MAGA Democracy or Hypocrisy? The Bleaching of America

As a democratic nation we are a little over 200 years old. Our political system is based on the core principles of freedom of religious and political expression for all its’ citizens; especially if you are white and Christian, as these principles did however not seem to apply to the indigenous population, or immigrants from darker skinned nations that populated our country.

These early Christian principles are embedded in the tenets and foundation of our culture. which has only served to foster the hypocrisy of justice for all that we still find today in our society.

These principles helped to create a strong, prosperous fledgling nation that was composed of the intrepid explorers who discovered our nation, those persecuted for political and religious beliefs in Europe, as well as deported lawbreakers, convicts, and a plethora of the old world’s “unwanted.” Together the created the United States of America in 1776. Five years later E. pluribus unum, which is Latin for “Out of many, one” became our nation’s first motto.

The U.S. population achieved its biggest growth in history during the 1950s, going from 150 million in 1950 to 180 million in 1960 – as post WWII newly married young couples were actively starting the baby boom generation. Churches and schools were being greatly expanded to accommodate the growing population, and organized religion was in its heyday. On a typical Sunday morning almost half of all Americans were attending church – the highest percentage in U.S. history where nationwide church membership grew at a faster rate than the population.

The baby boomers born and raised in that era are now for the most part retired and watching our social security payments come in as we watch our nation falling apart.  What happened to the great experiment? Why is it failing? 

We seemed to have lost sight of our forefathers’ vision that is gilded within the preamble to our Constitution.

When did our democracy start to fail?

I believe it began in earnest when our country began importing its labor force with stolen citizens of other countries while at the same time trying to convert or exterminate the indigenous peoples of our first nation. That was the beginning of our country’s downfall and when the fight to save democracy truly began. Our forefathers intended to ensure freedom and rights for every American citizen whatever their country of origin they had emigrated from. The affluent and successful antebellum society of our southern states capitalized on the cheap labor force, political control, and their exclusive religious doctrines, all of which included the subjection of its nonwhite and heathen domestic citizens.

Organized religion flourished in the 1950s. Before the advent of WWII organized religion was much more restricted and exclusive in its memberships. The 2nd world war exposed many Americans to new religious thought from the soldiers who travel overseas to the influx of the dispossessed and refugees from war torn Europe. These fledgling new citizens brought with them their culture, their language, their rituals and religion and the browning of America began.

This boom in religious expression slowly created deep social chasms between white Christian believers and adherents of any alternative non-Christian deity.  A “high” vs. “low” mentality became mainstream in America. Catholic vs. Protestant, liberal vs. conservative, Republican vs. Democrat, capitalism vs. communism, hawk vs. dove, bull vs bear, free vs. slave; white vs. brown. Diametrically opposed positions in a country of united states that maintains, fosters, and perpetuates a political system based on the collective of conservative white male Christians that have the upper hand; seemingly a conundrum in our constitution that states all men are created equal.

  “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”

                                                                                   ― George Orwell, Animal Farm

In our country’s early years, we witnessed the scourging and almost complete genocide of our first nation peoples; the rest were forced to become Christians.

We witnessed and encouraged the subjugation and slavery of all darked skinned people for profit, privilege, and power. Black males were given the right to vote in 1870, much earlier than even white Christian women who did not get the vote until 1920.  The freedom to vote was unfortunately only lip service on paper for black Americans, as intimidation in most cases prevented them from doing so. It was not until a 100 years later did the civil rights act of 1964 and the 14th amendment provide a formidable expansion of the American black vote that could influence political policy and elections. This is changing America; the expression of the dream that our forefathers had, and one that Martin Luther King reinforced and died for.

The vote is integral to our democracy, we must trust it, or we are lost as a nation. The overriding vote of the populous is the will of the people. Every 4 years it is our elections that continue to hone the skills and successes of young democracy becoming.

The first democracy in the world is 2,500 years old. Our democracy is just 221 years old; we are a mere toddler in governing a country. We only continue to hone our success as a working democracy from the voice of its citizens in the spirit of their resilience to be able to adapt to a changing world.  We turn to our bill of rights, our constitution, and its amendments to this purpose; we have promises to keep. That defines America.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.”

                                                   -Robert Frost

Unfortunately, with the greed, elitism, selfish pursuits, ignorance and strong held religious beliefs held by the lion’s share of Americans it furthers the divide between our American citizens. A divide over race, religion, human rights, and political ideologies as well the attainment of keeping of wealth, which happens on both sides of the political aisle.

We are seeing an increase in the voracity and exclusivism rising for the some 20% of Christians who identify as evangelical. They seemed to have joined forces with the legions of disgruntled gun wielding, non- mask wearing, confederate flag waving, conspiracy creating miscreants, rebellion bent so called patriots of our society who want a white, protestant America back at any cost. 

