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In suffering, we discover our unity
March 29—After Communion. “Say, ‘Holy Father, I offer You Jesus living in my life and dying in my death.
And I offer You the heart of Jesus in each one of my heartbeats.’ ”
Bossis, Gabrielle. He and I (Kindle Locations 693-695).
Pauline Books and Media. Kindle Edition.
The Christian path is one of love and service towards others. To belong to the Body of Christ is to invite suffering into our lives, because of the unity of hearts, united in the total human, loving heart, of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. His passion continues in the suffering of humanity.
Perhaps during this time of deep suffering in the church, many are learning of the truth of our union with the Crucified and Risen Lord. The pain that I feel, and I believe many, many, others, who are in the church are also experiencing, is so vast that it can’t be pinpointed to any one place. It seems universal, making my body, and my blood, feel toxic, because of the deep suffering of so many who have been deserted, overlooked, and abused by those who were called to be both shepherds, and servant, to those in their charge. Instead, they were simply used, bullied, and cast aside, as if they were ‘it’s’ instead of human beings made in the image and likeness of God. Who can understand the pain, and sorrow, that is now welling up in so many hearts? Both those in the church, and those worldwide who are witnessing this tragedy.
Yes, it is everywhere, sexual abuse and exploitation, but for a man of God, to abuse his power, so as to degrade others, is of a special nature, and needs to be brought to the light for healing, and yes, justice. Those abused become abusers (some of them), so the number grows with each generation, it is truly a cancer in the Body of Christ, and in our societies through the world. So we suffer with Christ Jesus, perhaps for the first time understanding our unity with Him.
Anger is an appropriate response, but rage is not. Now is the time to seek to follow the lead of our master, and savior, and to not seek revenge, or to turn on those who disagree with how this tragedy is to be dealt with. Now is the time to seek the Mind of Christ in our pain, and confusion, and yes, anger, and shame.
To lash out, or to become bitter, is to allow evil to win over our hearts. It is only by embracing Christ Jesus at this time, fully, without reserve, which we can get through this without deep harm to our minds and souls and others. Trust has been taken away, it has to be rebuilt. Perhaps the structure of the Church needs to be reconstructed into an organization, which actually seeks to serve the people of God, instead of using them.
We need to gather around those bishops, and priest, who are true to their calling and to pray for those who struggle and fail. Even if some need to be defrocked, and even to go to prison. We need to pray, even in the midst of anger, rage, and the desire to lash out to hurt someone. This is the death to self that Christ Jesus is calling each of us too.
I am not a peaceful man if left to myself. Yet Christ Jesus is calling me to become gentle in spirit, to forgo violence in thought, word, and deed. I find myself at war within my soul, yet I feel the grace of Jesus leading me forward, uniting my heart to all of those who struggle with the desire to lash out. It is now that we need to show the world there is a better way by drawing closer together and showing the power of the love and grace of our Lord. Jesus loved his enemies and forgave all on the cross. May we also allow Our Lord to incarnate into our hearts so as to allow His healing to flow through us to others.—Br.MD
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John 12:20-33 Some Greeks Seek Jesus
20 Now among those who went up to worship at the feast were some Greeks. 21 So these came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and asked him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” 22 Philip went and told Andrew; Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. 23 And Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. 24 Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. 25 Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. 26 If anyone serves me, he must follow me; and where I am, there will my servant be also. If anyone serves me, the Father will honor him.
The Son of Man Must Be Lifted Up
27 “Now is my soul troubled. And what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? But for this purpose I have come to this hour. 28 Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven: “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.” 29 The crowd that stood there and heard it said that it had thundered. Others said, “An angel has spoken to him.”30 Jesus answered, “This voice has come for your sake, not mine. 31 Now is the judgment of this world; now will the ruler of this world be cast out. 32 And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” 33 He said this to show by what kind of death he was going to die.
“Seeing the Glory of Jesus Christ” Year B
A couple years ago my wife and I got to visit Washington D.C. It was my wife’s first time there, so it was awesome to be able to show her all the breathtaking sights of our nation’s capital. We went to all the major places...like the White House, the Capital Building, The Lincoln Memorial, and the Washington Monument. We even got to see and tour the United Methodist Building.
Another great thing about this trip was how we got to see the Smithsonian National Museum of American History. When we were there, I discovered something I was just fascinated by...The Jefferson Bible. Have any of you, my readers, ever heard of it? When it came to religion, the great Thomas Jefferson was what you call a deist. This is a belief where God creates and sets everything in motion, but is withdrawn from humanity. Deism was a really popular view back then and other founding fathers were Deists as well.
So as a deist, Thomas Jefferson rejected belief in the God of the Bible. He didn’t believe in things like the Trinity or in miracles. He felt that the Gospels had been hijacked by Jesus’ followers to advance their own agendas and ideologies. But in spite of all that, he loved the teachings of Jesus. He adopted His teachings as a moral code to guide his life. He said that Jesus taught "the most sublime and benevolent code of morals which has ever been offered to man."
And that leads us to the Jefferson Bible. Using a razor and glue, Thomas Jefferson meticulously cut up four copies of the Gospels in English, French, Greek, and Latin. He kept only certain passages, the ones he felt were authentic sayings of Jesus and without the miracles. Jefferson’s version ends with Jesus’ burial on Good Friday. There is no resurrection and no Easter Sunday. He felt all of that was a myth. Jefferson called this version “The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth. As a history lover, it’s such an interesting story and it’s fascinating that he took all the time and effort to make that book.
So at the Smithsonian I got to see the original from 1820, encased in glass. And I was also able to buy a Smithsonian Edition copy that was created from high resolution photographs of the original.
But I think what’s most interesting about that story is the fact that…like the Greeks in our text….he really wanted to see Jesus. But what kind of Jesus? Was it the real Jesus? Or was it a Jesus entirely of his own making?
And when we fast forward to today, all of that brings us to an interesting question. How do Americans see Jesus Christ today? I think it’s safe to say that almost everybody has an opinion about Jesus. And as I was preparing for this sermon, I got curious about where people stand.
So, I did what you always do when you get curious about something….I typed the question into Google. The results were interesting. The vast majority of Americans believe that Jesus was a real historical figure…approximately 92%. But the next Barna survey result was really interesting. 83% of Americans still describe themselves as “Christians”…..but only 56% of that number believes that Jesus is actually divine and that He literally rose from the dead. 26% felt that Jesus was only a great moral teacher, much like the Buddha or the Prophet Mohammed. Another 18% said they just weren’t sure about His divinity. So in sum….at least 92% of Americans still want to see Jesus. But is it the real Jesus? Or is it a Jesus of our own making?
In my essay this morning, I’d simply like to explore this request…”we wish to see Jesus.” So it’s my hope that after today, each of us, dear readers, will be able to see the glory of Jesus Christ more clearly. And to do that, we have to lift our eyes, our hearts, and our minds to the Cross. May the God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit open our minds to the understanding of His word and open our hearts so that we may feel His love coursing through us.
To begin, our Gospel lesson is set in the context of the Passover festival. As I said recently, Passover was one of the holiest feast days of the Jewish faith. Thousands of faithful pilgrims would have flocked to the Temple from all over the Mediterranean to celebrate and make their offerings to God.
