire neighborhood.
I called the police, gave my report, and went back to bed, feeling a bit vulnerable because the door jamb was completely busted and I couldn’t lock the door. (The landlord fixed the door the next day.)
It was the roar of the engine that disturbed my sleep for the next six months. Every time a car with a loud muffler drove by during the night I instantly snapped awake, fully alert, listening for sounds of danger. Eventually I had to move away from that neighborhood just so I could get a good night’s sleep.
I moved all the way up to the East Bench where the rich people lived. In years past, my apartment had been the servant’s quarters in a beautiful home owned by a woman who, in her younger days, had been an internationally-acclaimed concert pianist. I had my own outdoor patio with a panoramic view of the Salt Lake Valley. It was quite a change in my environment.
Ah, but sometimes trouble follows.
One Sunday afternoon I got a phone call from Anzio, a fellow truck driver, asking if I wanted to go downtown and shoot some pool. Anzio was kind of a thug. He was a martial artist, and had taken 2nd place in judo competition in his home state of Washington. He had long hair, a small scar on his face, and that smug look that over-confident young men have when they think they’re invincible.
We played pool for a couple of hours, had a good time, everything was cool, but when we walked outside to the street Anzio saw someone he knew and the trouble began. Anzio walked up to the guy and said, “Where’s my money, bro?” and shoved him.
So there we were in downtown Salt Lake City on a Sunday afternoon with traffic whizzing by, and Anzio and the Bro are doing the monkey dance. I wanted nothing to do with it. I leaned against the building and pretended to be just another innocent bystander.
They had shoved their way half a block down the street when suddenly I heard Anzio yelling, “Help me! Help me!” I ran toward them and saw the Bro bent over in a fighting stance and holding a razor knife. Anzio was holding his right hand over his left bicep and blood was running down his arm onto the pavement.
When interrupting a violent attack, one must be prepared to go 'all in', and continue until the threat is eliminated. I yelled at the Bro, “Drop the knife!”. He remained in his stance, holding the knife firmly in his hand. I guess my instincts took over then, because I landed a solid kick to his solar plexus and he dropped like a rock. I’m not proud of my next move, but he still held on to the knife: I kicked him in the face, and then held him to the ground as I pulled his right arm back and up behind him. I told him that if he didn’t drop the knife I would dislocate his shoulder.
Right then a police car drove up to the curb. The officer got out and smacked his baton on the sidewalk a couple of times. Anzio and I retreated, I warned the officer about the knife, and then I started assessing Anzio’s injuries: he’d been cut seven times. His left bicep had been sliced nearly in half from his shoulder to his elbow. I took off my shirt and made a tourniquet to apply pressure and stop the flow of blood.
After a few hours in the Emergency room, Anzio and I drove back to his apartment and I gave him a good talking-to. “Man, you gotta quit acting like that! What if he’d hit an artery? You’d be dead right now!” I don’t know if he took my advice, because shortly afterwards he moved back to Washington. The Bro’s assault charges were dropped when Anzio didn’t return for the trial.
To add another perspective to those stories:
I had a health club membership at the Spa Fitness Center in Salt Lake City. Bodybuilding and steroids were in their heyday in the 70‘s, and sometimes I felt like I was walking through a minefield of ’roid rage' while working out. One club location attracted a lot of ex-cons. Greg Johnson, for example, (not his real name) had spent most of his life in and out of prison. He was the most frightening man I’d ever seen. When he was in the gym, there was a pall of fear in the room; when he was incarcerated, he ran the prison. One of his trademark fear tactics was walking up to a random inmate and knocking him out, just to remind everyone that he was the top dog. Believe me when I tell you that the man exuded evil.
I didn’t see Greg for a number of years, and then one day I saw him sitting outside the basketball arena downtown. He appeared to be waiting for someone. It was one of those unguarded moments when you get a glimpse of the real person behind the mask: Greg looked like a broken man. His youthful exuberance had faded, and he just seemed to be sad and lonely. Even the most violent of criminals may become contemplative in their old age. The people we were in our youth may be very different than the people we become as our conscience wakes up.
The Bible has a lot to say about violence and our reaction to it. I think there’s a difference between the “turn the other cheek” type of offenses, and the grievous offenses that cause injury and trauma: we want justice, reparations, and a show of remorse by the offender. Often we're left with only a helpless rage that threatens to consume us. When that happens, the only thing we have in our control, the only thing that has the power to break through the rage, is forgiveness. The answer is the same for any offense, be it a verbal insult or a serious assault with injuries: Turn it over to God, forgive, and continue to choose forgiveness with every remembrance of the violent act. Whether it takes just a few minutes to forgive, or the offense is so grievous that it requires years for forgiveness to finally take root in our hearts, always choose forgiveness. When all is said and done, forgiveness pays better dividends than bitterness does.
“Every warrior is happy when his enemies flee before him, but much more blessed is the man to whom his fiercest enemies can come with confidence, knowing beforehand they will be received with love.”
Richard Wurmbrand in “Reaching toward the Heights.”
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I would say that many young people leave the church and move on
You can only indoctrinate the children you can indoctrinate. For some reason, there are those of us who are simply immune.