Together they both seem to agree with the tenet that no women or people of color, Jew, or Muslim should hold any office or garner their respect. Women must also follow the orders of her husband as scripture dictates and obey his commands. Make America great again; bring back 1955 when white was right, women stayed home, communists were blacklisted, gays were ridiculed & beaten, and minorities knew their place or else.

Unfortunately, the experiment with the MAGA rebellion has almost destroyed our republic and crippled our world reputation as a working democracy. Where did we go wrong? Why is this happening now? Why this specific time in our country?

Why?

Because of Donald Trump.  

Donald Trump became our President on a whim.

He was told by his early sycophants for many years that he should run for president. It eventually sunk in and the thought inflated his insatiable ego. With the huge success and popularity of his television show and financial resources, he said what the heck. He campaigned and to the shock of the nation and won the election… and became our 45th POTUS. Nothing has ever been the same since. His ego went into irreversible hyper drive with a needy populous hungry for a hero.

He carefully picked his Vice President, a former Catholic turned evangelical, and peppered his cabinet with many right-wing Christians. He newly professed Jesus as his personal savior and created a Presidential Evangelical Advisory board. He started his playbook in Christian doctrine for ensuring his 2nd term as president. He used the Christian radical right who was hungry for the return of a white Christian nation. They also believe that he is an instrument or vessel of God for a divine purpose for our country. Some believe his presidency predicates the 2nd coming of Jesus Christ. In scholarly works it is known as Parousia, the end time prophecy and return of Messiah as foretold in Revelations Daniel 9, the 70th week.

There are many signs and the opening Seals as outlined in Revelations that predicate the return of Jesus. Many of these can be perceived to have happened that only bolsters confidence and radicalize devotees to anticipate what Christians have been waiting 2000 years for; rapture where good Christians are taken up to heaven and good Christian souls who have died will be reunited with their bodies for eternity.

There are many other signs in revelations, too many to list here but Trump is creating an illusion of fulfilling prophecy to gain favor with that large base of Christian voters. They want to believe that Jesus is coming back by 2021 and that Trump is a necessary evil for that to happen. They will stand firm and may even give their lives if necessary, to allow prophecy to be fulfilled at any cost. Coupled with many very real celestial and planet disturbances this past year which only serves to enforce their belief that prophecy is being fulfilled.

When an angry Christian mob stormed the capital on January 6th because of President Trump’s words and encouragement he became responsible. Some believe that he is “the abomination that causes desolation” that predicates the return of the messiah as foretold in revelations. The dawning of Parousia, the end time.

With Covid deaths surging around the world, it seems to be becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy as written in Daniel 9 that 1/3 of the world’s population will die, signaling Parousia. This can even make the hardcore cynic pause. This playbook was written long ago and not the first attempt to fulfill or interpret prophecy for personal gain, nor will it be the last. You must give the great manipulator credit; he knows what he is doing.

We must not be complacent, evil does not go away, it secrets itself in the hearts of discontent, avarice and illusion that still roils unabated across this nation. The disgruntled devotees of this insidious Pied Piper are enervated by fear and loathing. The defeat of their leader will only serve to bolster the indignation they now feel in losing the election. Like wolves they will retreat to their den to lick the wounds of defeat and foster more dreams of rebellion and sedition with renewed focus. Its difficult, sometimes impossible to hinge that which has become unhinged; when patterned neurons of dark selfish desires takes control, it creates an intemperate, unyielding partisan of hate and anger that can turn to an unfettered and unabated rage.

Despite the list of immoral, inept, insular, insipid, insecure, irascible, idiotic, indecent, insulting, insurrectionary, illusionary, insecure, insane, indignant, irritating, illegitimate and inexhaustible list of expressions to describe the golden calf that they have created from the own fear and insecurity they will not yield to the truth that they are being duped. Their bigger than life demigod has them hook, line and stinker; they will stand firm.   

The wolves had entered the city and were driven back. They cloister now in the backwoods, bowling alleys, biker bars, gun clubs, church basements and rabbit holes. They are supported by rogue Messianic churches who delve into the dark web of conspiracy, Armageddon, prophecy, and numerology. Their drums of discontent will be continued to be heard across the underbelly of our nation for a long time to come. Disgruntled, disenfranchised, uneducated, unhappy, the angry and the ignorant will be crying with bile fed revengeance for a rematch or more rebellion. They will double down on their ignorance and their embroiled bigotry. They will continue to drink the Kool-Aid and share their pablum of discontent as anarchists for antiestablishmentarianism. The orcs and trolls of our society will gather and prepare to implement plan “B”; they have not given up, they are recruiting. We still need to be diligent, there is no vaccine for this virus.