But not everybody who came….were Jews. John says, “Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, Sir we wish to see Jesus.” Now the question is why. Why would these Gentiles come all the way from Greece to see Jesus?
Well, for one thing…there was no Instagram. It’s hard to believe, but in those days you couldn’t just hold up a phone…take a picture or a video….and then send it to all your friends in a few seconds. If you wanted to see somebody…you actually had to get up out of the house and do it. Imagine that? And we complain about our connection speeds….first world problems!
For another….I suspect news of Jesus…had already travelled that far….with no help from social media. See, I think they’d probably gotten wind of some of the things He was teaching. Jesus was saying and doing some pretty radical things. He taught with authority. He broke all the rules of social convention. He ate with tax collectors and sinners. He had real compassion for the poor. He put down the religious leaders for their false piety. Then He told little children that they would be the greatest in God’s Kingdom.
And then there were the miracles. Turning water in to wine. Calming storms and walking on water. Healing sick people and casting out demons. Maybe most importantly….Jesus had just raised Lazarus from the dead….and that’s a pretty big deal. So no doubt all of this stuff was traveling far and wide. They were probably hearing all these wild stories…all the way in Greece….and these people were like….”is this for real?” They wanted to see Jesus…because they were curious.
In other words, these Greeks were no different than…say….Thomas Jefferson…or Americans today. Curiosity is the great motivating force of research and discovery. And like Thomas Jefferson and so many of us today…I’m sure they had their own preconceived notions about who Jesus was. I’m sure they’d taken a mental razor and cut out the things they didn’t like or believe and glued in the things they did like and believe.
I imagine they probably had their own Jefferson Bibles by the time they reached Jesus and the Disciples. Now after they made their request to Philip, he did what a lot of us church leaders do when outsiders come to our doorsteps seeking God….he formed a committee. He went and told Andrew. They probably debated about it for an hour. Then maybe they took a vote. Annnnnnddd then they told Jesus.
Their minds had to have been racing. They might’ve thought these would be the first Gentile followers of Christ. Or maybe they were apprehensive. Aren’t you here for just us Jews? I’m sure those two disciples had their razors and their glue just as the Greeks did. But on that day…none of them saw a Jesus of their own making.
They saw the real deal. Now we don’t know this for sure, but I imagine Jesus turned and said these things to the entire crowd…Jews and Gentiles alike. “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”
This is the real Jesus. We can say we want to see Jesus, but is it the real Jesus or is it the Jesus we want to see? We can spend endless hours with our razors and our glue. We can glue in a safe Jesus, a Jesus we can control.
We can glue in a Jesus who says some nice things, but we aren’t sure if He’s really divine. Or we can glue in Jesus who’s a divine butler who exists solely to grant our wishes and doesn’t ask for anything in return. We can do a lot of work with our razors and our glue.
But when we encounter the real Jesus, the glass cases of our own Gospels shatter. The pages crumble…they fall apart and wither in to dust. You see, that’s one of the key purposes of John’s Gospel.
He wants us to see Jesus as He actually is….beyond our limited perception of reality…beyond our physical and our mental understanding….beyond our razors and our glue. He wants us to see the great spiritual reality of Jesus Christ….and to respond by believing and trusting in Him as the one sent by God. The thing is, though, seeing Christ in His real glory isn’t all that easy to do because it flies in the face of just about everything we do believe in. Let me explain.
This concept of life from death would’ve made very little sense to the original audience of this Gospel. It’s widely accepted that this Gospel and all the writings attributed to John the Beloved Disciple are the products of a Johannine community of churches in Asia Minor. They were dedicated to preserving the teachings of John, but like most of the other early Christian communities, they were persecuted heavily…by both Romans and Jews.
And as they were being persecuted and martyred…they had to wonder….how can death possibly bring life? Here they were living in another place and time...and they wondered...where is this supposed glory of Christ? These questions are similar for us today, too. As a culture we try to avoid thinking about death. We cling desperately to the good things we have because we want life and still waters. And yet, our lives our filled with little deaths.
Sometimes our circumstances shift and the old securities go and the only roads before us…go right through the valleys. So we wonder. How can the fallen wheat of our lives really bear fruit?
In fact, I originally wrote this essay during the Christian season of Lent…I think this is the heart of what Lent really means. Our symbolic gestures of giving things up, our extra time spent in prayer…all of those things are important, yes. But the reality of Lent is that Lent comes to each of us in its own due time. At its heart, Lent is “Media vita in morte sumus ”…”In the midst of life we are in death.” “In the midst of life we are in death.”
No one’s immune from suffering, loss, the fear of death, or death itself. In other words…Lent isn’t always about choosing our losses…no….it’s the season for acknowledging them…for coming to grips with them. It’s the awareness that even as we’re living and drawing breath….we’re also dying. Heavy stuff.
And this is why our razors and our glue are useless. If we try to create a Jesus of our own making, then we miss this spiritual reality. We miss the full expression of what God is offering to us through Christ.
We miss seeing Christ in His real glory, and so we miss our opportunity to be lifted up…even in the midst of our own deaths, big or small.
So what is the real glory of Christ? The glory of Christ is the Cross and the fact that life will be offered to all people through death. Now that just might be the most theologically complex sentence I’ve ever said…so naturally, we’re going to have to unpack it. I think it’s safe to say the meaning of the Cross is the most difficult thing to understand and explain in all of Christianity. I bet most of us get a headache whenever we even try to think about it.
And it’s been debated from the earliest days of the church right up to our time. There’s entire classes in seminary devoted to making sense of it. Some have said that the Cross was a ransom…a payment that bought the world freedom from sin and death. Some have said that the Cross was substitutionary…that Christ took on victimhood and died in our place to atone for our sins and guilt.
Some have said the Cross is our “moral exemplar”….that through His life and death on the Cross, Christ shows us how to live. Now I think there’s validity to all these theories. I think all of them might reflect part of the truth of this great Mystery.
But what’s interesting for our message today…is that all these “classical theories” of Atonement are completely absent from John’s Gospel. John focuses on one thing. He’s focused completely on the restoration of the relationship between God and humanity.
When Jesus turns to Philip and Andrew and the Greeks He’s saying “If You want to see me as I am, if you want to see me in glory….then you have to see this…you have to see the Cross.” Why? It’s the sign of His true glory because it reveals God’s everlasting, self-emptying, self-surrendering love for all of humanity. He becomes what we are and He endures what we endure. The doubts, the fears, the little deaths, the weaknesses of the ‘Father, save me from this hour’ moments…He takes those things all onto Himself because…He loves us that much. So in the end, the Cross isn’t ultimately about paying ransoms or substitutions and the need for someone to be punished because of sin.
Through His death on the Cross, Jesus Christ is creating a new reality. It’s a new reality that says you are reconciled to God. You are loved and accepted by God. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” Indeed, “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” Out of His death He brings us new life.
So if we want to see Christ in glory, then we have to look at Him as He’s being raised up on the Cross….because the Cross is our signpost that points to the limitless bounds of His love and the unfathomable depths He will go to…just to be in relationship with us.