You are not immune, you are man of your time that is all. Many people do not take to the faith of their parents. One reason is that unlike other areas of life that people spend time learning about, faith is often seen as unimportant. So there is no depth of understanding, no matter what the faith is. Even in atheist homes the children grow up and reject what their parents tried to instill in them. However over time, many do return to the faith of their youth because they become more mature. Like I said, so called free thinkers think alike, read the same books, an they say they are forging their own path, that is a modern myth. The so called path is well traveled with its own brand of expression just like everyone else. Simplistic stereotypes only work within any one group who agree with each other.
Source: This blade of grass is God...
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Firstly, I'd like to say that you can skip the first several paragraphs below if you want to. They're not too interesting. I didn't get very enthusiastic about writing this entry until about then. Then I started to have some pretty good ideas. I even put a star (*) next to the part where it gets interesting. Interesting to me, anyway.
Also, I hope all this that follows isn't too long. Once I start writing I usually don't know when to stop. If you scroll down and think this entry is too much to read, just skip it and go somewhere else, I’ll understand. I don't like reading long stuff myself, I just like writing long stuff. In any case, this here is what I've written this time:
I was thinking about creating a new set of fictional characters. When I erroneously mentioned in some previous blog entry…
(well, see, that blog entry I’m mentioning hasn’t appeared in this blog yet, so all this is sort of mentioning something that hasn’t happened. Well, it’s happened, but no one knows about it. It’s sort of a future blog entry that relates to a past blog entry (this one) that relates to this future blog entry I haven’t posted yet. In other words, I told you, you could skip these first paragraphs.)
…that my previous fictional characters were to be retired I thought someone would protest about me deleting these other fictional characters, but as no one has complained. I guess they weren't as popular as I hoped they would be. I had devoted a lot of time and energy bringing them into their virtual existence, however. Although they're gone, (they’re not really gone because I changed my mind in this blog entry. ) somehow they still revolve around in my head, as if they were real, living friends of mine. They are still living, of course, in a virtual way. They're still doing what ever they are doing, living their virtual lives somewhere. I just don't know what they're doing anymore because I’m not writing about them anymore (actually, I am writing about them now, it’s just that in that future entry I decided to retire them...which I now have decided to keep them alive.)
* Now I'm thinking my new fictional characters that I mentioned above somewhere could be named Marcel and Tarquin. That might be interesting. They're decorating their new apartment and they say and do funny things. Like campy stuff. It could be funny, funny in a stereotypical way, though I don’t generally like stereotypes and I don’t want to offend anyone. Anyway, maybe they're both set designers for a big Hollywood movie studio. They get to meet all the glamorous movie stars and gossip about them. You know, about their real lives and how shabby and sleazy and scandalous the movie star's real lives really are.
These two guys, Marcel and Tarquin, could also be shabby and sleazy themselves. Maybe not shabby, more like disreputable and sordid. Kind of like all the rest of us, but more so. That's how they worked their way up to be Hollywood set designers. But, there is good in them, too. They're basically good people, they're just caught up in the sleazy Hollywood life-style.
Now, I know what the Hollywood life-style is like because I've seen it. It's pretty sordid and seedy. That's the real definition of glamorous. Sordid and amoral and decadent. And seedy and corrupt and self-indulgent. Come to think of it, that might not be too interesting, as it's not much different than everyone else's lives, even those who aren't Hollywood set designers.
You may think I'm being too critical here of the general population of human beings. Maybe I am, but not too much. We always think we're better than we really are, but then again, usually we're a lot of times better than what we think we are. So, maybe we're not so bad after all. Lots of us try to do the right thing, it's just sometimes our heart's not really in it. Also, sometimes we try to do the right thing because somebody else is watching.
When somebody else is watching it's like they're taking notes. Naturally, it's important to always be good when someone is writing it all down. If nobody's around we can relax and do what we really want to do. That's when we can actually have fun, when nobody's looking and taking notes. Or, usually when maybe one other person is there who you can trust not to take notes. Those are the best kinds of people. People with short memories, or people who don't pay much attention to what's going on, or people who like to have the same kind of fun as you do. Especially that last kind of person. Those are, of course, the best kind of persons to know.
Anyway, maybe I'll work on this Marcel and Tarquin thing. Then again, maybe I won't. I don't really know much about those kinds of people. I'm not against them, I just don't circulate in their social world becaueI don't live in Hollywood any more. It's too expensive, for one thing. You spend more on tips than on anything else. People who lived on tips made more money than I did. So eventually I moved out of Hollywood to somewhere else.
Where I live now I don't have to tip so much. I still have to tip, but not so much. Also, I don't have to drive so fancy a car. Just these two things in themselves save me a lot of money. And I don’t have to live in some big fancy house and wear expensive clothes. I'm all for saving money, but not for saving too much. I think it's good to spend most of your money because you might be dead tomorrow or something. After all, what good is having money in the bank when you're dead? That's stupid.
When I die I want just enough money left over for a nice funeral. That way all my obnoxious relatives who are planning on getting rich from my demise will be suitably disappointed. Even when I'm dead I think I'll enjoy disappointing my obnoxious relatives in this way, at least I hope I will somehow. That would almost make my death worthwhile.