However, there is a silver lining. The serendipity within the uncivil war of our political system during this last election is the awakening of the real silent majority “the complacent”. The silent centrist, the fence sitter, the apolitical, the non-wave maker, the complier, the nonvoter, the trusting naïve, and the convivial proletariat that had the quiet and comfort of their non-conviction shaken to its core. The collateral blessing of Trump’s tenure is that he has awakened the true silent majority to the fact that their prosperity, happiness, freedom, and vision for their children’s future depends on every one of our votes, it cannot be taken for granted.

Complacency is not an option for a working democracy, it is its nemesis and a political cancer. We can NEVER get this close to insurrection again. Engage with our elect. They are our representatives and our voice. Vote.

Is it possible that I may be too fortunate in life?  I am not rich by any stretch, but I have worked hard and saved a little.  I just do not understand what is so bad about this country from the MAGA perspective?  What is so bad? What is so intolerable in their lives that they are so ANGRY? Angry enough for murder, insurrection, loss of relationships with family and friends, as well as a very real threat of federal prison? 

If the economy is so bad, jobs are so scarce, and conditions so awful how can protesters afford to fly across the country, buy expensive guns and stocks of ammo?  How can they buy expensive motorcycles, ATV’s, boats, jet skis, RV’s, and monster trucks?  They enjoy their pit bulls & gun ranges, long beards & beer bongs, pipe bombs & potato guns, splat ball & cockfights, ass kicking & strip clubs, cross burning, & lynching, name calling, mayhem, madness, and murder. They can have long hair with red necks, sport mullets in leisure suits, they come in skinheads, jarheads, and talking heads, they smoke pot and drink moonshine, gray haired men dressed in gray suits, and peace officers who wear a hood. Demographically they are primarily white Christian, poorly educated lower middle-class male bullies who fueled by their own Freudian anatomical deficiencies attempt to stimulate the expression of testosterone with bravado and aggression. 

A particularly unstable, volatile, and unsavory group of individuals who are all hungry for a scapegoat, a whipping boy and convenient pariah to be dealt with. To be able to express their bravado, defeat their self-hatred/self-doubt they must muster up their testosterone to steroidal levels so high that it activates the limbic system, and their lizard brain responds and activates accordingly with eat or be eaten.  So many little boys in a big man’s body is frightening.

Then we have the evangelical religious right.  Literal interpretation of the bible is their strength, following its dictates as written is their shield and portion be; they are on fire for Jesus; on fire to save others and on fire to prepare for the rapture. They will do almost anything to prepare the way and be ready for the 2nd coming.

Then we have the political right that is losing their identity, their political panache and respect. They are losing many long-standing historical positions held in the annals of our government since its inception. The vestiges of antebellum reconstructionism morphed underground with seeds of discontent and continue to foment to this day ideologies of a white America with its age-old traditional values and Christian ideals. This has created a plethora of hate groups that are united by the internet; gaining more support as the browning of America continues.

Trump supporters and loyalists can come from any of these groups and the election has brought them all together to drink from the same well. They are not a cult with blind allegiance to all the rules as outlined by their leader. There are no rules, he is no leader, only their image of a hero. That is his secret. He adopts their grievances, their religious beliefs, their vision for America and makes it his own.  Blind with hope and hatred they do not see his cunning and he becomes their God’s chosen one and leader of their dreams; nothing can convince them otherwise.

The great experiment known as America is evolving with time to become an amalgamation of the world, a microcosm of the macrocosm of the inhabitants of this planet. The United States is more ethnically diverse than anywhere else in the world and growing more so every day.  Many underprivileged/poorly educated white protestant males, as well as some Harvard and West Point graduates still want the America that their Daddy’s held so dear. A country of white privilege. They are still holding on to the notion that white male superiority is the only salvo for this country; it is a man’s world, run by men, good Christian white men. To think otherwise is unpatriotic. 

With the election of a black president in the white house the embers of discontent began to rekindle with earnest in the backwoods of our nation. Jim Crow again was enervated by scores of knuckle draggers who were gobsmacked with unbelief, fear, and anger that we had a black president.  He threw down his barrel of cheeseballs, inserted a large pinch of Copenhagen into his angered mouth, turned on his computer and sent a mass email to all his black hearted constituents with a cc to old Scratch; It has begun. 

Obama finally leaves office. God forbid we get another minority in his place, a Jew, a gay liberal or worse yet a woman for president. The plan to install the great white hope ensued and the progeny of the good old boys of our political system found a willing ego-filled pathological narcissist who took the bait. Tell me what you want, and I will become that leader. Beyond all rational odds and a naive/complacent voting populace in America he won the election as 45th POTUS and the spiral to insurrection began.

This was the beginnings of a renewed helter skelter that was ignited and fomented by prejudice and the embedded racial superiority in our country. Their poison is robustly infiltrating our populace that a deep state exists with a dark and decadent and Godless agenda that is threatening to destroy our country. This belief is touted by many cadres of white discontented “patriots” in this country as well as extreme evangelical messianic cults.  Together the form a bizarre amalgamation of alternate realities and unalterable thinking These two groups together synergize their hate and envy that combines into a force to be reckoned with. They have heavily infiltrated the Republican party into the unrecognizable grand old party that we see today.