In the words of the great Saint Catherine of Siena: “As a child who sucks the milk from his mother’s breast, likewise we, in love with God, draw love from Jesus crucified, always following His footsteps and walking with Him on the path of humiliation, pain and insults. We do not seek joy elsewhere than in Jesus and we avoid any glory which is not that of the Cross. Embrace Jesus crucified, loving and beloved, and in him you will find true life because He is God made man. Let your heart and your soul burn with the fire of love drawn from Jesus on the Cross!” My sisters and brothers…this…this is how life comes from death.
This is how the dying wheat that falls to the ground bears fruit. All we have to do is put away our razors and our glue and see the glory of Jesus Christ. And when we look on Him who was raised up for us, we should also be raised up. Maybe you’re cast down today. Maybe you’re grieving over the death of a loved one. Maybe you’re having financial troubles.
Maybe your marriage is strained or you’re fighting with members of your family. It’s in these moments...as the wheat is falling where we feel the most vulnerable and the most alone. But if we let go….if we just let the wheat fall….we’ll see that we’re not alone.
We’ll see that we’re not just God’s second-class citizens clinging to words in a 2,000 year old book…no….we’ll see that He’s here….that He’s with us….and that He’s lifting us...and all people up and drawing us to Himself....in the power of His reconciling love that flows from the Cross.
Today I’m going to leave you with the words of a poem written by an Eastern Orthodox Monk by the name of Fr. Seraphim Rose, a poem that beautifully sums up the true glory of Christ bringing life from death on the Cross.
And it’s a poem that has brought me comfort and hope as some of my own wheat fell to the ground. My friends, may it be so for you as well:
"Come to Me, says the Way,
The way seems long only because you cannot see the end.
But when you reach the end and look back, the way will seem so very short.
And you will see that you could have never known happiness
Unless you had known this sadness.
You will be thankful.
You will be glad things happened just as they did.
That they are just as they are.
You will be thankful in the harbor, if only you can endure to the end.
To be empty is to be filled. To be tattered is to be renewed.
Follow Me, says the Way, Descend into the Valley,
Enter the city, and then be raised with me in ignominy
Torn and Tattered, Dragged down to the most abased place on earth, Atop the highest tree
On the highest hill outside the city.
Follow me, says the Way
Hollow, empty, selfless
Resting in forsakenness, There abide in Me as I abide in You.
Abide in the highest, You who have been abased in the depths with Me.
Be filled with Me, you who have been emptied with Me,
Be renewed, you who have been tattered with Me.
Taste incorruption, You who have lain in the grave with Me.” (Taken from Christ the Eternal Tao by Hieromonk Damascene)
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*takes a deep breath in and starts yelling*
IM BACK!?!?!?!?!? *stops* Well this Meeseeks is back from a few days in order for me to help get my **** together at the least and have a rough idea on what I want to do with my life for the present time. At the moment I'm still financially dependent upon my parents but shortly I'll be on my own finally till the letter returns . Anyways while all that is happening I still need to speak to my manager about doing a certificate to enable me to work with both of the elderly and with the folks with disabilities.
My plans are set in motion now , when I start receiving my money I'll be saving aside to be able to purchase that caravan and being more independent which I shouldn't have already done but the opportunity hasn't been available for me to do so. With that being said my main problem is getting enough money together to be able to see a doctor about my mental health state . While gathering together the correct documents for me to even be able to see a doctor and have some sort of health cover to help with any future medical issues that may occur.
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Here's another of my little stories I'm placing in my blog.
At work that day, when the boss accused me wrongly of doing something I had not done, I couldn’t say anything. I just nodded in agreement and walked away. My allotment of words had almost run out, and the few I had left I was saving for any emergency that might crop up at home.
You see, that morning I had discovered the wife had spent some of the household money on some little extravagance for herself, and I had thoughtlessly admonished her, using too many sentences in scorn. That was why I had to keep quiet all day at work and say nothing to the boss in my defense.
As the day worn on and my temper heightened at the unjust treatment I had received, I considered telling the boss off anyway. But that would have used all my words, and my Counter would probably have gone into the red. That would mean I would have to pay double the price for the debit words I would have used, and at my wage grade I could hardly have afforded that. So I kept silent.
When I returned home the wife had few words left herself, gossip that she is, so no argument ensued. The evening passed and the next day and the next quietly, and finally it was a Free-From-Work Day.
That morning I had thought of borrowing from the Dialog Office, but later I thought better of it. It was no use going into speech debt, as Allotment Day was only three days away. Then I would tell the wife what I thought of her and her lavish spending, alright.
I had read once that there had been free speech sometime in our past history. It was difficult for me to imagine that state of affairs. How awkward it must have been in those times. How could one organize one’s thoughts succinctly and concisely if one were free to speak endlessly on any subject that came to mind? Conversation must have been utter chaos.
How lucky we now are to have Counters to abridge and therefore efficiently organize our spoken opinions. I admit the system has its drawbacks, but its benefits surely outweigh them. In fact, not being able to reprimand my boss’s poor judgment was an example of the advantage of our vocal restrictions laws. Soon I would be up for a minor promotion, which my boss would have to approve, so my forced silence at his scolding was in the end a good thing.
With promotion would come a larger Allotment, most of which I would surely use in reprimanding the wife in no uncertain terms for her too-liberal spending habits. Just now she comes into the room and purposely gives me a spiteful look. I ignore her and smile to myself in anticipation of my soon to be increased Allotment, and that sweet future moment of retaliation, and keep my mouth shut.
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By Paul Dale Roberts, HPI’s Esoteric Detective
Halo Paranormal Investigations – HPI International.
Sacramento Haunted Paranormal Hotline: (916) 203-7503 – 4 Advice & Investigations
I blast my cell number all over the Internet. My cell number is the "paranormal hotline". Yes, I get many crank calls, but I also get calls that are legitimate and those lead to investigations, cleansings or just advice over the phone.
A few years back, I received a call from a person in New Jersey that was claiming that he was craving human flesh, that he wanted to eat someone. Of course, I thought this guy was a total nutcase. The caller told me he was hearing voices in his head that was telling him to consume somebody. After I got off the phone with this psycho, I typed up an email to his local police and said to watch out for this guy. I believe the police talked with him and I have heard nothing from this guy or heard of any cannibalistic crimes in his part of New Jersey.
But it made me think that in Algonquian folklore, the Wendigo is a legendary cannibalistic monster that roams the woods of Canada and parts of Northern United States. The Wendigo also can transform into a malevolent evil spirit. This spirit can possess a person and give them cravings of human flesh. The locals of the Northern forests of the Atlantic Coast and Great Lakes Region believe in this mythical monster. If you ever watched the TV series Hannibal Lecter, they would show their version of a Wendigo. This is a pretty accurate version according to the Algonquian legend. The Wendigo is depicted as a malnutritioned humanoid with antlers, dark complexion, black sunken eyes. The Wendigo is associated with savage homicides, a hunger for human flesh and insatiable greed.
In the world of psychology, there is also a medical term called Wendigo psychosis. According to psychiatrists people with this syndrome have a unstoppable craving for human flesh and may have the fear of becoming a carnivorous cannibal.