The only kind of person I would feel sorry for are those who won't profit from my passing away, because I spent all my money while alive, are those people I talked about somewhere above. You know, the kind who liked to have the same kind of unobserved fun that I did, the kind who didn’t take notes.
I can't leave them anything in my will because I can't betray them by revealing their names. They must remain anonymous. Revealing their names in my will would be like I was taking notes on them when I wasn't supposed to.
So, unfortunately, the people I liked best and would have liked to leave some money to must forever remain unidentified and left out of my will. Sort of a Catch-22 thing.
I’m not sure if anyone can work out all this that I’ve written here, and it’s most likely not worth the effort, anyway. In reality, this blog entry is just my typical convoluted rubbish, though I do like the potential Marcel and Tarquin characters. Maybe I’ll make them become alive in some future and write down their lives. I’ll have to do some research, but probably not personal research. I could do some personal research, but I don’t know where to find these people in real life. In Hollywood they’re everywhere, but not so much where I live now.
In conclusion, if the reader thinks all this, as I say, has been difficult to follow, it’s been only slightly less difficult for me to work out myself. So, if anyone has read this up to now, thanks. I’ll try to do better next time.
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I do not remember having this episode but my partner told me when the alarm went off.
She said I had awoken and my eyes were wide open, my body was vibrating and looking at the fan. She said i was making weird gasping noises. She said I turned the light on by my bedside and pointed at the fan. When she asked me what is wrong. I replied "the fan is falling on us".
When she told me i am dreaming i looked at her annoyed and rolled over and went back to sleep but left the bedside lamp on.
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As mentioned in past articles, growing up in northern Ontario, I heard many native legends and lore. These stories are part of an oral tradition pasted down the generation to teach the way of life, explain how nature works and history of a people. Some of these legends, also server as a warning to the dangers lurking in the forest or swimming in the water. One such myth I came across was the story about the giant sturgeon of Lake Superior.
The sturgeon is an ancient, species of fish dwelling in the various fresh waters throughout North America These creatures can live up to several decades, be several hundred pounds and grow over 10 feet in length. First, time encountering a sturgeon would appear monstrous, sparking the imagination of gigantic versions within the water. In a time when people went out on Lake Superior and never returned, one could envision them being eaten by a mammoth sturgeon which may have given birth to the legend. The native folklore mentions Lake Superior to be inhabited by several of these colossal creatures.
They constantly patrol the shoreline searching for food including anything that enters the water. Hence, the myth warning others not to venture very far on the lake. The legend describes the sturgeon as enormous, capable of swallowing men in canoes whole. Other adaptations speak of the fish to be more massive able to consume an entire village. Each express the same warning of the threat within the depths of Lake Superior
Since the earliest settlement of European within the area, there has not been a reported sighting of any giant sturgeon. In the 300 years of shipping, other strange occurrences have been said to happen out on the lake. Stories detailed accounts about observing an abnormal outline of some unknown creature following alongside of vessels. Sailors describe hearing the thundering of splashing water by their boats, claiming the sound could only be made by a whale. A few accounts where people witness the suddenly emerging of large eyes through the surface of the water then vanishing as they sank back in. Even though Lake Superior maybe devoid of a giant sturgeons, it is not short of other legends and mysteries.
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I'm sick and tired of being held responsible for the actions of others simply because I drive a car and don't drive a motorcycle nor rely on a bicycle for transportation (though the bike thing is a different kind of rant).
Drivers of cars are always told to watch out for motorcycles and I do and I respect them, but there's a few jackasses out there who make me wonder why I should bother. Case in point: I was merging onto the I-10 Saturday afternoon on my way to work when I see a motorcyclist in the far left lane doing a ******* WHEELIE at 60+ mph. I wish I had called 9-1-1 to report his ass because people like him make me wonder why I should bother giving a damn about a motorcyclist. All in all I think those who ride Harleys are wayyyyyy more responsible and they have my utmost respect.
Bicyclists on the other hand, I want to complain about as a pedestrian. When you're on a bike and riding around the city, you are supposed to obey the rules of the road as if you are in a vehicle. Yet (again on Saturday) as I was walking to work the other day, a whole stream of cyclists came riding around a street corner that is a 'no turn on red' traffic signaled stop. As far as I'm concerned, every last one of them broke the law preventing me from crossing with the crossing signal. They get all b****y when cars are parked in the bike lane along side the theatre. They want their lanes, but don't want to follow the rules of the road.
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So a few posts on the forums sparked the interest in me to post something like this here. I'll give everyone the benefit of the doubt in that you are an educated, intelligent individual who tries to see things for what they are. In this day and age we live in which is full of war, environmental issues, political distress, and things like zika popping up every now and then. Either you can put full faith in the government to take care of it all for you, or you can do what you can to help ensure you and your family aren't left out to dry. This is not going to be some wackos guide to how to live off the grid in an underground bunker somewhere in the mountains. I intend for this to be a realistic set of ideas that others can take a few tidbits of info and make it work for their own personal needs to help make survival a sure thing. Now I like most of you have my doubts about the country and its leadership, but I also have faith that no one wants to see a collapse of any kind here in the U.S. But there are times when bad things happen and all you can do is ride it out, hopefully its something small like a power outage that doesn't last more than a day. Tragic events can and do lead to a united effort to help each other,... for a while. But if things don't get better quick, things can escalate to bad even quicker.
About me: 33 years old male, married, 2 kids, 1 dog, I live in San Diego CA, Marine Corps vet of 12 years, college student, teen counselor, fire arms instructor.
I will provide here a list of future topics to discuss in greater detail.
Here a few tips.
1.) The first thing you need to do is find a reason to stay strong in desperate times. Whether is due to a bad natural disaster, crime, or anything else that causes some sort of civil unrest in your immediate area. For me, that's my family. For you it could be your faith, friends, or just a huge personal desire not to die, or even be the slightest bit uncomfortable. What ever you have that keeps you going, find out what it is, and hold onto it.
2.) Build relationships with those around you, neighbors, co-workers, expand your personal network. While you may be a jack of all trades, I guarantee others can do things better and more efficiently than you.
3.) Make an assessment of realistic and possible scenarios. In southern California, earthquakes happen daily, sometimes so small you can't feel them, other times, they're a little stronger, even scary. Drought is an issue, and we are in a preparation mode for El Nino. There are a lot of military installations here, which is good but it also makes the area a target for terrorism. Oh and wildfires, that's another things to add to the list. So even when you live in a place that's mostly sunshine, sandy beaches, and bikinis. There are things that should be remembered in the back of your mind.
4.) Educate yourself. Learn to garden, sew, start a fire, read a map, change a tire, cook without a microwave. Basic skills can go a long way. Read, watch youtube, you'd be surprise what you can learn and become efficient at when you put forth the effort.
5.) Make a plan. Know which main Interstates lead to where, as well as all less traveled highways and side roads. Know when to keep put and when to head for higher ground. Most importantly, know what to pack as well as what not to pack. Know who you can depend on, and who will just be a liability.
6.) Make a list for each individual/animal you plan to care for. Food, water, shelter, medications, etc.
7.) Stock up. Everyone should have at a bare minimum, the means to live for 3 weeks inside of their home. Think of it like this, one weeks food inside of your fridge, and two weeks food in your freezer and cupboards. Doesn't sound so hard right? Water, water is a little harder to keep stocked. The goal here is 1 gallon per person per day, that can add up to a whole lot real quick. Keep in mind that gallon is meant for drinking as well as hygiene and cooking too, so you can lower the total amount as needed, when and if possible.
8.) Get in shape. You'll last longer.
9.) Designate roles. Here is where a network of people can help immensely. Food prep, medic, scavenger, security, mechanic, gardener, handy man, techie, etc.
10.) Security. Basics, strong locks on doors/windows. Get a dog, gun, baseball bat, or don't. Desperate times lead to desperate people trying to take what you have.
11.) Medical supplies. I feel that this set of supplies can be a whole beast in itself depending on your needs. For some it'll only be a basic first aid kit that's needed.
Constructive criticism is welcomed.
Added edit info is bold and underlined,
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Do you remember my tree? It was strong and steady. It was something I always could count on. It was not so much a secret as it was smack dab in the front yard of my home. However, it was mine and no one could understand or feel it's beauty as much as could. I had other issues that I discussed with this tree. It was a place I was able to let go of my worries, I felt great every time I put my thoughts at the foot of this tree.
When I was in the fifth grade, I had a teacher that loved my brother, whom he taught a couple years earlier. He was happy to have me because he stated that my brother was smart and I probably was too. I knew I was slipping big time. My heart was just consumed with things. I felt disconnected. I knew we were barely hanging on and our home life was day by day. We also lived in a run down area and had what is known as a welfare hotel next door to us. I had ALOT of fears and insecurities. I was scared of everything. There was always some sort of direct or indirect crime that targeted the area. You really could not walk down the street without watching your back. However, with that there was something protecting our street and there was that sense of community to look out for each others children. We made the rounds in our street. There were the elderly, whom we made sure we visited promptly after school. They loved all of us, and they rewarded us kindly with candy to keep us coming back. We did, but it was not for the candy. One of the homes, were owned by Mr. and Mrs. Ryan. He would hand out Blow-pops to us. They had gum inside and were awesome. When he died, we all went to his funeral. The neighborhood kids placed Blow-pops in his jacket pocket. Mrs. Ryan hugged us and sobbed. They really did mean the world to us. We made sure to still keep visiting her.
There was a sense of evil around us. Remembering what I felt, there seemed to be a battle between good and evil. We found comfort in each other as neighbors; a street that consisted of over twenty homes. We knew each and everyone that lived on our street. We knew when we something was not right and we were taught to keep alert. We were almost kidnapped, we were stalked, and we did at some point get the crap kicked out of us for having something that someone else wanted. Our house was vandalized on Halloween. I laugh at it now, I just remember not understanding why someone would be so cruel as to smash my pumpkins that I carved. I hated Halloween ever since. We knew what drugs were, we knew what stolen goods were as well. The game was to see how much we stolen items we could find around the block. Our houses were broken into, arson, and we could not play at the park across the way at the lake. It instantly became polluted with leftover drug needles and paraphernalia. I went to sleep every night to the sound of gang fights and watching the view from my bedroom window of the VFW having bonfires. It really became a place for motorcycle gangs to hang out and party. The FBI used my room to stakeout and investigate a murder. It just so happened that we were at my fathers when this occurred. Scary thing is, my brother and I went exploring back there one day, I thought I saw a body against our fence. Wild imagination....who knows!