Do you want to hear a scary story of a possible Wendigo? A story that will bring shivers down your spine? Let me tell you the story of Vince Weiguang Li. At 12:01 p.m. on July 30, 2008, Tim McLean boarded a bus to return home after a long day at work in Alberta. He was headed for Manitoba. The bus was a Greyhound. Tim got comfortable in his seat, put on his headphones and fell asleep. He saw a passenger board the bus and gave him a small nod of recognition. The person was Vince Weiguang Li. While Tim fell asleep, Vince stood up and pulled out a huge hunting knife and repeatedly stabbed Tim. The people on the bus were shocked and horrified and ran out of the bus. Vince continued stabbing Tim and during the course of his stabbing, decapitated Tim. Vince held Tim's head to the window, so the passengers could all see that Tim was now beheaded. Vince started consuming the body and ate part of Tim's heart and his eyes. The passengers outside became very ill and started vomiting. When Vince was convicted of this horrifying crime, he was placed in a mental institution. Vince claims he heard the voice of God tell him to kill Tim because he was evil and was going to try and kill him. Some people point to the fact that Vince could have been possessed by the Wendigo spirit. Many people to this day feel this is a good case that points to the fact that the Wendigo legend is fact.
The Wendigo legend has been around for a long time. In 1878, Swift Runner a Plains Cree trapper from Alberta ate his wife and five children. Instead of trekking 25 miles to the Hudson's Bay Company Post to get some food for his family, be decided to eat them. Psychiatrists look at this case and stamp it with "Wendigo psychosis".
According to Wikipedia:
"Another well-known case involving Wendigo psychosis was that of Jack Fiddler, an Oji-Cree chief and medicine man known for his powers at defeating Wendigos. In some cases, this entailed killing people with Wendigo psychosis. As a result, in 1907, Fiddler and his brother Joseph were arrested by the Canadian authorities for homicide. Jack committed suicide, but Joseph was tried and sentenced to life in prison. He ultimately was granted a pardon, but died three days later in jail before receiving the news of this pardon."
The Wendigo psychosis may have a further range of influence. Some people theorize that Richard Trenton Chase aka the Vampire of Sacramento may have had Wendigo psychosis. Richard was fond of biting the head off a bird, turning it upside down and drinking the bird's blood. Of course, he slaughtered a group of people in Sacramento and cannibalized some of them. Richard is another one that heard voices in his head.
One more prime candidate is Jeffrey Dahmer aka the Milwaukee Man-Eater. Jeffrey had insatiable appetite for human flesh and there are some that believe he was possessed by the Wendigo spirit.
We live in a strange world, a strange universe. With the Wendigo spirit, anything can be possible. This is one legend I wish would fade away into history.
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LMAO, Yes, Mom enjoyed Mass, thanks for asking. You know who you are.
Like my "reward" of being allowed to remember a small amount of my previous life, and actually walk a street and see some of my kin from that lifetime, before walking on, I think some real memories are allowed, even planned for, when we can process both sides of the issue. This can also be a problem if we deal with it wrongly.
I was Native American a few lives ago. I know the group, and where we were going and why when I saw my young wife cut down like an animal by the troops before I could do anything to save her and felt how my whole desire to live another hour left me in that horrified moment. They killed me, too, of course, but in reality it was suicide. I could not live after seeing her cut down that way. Later, my Chief would say "I will fight no more, forever" and I understood it in that moment as she fell dead and I died inside.
The sheer arrogance and barbarism of these white people coming from other lands and just thinking to make off with the land, the life, the world of another people and treat them like savages not worth living just as much is beyond me to ever comprehend. My young wife was cut down like a coyote and butchered twice more in the throat by a cur dog who did not deserve to even breathe the same air she did. But, the winners write the history so we have "Manifest Destiny" and "Little House on The Prairie" and "Sea to shining sea", today. Needless to say there was no way and no chance the young warrior who died back then was ever going to comprehend and make a fair judgment about his life.
However, after living as a white man for more than a couple decades, I have a little more perspective. It has taken me a few years to work through the deep feelings and rages. There is no one to talk this sort of thing over with. Back when I was here before on another account, I had a Native American friend who I told the story to who understood and was my one luxury at the time over it. He did help me to find some peace in it all and a sense of not being isolated away from "my" people, no matter how it looks. He is gone now, and so is the account I once was on UM. One of those meetings for a mutual purpose, perhaps.
Not a lot has changed though the passions and madness is gone over her death. It was wrong, all of it was wrong, and there is not any excuse for how the Natives were treated in their own lands by the invasions of aliens they faced. The same happened in Australia, and more recently is happening to Europe. Invaders do not care, and will not see anyone there before them as more valuable nor as anything other than "in the way" if they want more than they get.
This memory and my need to process it is personal and offered as an example of why a memory might come through for a person. It has brought me peace, some understanding, but the final conclusion that I was not wrong then to see what they did as evil and wrong, and I still see it that way. Deeply, it burns.
But, it leaves me now with a new challenge. Now that I know these things and have this hidden insight into an issue like this, what am I to DO with it now?
This body lacks a single drop of NA blood in it. I have no tribal connections and if I tried to approach my original people they'd roll their eyes about the loony white wanna be injun. I cannot help or be helped there. I am not some famous spokesperson who might activist for a cause for a tribe. After Katrina I did directly raise and transport into Golden Meadows Louisiana loads of supplies and heaters for the tribe there who was demolished by the storm. I heard about the need at the same pow wow I saw the Eagle flying in to respond and dance with the dancers there. I told the man who spoke about the need I would go and he nodded and looked bored and away and I recognized the usual "Yeah, ok, want a medal?" reaction, but, he did give me an email for the Council down there.
I went, the non-profit I was on the Board for paid for it, thousands of dollars was raised by Pagan Emergency Services Personnel across the country in days, and it doesn't matter. Suffering was eased. That matters. This is all I know to do, learn my insight, respond when I hear and can, always be on guard against devaluation of a race, arrogance, hatred, bullying, abusiveness. I may be white this life, but, I don't have to fit stereotypes and I can take pride in our better times and regret and not excuse our worse times and know in my heart the humble truth that you just never know who you once were, or what you once suffered or what mercy you found from a person like you are today. I pray to God no one has a past life memory of me doing something as hateful as what I saw happen to my wife back then on our run to Canada, but probably, someone does, and for that I am sorry.
If more people understood this as they spew racist jokes or epithets and relish hatred and nurse a sense of grievance that they will be due to ride the rail on the other side of the hatred as well and experience the fruits of all that fostered hate, if they haven't already. I hope the day comes when we can get over all this self inflicted pain and get on with just living and working on the problems together.
The topic is reincarnation, however, but, I have shared all this to support my conclusion here about the topic. Most people I know who have memories are processing them and gaining the insights and working to do well with them, correct, resolve past issues within ourselves and move forward with this life. Not one of them ever was Cleopatra that they know of, nor Marc Anthony either. They do not post on forums or spread their banal little tales around about being stone cutters or street thieves back then because they have other things to do than defend against accusations they cannot prove that Nebet ever lived, or if there is some mention of this Nebet that it is the same Nebet so they are just lying and making up things. Perhaps, it is sometimes accused, because they need to feel special.
Maybe the point is that we are NOT special, nor are you, and behind you is a great deal of experience you only know a fraction of that is playing out on many levels. To sometimes feel sad I lack the sense of tribal inclusion and belonging which is absent in my white world, and there being a closed door to feeling that again in this life is "special"? It was, once. Not today and not here and now. I am on track and doing what I came here to do, and when it comes to reincarnation, this is some of the ground I have covered in this lifetime and remembered. The chef was the most important fellow I recall being within his tiny world, chefs are like that. They are the gods of the kitchen. The rest were ordinary in their lifetimes.