I loved being outside. We did not have television, or video games. We were sent outside until that street light came on. I enjoyed being outside and feeling free. I hated school. I felt lost and confused, my head hurt when I was there. I just wanted nothing more than to be with my mother. The more I was at school, the more I became lost. I loved art class, and my fifth grade teacher would play the piano for us throughout our day. Those things I loved. I felt alone at times and not really understood, in as much as not feeling worthy. My teacher seemed like he was good. He noticed my daydreaming. He noticed I was not interested. He tried in his own way. He nicknamed me "airplane". He laughed at me to get the other kids to laugh at me and pull me out of myself. I would just sit and smile. I hated every second of it.
He was nothing like the teacher in my third grade, who loved me and understood me. She was my favorite teacher whom said I was different and made me feel special. She would separately pull me up to her desk during assignments and help me one-one. She listened and cared. One day she did not come back. She was sick. We had another teacher, whom I could not connect too because I would not allow myself to get close to anyone. I was hurt and felt abandoned. I would send notes and tell the substitute to pass messages to her. I for some reason cannot remember my teachers name. My brain works that way, I remember every detail of her manners and face. Not so much her name.. She was my favorite teacher though and she allowed me to finally look forward to school. She saw potential and saw me differently. She always hugged me and gave me kisses on my head. She took so much hurt away. However, she got sick a lot. We were told that one day she would be there when in fact she go too sick to come back. I look forward to hearing updates on her. I was so excited to hear her come back to school after Christmas holidays. I could not wait. She never came back. I remember the last thing she wore. was devastated. The updates stopped coming. I asked one day and we were only told she was very sick. We were told that she loved us so much. I remember thinking all kinds of things. The substitute pulled me up to her desk after class one day. Told me that my teacher had spoke a lot about me. The substitute (instantly blocked her name) told me that my teacher loved me and that if I needed anything to ask her. I was so hurt, and pushed her away. I was just a kid feeling and did not understand. It was a hard year and I just stopped trying. The substitute won us over in time. I told her at one point that I thought she was a great teacher, although deep down I knew she could not compare to my favorite teacher. What I did see, is her understanding our feelings and helping us all through this. and towards the end of the year, I opened up to her. She did hug me and told me how she appreciated me sharing with her. I knew my teacher would not be returning. I am not sure I knew that she died of cancer in the middle of the school year. I was not told the details until years later. Funny, I felt her prayers when she was sick. I felt her presence over our classroom. She was a great teacher and loved children. My fifth grade teacher was nothing like her. He antagonized me and made me feel like I was stupid .I will never forget the name of my fifth grade teacher, because I despised him.
I would hide everyday under my tree and just let my heart flow again. I knew there was something in me that needed help. I pleaded to my tree to help the adults of this world understand what is going on the minds of children like me, especially those children who just can't. There was a child I had known through the years in elementary school. He was severely hyper and would just eat everything even if it was not food. No one knew what was wrong with him. I used to sit and just watch him. I would also talk to him time to time, and sometimes I could not because he was like a rubber bouncing ball that got loose from your grip. It was hard to contain him once he was in this mode. The thing was, he was typical at times. I knew about handicaps and mentally retarded individuals, I went to visit my new aunt in her facility. She had TB and became mentally handicapped from loss of oxygen as a child. I like going to her group home. Sometimes it was hard to bare though. I went to my tree and begged my tree to allow people one day to see how children learn differently, think differently, to see what was on the inside. I begged my tree to one day change this and allow us to see it. I was told to be patient. I wanted to see it in my lifetime. That I did want.
The pain this teacher put me through was heartbreaking. It made me cry and not want to go to school. My teacher went from what seemed like trying to pull me out, to downright cruelty. He would make the other kids point and laugh, and make them isolate me. He was ignorant as a teacher. It never occurred to him, that I have been tested for a learning disability. I had a lot of headaches, and well to be honest, was not eating properly. I had allergies then, that I know now were the cause of my spaciness. I was also consumed with hurt and emotional distress when my dad would not show up, or act like an animal towards my mother or someone else. I felt very lost and alone in school. Not one time did my teacher care how I was.
We had open house one night at school and I was excited because my father was going to come. He told me straight to my face, that I was liar because I did not have a father. He announced it that way to the class and told the class that I was acting like an airplane again because I told everyone my father was coming. He was antagonizing and asked how that could be, I don't have a father and my mother is not married. The whole class laughed at me again. I would just take it every time. I took it again, I knew what I had, he could not touch. What he did was tell me all my brain was good for was flying around in the air full of clouds. That is all he saw in me. I saw right through him after that. I would take it and smile and nod because I knew more than he did. He wanted to dress nice and act like a hot shot, so be it. He had beady eyes and looking back reminded me of an Italian Hitler. I smiled and nodded.
What he did not know was my mother remarried during the summer to my stepfather. I asked my stepfather to go to open house, and he said he could not. He would if he could, however he had military duties that required him to be gone Thursday to Sunday. I was hurt, but I knew he would if he could. I trusted my stepfather completely. I begged him though and he just said he could not. I understood this. I so wanted my teacher's approval. To see that I mattered too. I could not understand why my teacher hated me. My stepfather assured me that was not the case. However, I knew my brother was smart and I hated being compared to him. I hated it because my brother was mean to me too. He loved this teacher and I hated this teacher. I was told that I was the problem. I just went to class and sucked it up....besides it was only for a few months until I was away from him. I always went to my tree, I knew it understood without words.
Open house in Elementary school was my favorite time of the year. We had our science fair and art exhibits all at the same time. I loved it and looked forward to it. I was however, not looking forward to what my teacher would tell my mom about me. I just knew I was not keeping up and could not compare to the others. I really felt inferior and intimidated. I had no confidence left either. I felt shame and hurt. I went to my desk and watched all the parents, moms and dads, be present for this. I felt alone and happy for them. I knew I had my stepfather, I did not need to prove myself to this joker. I'll just make the best of the remainder of the year. My mom left me in the classroom and she told me she would be right back. She tried to understand this teacher at times and thought I was just a deep child who was imaginative. It hurt that she could not hear my pain, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Plus, she was the happiest I had ever seen her in such a long time. Maybe she was right...... Who would believe me anyway?
My mother came back in with my stepfather. I was puzzled and ran to hug him. He had surprised me. He had managed to take time to come and see my brother and I. He was still in his uniform, big black boots and all. I was so touched and excited. I shot such a look at my teacher and told him, "see I do have a father". My stepfather stopped long enough to see how I was doing in school and talk with the teacher. I was not made fun of after that, not to that extent. The teacher did try and stopped himself at times. He did not stop and I just smiled and nodded at him. I knew I had something higher. I told my tree again what had happened. Happiness flooded me. Hope flooded me. My heart swelled with love. If ever I am reminded of being in fifth grade, all this comes to mind. My stepfather was like a super-hero to me. He still is!
if we really are a christian nation like said by almost everyone why arent we helping the poor as it says in the bible? Respecting people and being caring of others? shouldn't we just do the right thing? i feel that we really are just repeating history at this point. Making a wall just like the Berlin wall during the cold war. Were almost to the point of not allowing immigrants to this country just like in world war 2 when we denied the Jews from entering the U.S when they needed help. I feel that we really need to do better in america. Instead of hating why can't we just love each other?
I figured I would do a blog post and a forum post for a resource some might find useful. A former professor of mine, Alex Jassen, has a website in which he has provided texts for anyone to read. This is from his website...Texts and Resources for the Study of Ancient Judaism
Welcome to my Website. Here, you will find information about me, my scholarship, teaching, and public outreach activities. This site is also designed to provide a portal for online resources for the study of ancient Judaism, specifically the Second Temple period and rabbinic Judaism.
In the Online Text Library, I have gathered together editions and translations of biblical, Second Temple, and Rabbinic texts that are available online.
The Site also contains more general resources for students and teachers of ancient Judaism, such as bibliographies and course syllabi. I have posted my own course syllabi and assignments. Please feel free to draw upon them. I also include information regarding upcoming scholarly events I am involved in planning.
Thank you to all those individuals who are responsible for the content on the pages linked here. Please contact me if you know of additional sites that should be included or have any general suggestions for improving the site.
Here is the link directly to the library. I hope some people find this helpful and useful!
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A heightened sense of awareness to the nothing new
It brought a gambit of emotions concerning thoughts never before felt
In a world where some things are just tolerated
Such things are never wanted
Often even conspired against for the purpose of deleting
Do those things grow tired of being a burden
Do they know to leave could mean death
What does that do to them mentally
Not in favor of stereotyping
Not in favor of disconcern about embodying stereotypes
Their character is their own business
They're hurting themselves and could get others hurt
What should be said
Should nothing be said
Is the answer keep quiet and hope for the best
They probably won't listen
Who does unless they're being complimented
Isn't everyone just listening to be validated
The pointing fingers
They start pointing back
If it was a perfect world everyone would take their own advice
It's not a perfect world
Using the answer key for one isn't always an option for
Smile, laugh, and forget to come off humble
Rebuke deserved to remind about not being good
Whipped by the world enough times
Anyone will run away from the abuse
The scars will heal but will what came around be pushed back around
Monkeys usually see and then go do the same
Don't want to push away
Is there a choice to be had
Is there too much damage
Is hermit what's best for all
Is immunity possible
Like a dam that won't break no matter the force applied
Can slaps in the face forever invoke a loving embrace
Would that make an assailant madder
Or would it positively reinforce negative behavior
Maybe a mindset of neither being critical nor consoling
Would the whys of being so become too much
While contemplating how terror forms
Not seeing someone else's fear could have an effect
Yes the world revolves around each individual
They need to remember though none are the center of it
Also ill-advised decisions are the result of too much emotion
Keeping calm is ever the good ideal
Nothing wrong with processing and digesting
Sleep on new perspectives
See what is felt about them later
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I'm just gonna jump right in and skip the formalities this time. Today I heard a song on the radio that sparked an incredible memory, and I'd like to share that experience with you now. This was probably around 5 years ago. My life at the time had a lot of spiritual ups and downs. Thinking about it I guess that hasn't changed all that much even today. Anyhow, I don't even remember what had put me in this state of mind, or exactly why I felt this way. I just remember driving down the road flipping through radio stations to try and distract myself. See somehow I had felt as though I was just lost. That every prayer, every step I took in my entire spiritual walk had been for nothing. I even remember questioning whether or not God even existed. I was in a really bad spot. To suddenly believe everything you had ever believed about your relationship with God had been a lie, for me, was about the worst place I could go in my mind. Yet there I was.