The beauty of it is that it doesn't matter if you believe in reincarnation, or not. Some of us seek a meaning in being here, and for a few there are these memories which harken back to times and lives we never knew in this one. Reincarnation provides one avenue for explaining and understanding and moving on from it a bit better off for the insight.
Wishing you well!
I write to serve.
When I was two years old my parents traveled to the south east of. England and had hard time finding a Hotel room, after sometime they tierdly went into a pub called The Swan in Deal which was owned by an scottish couple they first thought we were germans until my parents told them that we were from Sweden and they then luckely had a room for rent. Our friendship grew and later on they sort of adopted us we got to know their family and friends . After they had retired as publicans they moved into a flat on Freemensway in Deal and that area later got kind of rough and my dad was at the same time looking for an investment and found a house in Deal on park avenue which he later bought for George and Una. That house was always weird every time i slept there i had the same recurring dream that someone was standing and leaning over me while i was sleeping it was in this house i had a paranormal experience with a cd player that went on by itself which i wrote about in a post. Deal is very close to Dover and one of the high lights was to visit dover castle and the secret tunnles the planning of the dunkirk evacuation was made there and it's been secret until 1985. That place is also supposed to be very haunted especually by a headless drummer boy and people have been pinched or slapped by something in the tunnels. If you go to Dover visit Dover castle. Anyways my friendship with george and una lasted for 35 years they have unfortunately both passed but we still keep intouch with their family.
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Mention must be made of an archaic cultural site discovered in the Valley of Mexico in the 1920s, which has come to be called Niven’s Buried City. William Niven started his investigations in that same valley in the early nineteen hundreds (1910), and in the course of his research, he encountered enigmatic stone artifacts and tablets, which had no discernible connection with any other Mexican cultural sequence. This was curious! However, it was not until the period of 1921-23 when he hit archaeological "pay dirt" at Santiago Ahuizoctla, a hamlet contiguous to Amantla. At that time, he discovered the "infamous" tablets and the evidence of an archaic culture of a high order. For a short time, his discoveries set the archaeological world afire with rampant enthusiasm. Then, most sadly, his discoveries were summarily discredited by the mainstream academic culture and its media. He was made to look a fool, while his artifacts were carried off and scattered far and wide. William Niven died a broken man in Austin, Texas in the 1930s. It is sad to contemplate that he died without ever having his work properly evaluated by the scientific prowess of today’s world. We know not where to find his works though there is rumor that some are hidden away at a distinguished eastern university. Such is an example that could face us with this project.
Teotihuacan, the great city near to Niven’s excavations in the Valley of Mexico, has always caught my imagination, even as a boy. It looks like a great space port with pyramid-like structures lined up on a 4 kilometer rampway for travelers departing and arriving for destinations now long forgotten. At an early age, I can recall thinking upon great flying machines, perhaps saucers, sitting on top of all those little launch pads lining the road of the dead (dead-our idea, not theirs). Too many space movies; one would think that the MIR space station would have ended such dreams!
It has been estimated that Teotihuacan supported a population of 200,000 persons at one point in its florescence. Many of middle American’s old cities seem to have this otherworldly look of high sophistication that was either emulated by other cities at a later date, or were part of an older civilization that was to some degree very advanced. Teotihuacan represents more than that, it has the engineering built into its structure to suggest more than what is told to us by today’s archaeologists. Were the cities of Mexico old memories of a time far away in the minds of their well educated priests? Or, could they have been the whispers of a very ancient Enmayi tradition that bled through to show itself 4 million years later? To do this, the Enmayi had to have a seat of civilization somewhere on Earth that lasted as the stalwart to carry these traditions forward. Where is such a site?
Teotihuacan presents another feature that is also arcane to the extreme. Peter Tompkins, Graham Hancock and other historical writers have pointed out, time after time, that enormous, thick sheets of mica were found by Leopoldo Batres on the fifth level of the Sun Pyramid in 1906. Later, at 350 meters down from the Sun Pyramid, reported by the Viking Foundation, another mica slab was found of considerable size: some 27.4 meters square (90 feet square). To the astonishment of all archaeologists, it was identified as a type of mica that is found in Brazil, and nowhere else. This begs the question of why was this particular type of mica removed and transported some 3218.6 kilometers (2000 miles) to be incorporated into the building site at Teotihuacan? How could something this large be transported in a stone age period of history? It is also to be noted that similar finds of Brazilian mica were discovered in certain Olmec sites. This is the "silver bullet" of the archaeological world which proclaims that the technology of the ancients is far removed from what we consider it to have been. Mica is utilized as insulation to atomic expressions.
In my estimation, the importance of the discovery of mica, which had been transported thousands of kilometers from its place of origin to its final resting place, is equivalent in historical importance to Dr. Oppenheimer’s comment upon the detonation of the first atomic explosion in the deserts of New Mexico. At the time of the explosion, he was heard to remark that "it was the second [ time ] for humanity to experience such." He was, of course, referring to the old Sanskrit tradition that the first atomic device was detonated in the area of the ancient Indus Valley civilizations some 8,000 years ago. The very old ruins of Mohenjo-Daro certainly reflect that this is indeed what occurred, with thousands of its fallen resident’s bones recently found radioactively "hot" in the bottom of the old streets of the city.
In the old Mahabharata, we find that there were references to flying machines and a frightening white flash of an ultimate weapon that destroyed cities, and caused the survivors to rush to the rivers to cleanse themselves of the unseen killer. The evidence of classic radiation sickness, such as hair and nails falling form the body before death, are everywhere in the ancient writings. With all this strong corroboration of evidence from our planetary past, we should not decline the information offered by all this data that our celestial messenger has poured forth in the last few weeks.
From my vicarious youth, I have wondered about Mexico. Were those old tribes a part of this powerful technological base that peeks to us between the lines of mythological history? The gods seem to appear out of space and time, as did the Sons of Annu, the Sumerian god of gods. One wonders if Claronu’s nickname for Anjona — Annoo-a was the same leader of the Niberu, as translated by Zecharia Sitchin in his body of highly informative and passionately charged books about the Earth Chronicles. Annu was the Anunnaki god who brought genetic engineering to Earth. We have data that supports some of these researchers, so why do we not announce the truth to humanity?
Today, expeditions into the volcanic wastes of Mexico are showing that cultures were present earlier than the Olmecs as Niven believed. Were these first people the sons of the Enmayi who had risen in technology over and over again through the cyclic volatility of this unstable planet of garden-like beauty? Cast back into the barbaric states of human evolution time and time again, they continued to climb back out of the agglomeration of defeat to strive once more up the ladder of be-manship. While the poles of the planet wobbled around the globe, they fought to maintain their traditions, each time of destruction, they restarted the flame of the hand that sees – becoming the minds that move. Even the art attributed to the Olmecs seems more modern, with their head-mounted lenses on space helmets that often seem to have support systems attached to their bodies. It is all more relevant now, after having this immense data before us from out of Time.