With actual tears beginning to run down my face, I stopped trying to find a song on the radio to distract me an shut it off. I had to speak to him. I had to vent my frustrations. I boldly proclaimed out loud to God that if he existed, and if he cared about me what so ever, that I needed him to reveal himself to me, and I demanded it happen right now. Suddenly realizing how ridiculous I sounded, I wiped the tears from my eyes. Knowing Id be disappointed. That no way God was going to move in anyway. At least not right that second. Ashamed that I had thought for one second God was going to somehow speak to me right then, I turned the radio back on.
The very first words I hear, on a station I would have never intentionally left on went like this. "I'm already there, take a look around. I'm the sunshine in your hair. I'm the shadow on the ground. I'm the whisper in the wind, and I'll be there till the end. Can you feel the love that we share? I'm already there." As if to put a exclamation point on the message, the song ended right there.
There are folks that would say this was a coincidence. An maybe they are right. To me, it was God letting me know I never had to question his existence. Or his love, or his involvement in my life. That not only had he been there the entire time, but would always be there. That I could find comfort knowing this.
Thanks for taking the time folks,
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"Ria! Ria!" I shouted. After waking up and not finding her in the cafeteria, I had looked around for Ria only to find her in her son's room. I said her name a few times and even nudged her shoulder trying to wake her up. When she made no response I began to fear that she too had succumbed to whatever was plaguing the people in this hospital. I shouted one last time and finally she began to stir.
"Ria, thank God." I said embracing her. "I thought it happened to you too. I don't know what I'd do if I was alone here."
"Don't worry, I'm fine." She didn't return my embrace but looked at me quizically, "Why hasn't it happened to us?" I stared into her eyes, her beautiful dark brown eyes, and found I had no answer.Why didn't it happen to us? It didn't make any sense at all, but in this world, not much does. As I was thinking, Ria laid her head back down and began muttering something. I leaned in closer to hear her.
"I have to go there. I have to get back. I have to go there, I have to. I need to, I need to go back," These sounded like the ravings of a crazy person to me.
"Ria, what the hell are you talking about? Go back where?"
"Oh, **** it. How am I supposed to sleep when you won't shut the **** UP?!" I stood up, shocked at her sudden outburst. She had always been quite and reserved the entire time we were in here. I stood silently watching as she made her way around the room, tearing through shelves and rummaging frantically through drawers.
"What are you doing? What are you looking for?" I asked in a polite and calm tone. I had read somewhere that when dealing with the mentally unstable, one should always speak in a calm and reassuring tone. Without warning, Ria ran out of the small exam room. I followed her and it was all I could do to keep pace with her. She was twenty paces ahead of me the whole way. She finally stopped and when I caught up, she was rummaging through the pharmacy, raiding it like some strung-out junkie looking for a fix.
"Ria, what the hell are you--"
"Found it!" She exclaimed and laughed. She was holding a vial of something. I couldn't tell what it was from the other side of the desk. I don't even know if she could hear me through the glass. Then she slipped a syringe from her pocket, already fitted with a needle. A bad feeling and a sickening suspicion filled my gut then and I knew I had to help her. I darted towards the door as she was filling the syringe with the substance in the vial. I tried to push the handle down but it wouldn't budge. She had locked the door from inside. I shoved into the door with my left shoulder. The shockwave carried over to the rest of my body and sent a jolt of pain into my right arm. I didn't care, I tried it again. This time the door swung open.
Ria was lying motionless on the floor. I ran to her and held her head.
"What are you doing? What did you do?" I pleaded."
"I'm...sorry. I have to go...back..." She closed her eyes and her entire body went limp in my hands. I looked around for the vial; it had fallen out of her hand and rolled to the edge of the desk. I picked it up and read the label: Doxylamine 250mg. That was an ingredient in some sleeping medications I remembered. I did a story on the effects of sleeping pills on the body a few years ago. Most medications were only around twenty to fifty milligrams. She had used the entire vial. All 250 milligrams, save for one or two drops. Ria was not waking up anytime soon.
“****…” I muttered aloud. What do I do now? Ria was most likely going to die without medical attention. So I screamed.
“HEELLLLP!! I NEED A DOCTOR!!” Then I remembered that the only doctor I had seen the entire time I was here was Haxon. He had to be hiding around here somewhere.
“HAXON! I KNOW YOU’RE HERE! SHE’S GOING TO DIE IF YOU DON’T HELP HER! DO YOU REALLY WANT THAT?!” Still nothing. No sign of life anywhere. I was alone now. Every one of the other patients in the waiting room have become lifeless husks and everyone that wasn’t in the waiting room had disappeared. I was the only survivor of whatever the hell was happening. Fear and panic began to creep inside the back of my mind. I knew it was only a matter of time before I succumbed to this thing too. That was when I heard the door to the pharmacy open. I looked toward the sound and there stood Dr. Haxon, grey hair, white coat, he even had a stethoscope around his neck.