So it’s 4 am. I woke up around three and I was dreaming about a friend. She just had one of her breasts removed due to some pretty aggressive stage three cancer. I’m scheduled to bring a meal to her and her family today.
She has two older children and she just had a little girl last year. She is a leader in our community and frankly an amazing person. I am married of course, and so is she, but we still share a certain kind of bond. It’s more built around respect because we share similar passions. One of those passions is the work we do around us. Together we lead a parent group that is focused on preventing and managing bullying in our schools. It’s been a huge success. We work directly with school board members when parents come to us when a kid is haveing serious bully issues, but the teachers and principals won’t do anything.
We act as an advocacy group and the board members love us because we prevent things from blowing up on social media and even the news. We had a tragic suicide a few years back, and this woman and I are dedicated to preventing it from happening again.
Anyway. Just like most people in my life, they have no clue about my alter ego, white crane feather, and this sort of double life I live.
I was feeling helpless and a little angry at the universe for putting such a deserving person through the ravishes of cancer. I decided it couldn’t hurt to try something. I have done things like this before, but never against cancer.
If you have ever read my blogs before, when I go OOB I see disease as monsters. Usually zombie like entities with blank unintelligent eyes. Sometimes particularly nasty viruses and things, the creatures are more active and aggressive. The Noro virus we had a few years ago were these evil little Witches.
I usually blast them with light. I really don’t know if it helps at all, but when you see them, you can help but want to get rid of them. I have seen them around my children and wife when they are sick, so I can’t just leave them there even if I’m just bat **** crazy and it’s all
in my head.
You hear this term “thoughts and prayers” all the time that has become fairly meaningless. Well my version of thoughts and prayers is to fly over to her house out of body and kick that things ass, and that’s what I just did. Is it meaningless? I can’t tell you that. All I can write about is the experience.
After waking up, I went back under. I initiated the meditations and waited for the right time. Vibrations for me are very faint these days. I suppose I’m used to them so they don’t course through my body in powerful currents any more. I sort of miss them and I sort of don’t. The same thing with the loud noises. They are no longer there either. I don’t miss those.
Now, I can just sort of tell when my brain is in the proper stage to exit my body. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like everything becomes extremely crisp and I can feel everything touching me even the air in sort of a heightened reality. Simple enough. I just get up and I’m OOB. No matter how many times I do it, it is alway a trip to see my body laying there. The room is dark, I shouldn’t be able to see so well, but I can.
I walk down stairs and straight through my door. I don’t have the problems I used to with these things. I have learned to focus and the mental hangups about physical obstacles are no longer there.
I launch into the sky. I’m a little disoriented at first because...well.... I have never flown to her house and the neighbour hood looks a little different from above. She lives close to me, but to get to her house you have to take a bunch of streets that go around a green belt. I’m shocked at how close her house is as the crow flies. I really could use a wrist rocket and lob at her house and get pretty close.
I really just find her house because her husband has a bunch of toys. A bass boat, a huge RV, and a giant truck. I walk through her door and find the master bedroom. Her little one is sleeping in between her and her husband. She is watching me. For some reason when I am in the other space little children look like they are always awake. I know in normal reality her eyes are closed, but in this reality kids that age never close their eyes. Weird I know. Just an observation.
Just as I thought. There is an oily looking entity slithering around on her. Cancer? The drugs she is on? I don’t know. She just had her fricken boob cut off. Who knows what kind of nastiest are around and even her own psychic constructs could be an issue.
Anyway. I grab it and send light through it to disintegrate it. Easy enough. It squirmed a lot like a snake, but it died.
Then I did something I haven’t done in a very long time. I don’t like to do it actually because sometimes I feel like I’m violating someone. No one knows I do this crazy ****, and if they did, they probably wouldn’t speak to me, so I have to do it without her consent. It bugs me a bit, but I get myself over it and do it.
I reached my hands into her body. No I’m not grabbing her boobs. I simply stick my hands in her torso and I let my consciousness spread throughout her whole body. It’s a very strange sensation because it’s really wet and I can literally feel every part of her insides as if my sense of touch expanded to everything. I don’t really know how to describe that. The insides of people feel actually quite gross. It’s all wet and squishy and sort of hot.
I check her lymph nodes and other places cancer might have spread. She is missing some. The doctors removed a few. I can’t really detect anything it’s just touch. I decide to take a different approach. I decide to have a look. Okay this is going to sound really crazy, but I actualky stick my whole head in her chest cavity and start to look around. I purposely change my perspective and create like a virtual environment. Almost like a movie or CGI of the inside of a human body. I search everywhere and eventually find what I was looking for. I can only describe it as little dark stars. It’s as if blackness was shinning. There are not a whole lot. I just start to zap them like a video game. I search around more until I’m satisfied I have gotten them all.
When im done, I simply snap myself back to my own body. No real need to fly back. I probably don’t even need to fly there, it’s just a habit. I then grab my phone to write about it here.
Did it help? I don’t know. I suppose I never will unless the unthinkable happens and she dies then I know it didn’t.
Sorry for typos and bad grammar. I really dont feel like editing
Thank for listening.
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When I create I always want to express something, a feeling, a thought, a mystery.
Through the process of creating, my mind starts to fly into another dimension.
A mystery is unfolding in my mind's eye, my mind's wings are fluttering in a happy dance.
I call this piece of art "The Red Room"
A chronic lack of civility in our public discourse has led to an approaching breakdown of social order. When it comes, when the nastiness reaches a critical point, who will be willing to back down and compromise? When hotheads shed blood, who will reach across to make peace? WWII ended 73 years ago. Is our institutional memory so short? Do we so little value what has taken 2 centuries to build? Finally, are we so full of hate that we'd rather lose all than admit an error and compromise? Our electronic media is our access to the wider world. How are we to understand what is happening in our world if we cannot trust what these arbiters of truth tell us? There is yet time for cooler heads to prevail but that time is shrinking.
This year has been one of the most growth-inducing years of my life. It began with a break up after a 3 month relationship I expected to go further than it had. I went through depression of course, not knowing what I did wrong, and desperately trying to fix the relationship any way I could. I had my mind set on suicide once the pain got unbearable. I planned out goodbye letters, and had other information written down so things could be taken cared of when I had gone. Something in my mind told me to pray for help instead - so I did. February came along and I began researching Archangels because of one I heard of shortly after praying. Archangel Michael was the first one I had researched, and the more I looked, the more curious I became and once I knew I could ask them for help, I started calling out to them and praying every night for something to happen. It started the domino effect that paved the road towards my Spiritual awakening in March, then Kundalini awakening in April. I've been visited by many of the Archangels in the last 6 months, and I have a direct cord connecting me to Michael. It's so powerful, when he's with me I can feel heat cascade down my entire back. I have many experiences to voice about, and I plan to do so in this blog. All events are true, and I use to be an atheist, so if people are concerned with me making this stuff up - there is no way I could possibly make things of this significance up!
Until next time, have a good day!
Just over 12 years ago I joined this site. I was in my early 20s and noticed something strange in the sky. I took photos then went online on my old PC and came across this forum to share my experience. It was great and opened up my mind to so much more. Since then I’ve learned to look beyond what we can see. I don’t post very often but I read very often. Personally I don’t have many experiences that are worthy of sharing on here but I do appreciate others stories and experiences.
That leads to me, now. For most of my adult life I’ve suffered with depression and anxiety. It’s getting worse. Realising that 12 years has passed since that day I registered on here is a major eye opener. Then I had a few ideas and dreams of where I wanted to be in the future. I’ve not achieved much of that. I bet most of us would think that in a decade into the future from now, loads of things would have changed! Aliens would be here, ghosts and monsters would be easily detectable but nope, all is as it was. It’s a good thing though because no matter how much technology progresses, those same questions we asked years ago still remain.
Ive began looking for personal answers. Why am I here? What’s my purpose? Is it all just random events or is the simulation theory real? If so then are any of us really in control? Are we the highest power or are we just left alone to think we are? Are we insignificant like that random ant hill in Africa?
Having depression is strangely soothing for me. I can’t get excited and I’m used to feeling alone and disappointed. If we are alone and are just a freak of nature doomed to disappear when the sun explodes then fine, I can deal with the pointlessness of it all. But what if we’re not a freak of nature? What if we’re here for some reason? Test? Experiment etc?
Who gets those feelings of “there’s something more than this”? I do constantly. I’m not religious but I do believe there’s something out there with a degree of control but I have no idea how to find out! I’ll keep searching!
I try to ignore the distractions in life, they seem to be set up for us like TV, sport, video games and so on. They seem to mask or hide something. Why do we need to be entertained when we have the instinct to explore? There are so many unanswered questions but we ignore them and instead go shopping or go drinking or fall asleep watching TV!
The people on here, keep up the good work! Keep searching and asking! Share what you find! Silent observers like myself appreciate it .
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Through a rift in the atmosphere, found with a purpose
still so enthralled, the angel crawls
to the edge of the night
and looks down
Hell is as much a metaphor in heaven as it is on Earth:
“Close enough,” he decides, as he surveys what he’s found
Earthly delights are what he’s after
smoking and drinking; music and laughter
He thinks of himself as a rogue player, wandering adventurer
The ladies adore him, his rugged handsomeness
his smooth caress
With his wings folded tight, he can blend right in
among the cacophony of celebration
the nightlife and parties, the sin
You see, he grows bored with heaven
all its pureness, so tame
He craves the soiled imperfections
the struggle and the game
Which is why he often finds himself in a lovely stranger’s bed
enjoying earthly pleasures; letting his passions be fed
Sometimes his wings are discovered - with shocked delight and glee!
But until the morning light they are difficult to see
Which is why before the dawn returns
he must make his exit swift,
his lover sleepily calling, “Gabe…..”
as his wings give him lift
©Goddess of the Mist
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So yesterday, my three cousins and I were laying in bed watching movies. It was around 11:30pm or 12:00pm, and the door in my cousins room started shaking slightly. We were a little creeped out, but just assumed it was the fans in and outside of the room. It continued after a while, so we just opened the door and put some things in front of it. Today, it started again. My aunt claims it has never happened before, because I'm just visiting when it happened. We turned off any fans or air circulating through the house. No windows or doors were open. The door continued to shake, but much harder. When we would open it, no one was outside. Nothing. So we just cracked the door, due to heat, and the door once again shook. While it was open. Later, all of the doors started to shake slightly while closed. Not really sure what's going on here, any thoughts?
So a couple weeks ago I said I was going to take a break from the internet. Well I had some reasons for this that I just won’t get in too. So anyway this will be my final post here at UM so I can put things in order. Before anyone jumps the gun and thinks the absolute worst, no I’m not going to jail, and I am Not going to hurt myself. I just have far too many things on my plate at the moment to be coming and posting here. Thanks to all the people that I have become friends with here, I will not forget you. So let me bid you all a fond farewell.
You breathe the air of your sweat, light and shallow.. the liquid air around you without breath to give you respite. The sun above does little more than remind you that your flesh can cook in the steam just like that nice batch of veggies you dressed with a cool cucumber dressing last night.
Then you hit the shade while the hot wind does whip up-blowing the debris of seasonal blossoms gone to seed and dust from the streets... and it's a cool blessing. You are happy that the sweat pops up to be blown off.. and take a moment to drink deep of that iced beverage.. swat a sweat fly or two. Too hot for skeeters to be bugging, even their spawn is dying in the water tanks, much to the dismay of the birds that like to eat and drink while perched on the ledges.
The high light of summer is already past us, and has been for a couple weeks. We are now on the hot steel slide into the dark.
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Short post. My Photo. The Arseniev Museum in Vladivostok. Second floor. Hall of Archeology. On the left under the glass are the medieval bronze mirrors. The Jurchen Empire. The Primorye Territory of our Far Eastern region is very rich in these historical relics.
Well, all the search parties have returned. It turns out that the first search party had already come back and just went straight to bed (apparently they emphasized the “Party” part of their title)… Stern notes were posted in the personnel folders of all involved…
This year’s route has been selected and without further ado, here it is:
The race will begin in the Grand Central Square, in the heart of the UM Complex… All racers will be sorted by their teams, in order of talent, winning records (and bribes of course)… Each team will be lined up in one of the many (mostly) straight (and mostly paved) streets that radiate out from the Grand Square (it’s not really square shaped – it’s just named that to confuse people)… When the starting bazooka is fired, the racers will all rush inward onto the (mostly circular-ish) traffic circle (known as a roundabout to some), and will speed around counter-clockwise for three full circuits… At this time the Grand All-High Inquisitor Mod will pull the lever that opens the “Ancient Endless Spiral Stairs of Doom” (which have been mostly covered with the cheapest grade of plywood we could find – so that it forms a 15 mile long 60 degree spiral down ramp…
The “Ancient Endless Spiral Stairs of Doom” were the result of a Public Works Project by a group of Inquisitor Mods a few thousand years ago… The original plans were for this to be a rather short spiral staircase down 15 meters to a lavish train station, which was to be built to begin linking UM’s far flung areas together… However, the designers abbreviated 15 meters to 15 m which the construction crew mistook for 15 miles… After the construction crew had gotten started, it was discovered that no one had invented trains yet, so the Inquisitors scrapped the project but neglected to tell the furiously digging crews… When the bottom was reached it was discovered that they had dug down into a series of ancient lava tubes, Prehistoric mammoth-gopher tunnels and some of the original dungeon levels…
Upon reaching the bottom of the “Ancient Endless Spiral Stairs of Doom” those racers that survive will be directed by rapidly strobing neon lights down the twisting tunnels and chambers, along the Ancient Grand Gallery with its view that overlooks 30 deeper levels (watch out – no safety rails!) and finally along the Ancient Underground Sea (be cautious… there are “things” that live in there and they have tentacles!)…
The racers will then find themselves emerging from the underground at the base of the World famous Icanseemyhousefromhere Mountain and across the lovely and scenic Misty Marsh of Miasmic Wonder… (The Race Committee would like to take this opportunity to give a heartfelt thank you to the many “volunteers” (and their next of kins) who worked so hard (and for so little pay) to layout the plywood over the swampy ground to form the roadway for the racers to use…)
After crossing the Misty Marsh, the racers will travel through the Eastern Artillery Impact Zone (B), where as they speed along they will have the pleasure of witnessing the production testing of the latest model of Rocket Assisted Pogo-sticks for Seniors – which should amuse the racers to no end…
Once across the Impact Zone (which will most definitely be probably not receiving artillery hits at the time of the race – but you never know!) the racers will pull into the courses sole rest stop, where they can stretch their legs, get a cold frosty beverage (on sale from the Renegade Beer Balloon Fleet) and change their pants (as necessary), The Noggin’ Knockers Band will be providing musical entertainment (for a small fee they will move on and play somewhere else) and everyone is encouraged to polka for a bit before getting back on with the race…
The next leg of the race is perhaps the most dangerous… It is across the heart of UM’s “Land of Lost Tax Accountants”… Racers are advised to make all speed through here as the Tax Accountants are likely to ensnare you into a lengthy and hideously boring Tax audit – so beware!