“You gotta help her,” I pleaded. He moved toward me, syringe in hand. “Is that going to help her?” I asked. I hoped.
“No,” Dr. Haxon said and looked at me, “This is for you.” Then he lunged toward me and before I could even register what was happening, I felt a prick on the back of my neck. The next thing I saw as my vision started to fade and I slunk to the floor is Dr. Haxon standing over me with a look of mild disappointment on his face. Then everything faded to black.
I thought I would post this little entry to explain what a Rumma is, considering it is mentioned in the latest chapter.
Rumma are best described as a sort of rabbit-lizard-wallaby hybrid. One to two feet in length discounting their tail, they have long, tube like bodies, legs adapted to leaping and are covered in a thick brown (white in tundra morphs) hair. The lower legs, hands and tail are hairless and scaled. Rumma have three toes per foot and four fingered hands. The legs are twice the length of the arms and are the primary means of movement. Rumma have large forward facing eyes and long flexible stalks that are often mistaken for ears. They are grazers and possess four continuously growing incisors per jaw. Rumma live in large communities, lead by a matriarch. They dig complex tunnel networks that can span for up to half a mile, and ar a constant source of frustration for housing developments. During the day most members of the "community" stay in the cool confines of the tunnels, while a few brave males keep watch at the surface. During the late evenings and early morning, the community emerges to graze on tube grass. Dispite being communal creatures, there is a deep seated xenophobia between Rumma groups. "Wars" can occur if foreign Rumma invade another's tube grass field. These fights usually involve lashing out with the claws or attempting to nip one another with the teeth. Dispite their aggressive nature with each other, Rumma are common prey to many species, such as the Vaugus.
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In mid-December I was on vacation and was driving around St. Augustine when my air conditioner stopped working. It was an unusually hot day for Florida. An analysis was done on my car and it was determined that I had no Freon in my air conditioner due to a hole in the condenser, The estimate of the car repair was about $600. I went to two other car repair shops who quoted $400-$600.00. The car dealership quoted $1,100.
I waited about three months to get the repairs because I wanted to make sure I had $400-$600 and because the weather wasn't that bad, I could tolerate not having an air conditioner. A couple of weeks ago, I decided to take my car to a mechanic that I had used previously but due to purchasing a new car nearly 4 years ago was not able to use him due to warranty requirements.
I was in for a big surprise. He called me and told me that I had no leak in the condenser and that a bolt and nut which connects to the condenser had fallen out which caused the Freon to leak out. He put Freon in the air conditioner and replaced the bolt and nut. I also had him change my oil and put new windshield wipers on. The total cost was less than $100 and it works perfectly.
Back in mid November I had to take my car to the dealership for a recall and I also took it in for an oil change. This was within a couple of days of each other and was right before Thanksgiving. Normally when I would take my car into the dealership, someone from the service department would handle my request. One of these times, a mechanic who worked at the dealership handled my request. I didn't like this guy the minute I saw him and he was really cocky and had an attitude. I don't know if he worked on my car or not but he gave me a bad feeling.
From what my mechanic told me, what might have happened is that someone took the Freon out and didn't put it back in or put the Freon in and didn't connect the bolt and nut to the condenser properly which caused the leak. When my mechanic examined my car, he didn't see the bolt and nut until he examined the condenser (it was somewhat hidden).
My guess is that the leak was a slow one as it was about a month later when I was in St. Augustine when the air conditioner stopped working. I do remember on Thanksgiving day the air conditioner working but not working properly as I had to put it up to the highest level in order to be cool. The next day Black Friday it was fine. It was also fine the morning I drove up to St. Augustine.
I would hope that this was not done deliberately. Sometimes I wonder.
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I'm looking for anyone who wants to share their true experience of strange unexplained or paranormal happenings. I am hunting around looking for anyone who wants to share them so that I may use their experiences for my next book.
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Remember the first things you say are
1. I have a heart condition and
2. I'm allergic to capsicum spray.
This should prevent them from tasering and capsicum spraying you. It doesn't hurt to have a pair of sunnies on just in case.
3. Remember the po po have no training in how to handle mentally ill people and frequently shoot them so try not to freak them out. Speak as calmly and rationally as you can.
4. Get up early. This means you are less likely to be caught off guard and that you are prepared.
5. Never carry any books
6. Never admit that you think someone is out to get you or they will bust you for paranoia and lock you for good
7. Always go in conscious. If you can sign yourself in, you can sign yourself out
Points four to seven come courtesy of one of my favorite films since childhood, Bliss.
When the police rocked up I was in the middle of a magikal ritual and my face was painted blue Braveheart style. There were candles and sigils everywhere. There were also barricades, places to fall back to, weapons stashes, etc. My psycho ex had threatened to kill me and I was ready.
The cops were FREAKED. I told them calmly where my medications were and asked if i could pact some clothes. One officer flinched as I walked past him.
About 5 minutes later a psychiatrist and a psych nurse entered the scene. Sure enough they looked at my book collection and art. I was asked if a picture of a girl with flames for hair had a name.
"Do you think you can dissect me with this blunt little tool?" I thought remembering Hannibal Lecter