After escaping the clutches of the Tax Accountants, it is directly into the Eastern Squiggle Reserve, where the racers will attempt to evade the rather lonely squiggles who are just looking for someone to pet them and take them home – racers are reminded that Squiggle Anti-Dote, chain-mail gauntlets and anti-itch cream are NOT on sale at the final rest stop – so bring your own!
And the final leg of the race is into the Eastern Oubliette Zone of the Central Complex, where the teeming mobs of fans will be waiting excitedly for the racers to speed past as they pelt them with rotten fruit, water balloons and glitter bombs…
So that’s the route for this year’s race… Study it, form your strategies and remember that June 3rd is the final day for Bribes to be placed (unless of course you bribe the officials to accept later bribes) – and may the best tricyclist (and best briber of course) win! (or at least survive)…
Spyro the Dragon is quite possibly one of the single most influential and important parts of my life. That may sound strange given that Spyro is just a simple little polygonal 90's platformer videogame about a miniscule purple dragon who collects gems and breaths fire, but to me personally it has meant so much more...
(Images Above - cover art from the original trilogy games released for the Sony Playstation console)
I had a rough childhood dealing with abuse (that I won't go into detail here), and so my mind was already naturally an escapist. I've always been an avid daydreamer who would escape the problems of the real world mentally into my own little fantasy world in my head. I've done so as far back as I could remember. So when I first came in contact with the first Spyro the Dragon game when I was only five or six years old, I was instantly transported to a whole other magical world that I had the freedom to explore.
It was the first video game I ever played, and it was introduced to me by my father (the source of my abuse) of all people. In it you could travel to other worlds, each with a life of it's own. Filled with magic and mystery, as well as interactive things in the environment. The game actively encouraged exploration. To look over every nook and cranny for hidden treasure. To travel (and escape) to all sorts of different, new, and exciting worlds. I played it every time I went over to my father's house for visits. It was my means of coping. You played as a little purple dragon who was the smallest of the bunch, and didn't have much in terms of abilities. But he had a lot of spunk, and wasn't afraid of anything. By playing as Spyro, I felt as though I could take on the world. Like no matter how big the challenges are, and no matter how small you are, those challenges could be overcome. It gave me great encouragement and inspiration. Spyro was my hero growing up.
Spyro was actually even my first ever imaginary friend (Lol, clearly I didn't have many friends growing up). And in fact, one of my most precious possessions is Spyro stuffed animal my dad gave me. He spent hours and even days on ebay bidding for it until he finally got it just for me. It wasn't for a holiday or special event, he just did it out of the kindness of his heart because he knew how much Spyro meant to me. To this day, it's the only true gift my father ever gave to me. After getting it though, I exchanged my imaginary friend Spyro for the stuffed animal Spyro. I treated that thing like they do in those old Calvin and Hobbes comic strips. It rarely ever left my side, and I treated that thing like a member of my own family.
I may sound like a total mental case by saying all this, but Spyro truly has been the single most influential part of my childhood. And it affects me on up to this day into young adulthood.
I've always loved videogames, and Spyro is undoubtedly what got me into gaming in the first place. But it was never about 'gaming' for me per say. It was all about the escapism. Call it, a 'fantasy simulator' if you will. It never needed to be complex or super dark or realistic or have brilliant game mechanics or whatnot. That's why I honestly fell out of the gaming craze around high school really. Partly because of what I just mentioned, but also partly because I honestly didn't have much money to keep up with all the new consoles and didn't feel like my money would be best spent on new games that I only half cared for. I just can't get into all these stat-heavy RPG's or FPS clones personally. I miss the old days where gaming was simple. I love old school 3-D collectathon platformers. That's why I'm so happy that 3-D platformers seem to finally be making a come back! And most importantly, so is Spyro!
Yes, Spyro the Dragon is coming back, completely remastered (or should I say remade) from the ground up!
Enter: The Spyro Reignited Trilogy
For those who don't know, Spyro the Dragon has been suffering as a franchise in recent years (most notably ever since the release of Spyro: Enter the Dragonfly in 2002, which pretty much single-handedly killed the franchise from being so bad). The first 3 games that were released on the original Sony Playstation system in the late 1990's are regarded by fans to be the greatest in the series. However after the 3rd game, the development team behind the originals lost the rights to Spyro and thus the franchise spiraled downward pretty much in a verticle fashion from that point onward. The franchise has suffered through 2 different reboots (each one completely different from all the rest), with the second reboot being basically an entirely different game series that merely used the brand name 'Spyro' as a subtitle so as to bring in more original Spyro fans as a cheap marketing gimmick. Needless to say, Spyro the Dragon has been pushed ever more onto the back burner for quite some time now...
However, now thanks to the new Spyro Reignited Trilogy, the original 3 games are coming back with brand new amazing HD graphics and re-released as one single game 3-in-1. Just check out the side-by-side comparisons here:
And for all new images released thus far:
I never would've imagined in my wildest dreams that my childhood idol and mascot, the original 3 videogames that helped me cope with horrendous circumstances, and helped to define such an incredibly core aspect of who I am, would ever see such a triumphant return like this. This is not just another reboot of the franchise, or some brand new game entirely. It's a 100% complete remake of the originals, simply eith better graphics, better sound quality, better everything. It's like the videogame gods looked down and read my mind and magically turned what had always been a hopeless fantasy to me, never to even in the least bit see the light of day, and made it into a reality. I'm simply amazed. Words can't even begin to express how much this remake means to me.
Spyro is more to me then just a game. And the Reignited trilogy is more than just a simple remake. They aren't just remastering a 20-year old videogame, they're remastering my childhood. You may find it silly and weird for me to still be so invested in what is essentially a kids game, but certain things like this stick with us for the rest of our lives. Spyro will always be the #1 most defining aspect of my early childhood, and I'm incredibly grateful to be able to now play the new Reignited Trilogy in all it's HD glory!
Thanks for letting me share this tidbit of my soul with all of you.
This is Aquila King, signing out.
I have just looked back through this blog. I am shocked to find that I started it mote than 11 years ago, My original intention was to blog my thoughts on... well any thing I had a thought about really.
In those more than 11 years I have had several periods where I have not made an entry for years on end. In fact this will be only the 83rd entry. It seems that I have less than 8 thoughts a year.
Why is it when people divorce they use the kids to get what they want? It is like a game to see who can get the most out of it. Why? I'll tell you why. People can't grow up and see what they are doing to the kids. It's like the kids can't do one thing without hurting one of the parents. They are pulled and thrown around as if they are nothing but something to be owned.