In four years with the Trump administration, a portion of our society has degraded into a society of freelance hooligans fanned and agitated to aggression by their great white hope who promises to make America white again. With the threat of having a cookie cutter Catholic career politician as president, coupled with the potential for a woman as VP (who is black no less), their peter principle of tolerance reached the end of its rope for many far-right supporters.

Their only other choice for president was a radical right Marxist leaning aging Jewish man who had great ideas, but was just a little too old, a lot too left, and little too Jewish; an intelligent and well-respected man but a throw away vote the centrist and the NeverTrumper. The perfect storm was brewing for a rebellion in our country, an unheard supposition in our modern America. They had to find a rube with an insatiable ego to take back the country and foment rebellion. They found the perfect and willing candidate in Donald J. Trump and he succeeded.

But I am sorry to to Jim Crow but America will never be a White America again; the horse is out of the barn with our expanding diversity. The pipe dreams of a resurrected dying confederacy coupled with evangelical visions of a rapture in our time ended when our 46th President Joe Biden was inaugurated on January 20th. There was no military coup d’état, no complete civil siege of the capital with the lynching of the vice president and speaker of the house with trials for treason that they had planned. No rapture for the faithful, no angry mobs clad in combat helmets and confederate flag capes of insurrection, no antithetical anarchists defending their right to be enslaved by ignorance attended the inauguration. It was a peaceful transition of power. Democracy prevailed where hyper hypocrisy failed. America continues triumphant.

The budding return of the grand old party of better days has been destroyed. These angry white men and their dutiful wives will still be angry and extremely disappointed that their dreams will never reach fruition. They will have to accept the truth that dixie is dead and Jim Crow is dying.  For the most part they are selfish Americans who do not want to share it with anyone who is not white. This is a bitter pill to swallow; to have their hopes destroyed that the South will not rise again, and Parousia has not begun.

Swallow the bitter pill they must, for our country will move forward into the future, more diverse and prosperous than ever before.  Although these antebellum vestiges of a failed counterculture of white superiority will be subdued and deflated, like lamprey and barnacles they will still cling to the underbelly of the nation far into the future.  Our country will continue to grow in diversity and their angry numbers will hopefully wane through attrition, education and through dilution of good character. 

Making no bones about it will take time. The troubles we see in this country right now with the insurrection of our capital is at its core a racial pogram of disenchanted melanin challenged extremists. They do not want to share their country with black and brown skinned people. Simple as that. It is not about politics, financial insecurity, religion, war, abortion, climate change, gun rights, the pandemic hoax or not wearing mask… or really even who is president. They will not be happy until white is right and black is put back. When we have daily Christian prayer back in school, the wall is completed, abortion clinics are closed, our borders our sealed off and school lunches will only serve pizza, burgers, fries and Diet Coke.

These insurrectionist slimeballs or even their politicos in a nice suit are putting a forever stain on the word Patriot for every proud citizen of our country. They have denigrated the once proud name of the Republican party that may take decades to recover from, and we need that party; we are both sides of the aisle.

Honesty and justice will prevail. Democracy allows for protest with our 1st amendment, and our right to bear arms with our 2nd amendment. However, it does not seem consistent with our constitution to exercise them simultaneously in a public gathering, federal office or used as a tool for intimidation and sedition.

They had their moment in the sun, their 5 minutes of fame and footprint of shame; this too shall pass.

I have faith that the American dream is not a dream, but that it is a reality. That reality was just confirmed at Noon EST on January 20th. What we have just experienced for 4 years was just an awfully bad dream. Oftentime nightmares can indicate an internal disruption in our chi to initiate a different path to attain balance. This may be the cass here. The pendulum always swings with perpetual inertia both directions; it cannot be stopped or reversed. I am confident we are on a return to center.

I feel as though I have doffed a heavy rain-soaked woolen trench coat and I am standing next to Bon Jovi singing “here comes the sun” at the top of my lungs.  At long last the deluge has stopped, the clouds have lifted, and the nightmare is over; step out of dark, into the light and into the sun; E Pluribus Unum, out of many, we are one; thank God for 2021.

MC/1/22/21

A Nation in Pain

To my FB friends:

I see a wide variety of responses on the video that I created and posted about the siege on the capital last week. Responses from so many friends on such a volatile issue that is affecting our lives and our country. I have friends lashing out at me, I have friends agreeing with me, I have friends defending me. Social media gives us the opportunity for love & hate, wisdom & ignorance, forgiveness, and aggression all on the same platform. Why? Because we are Americans living in the greatest country in the world who has a foundational promise of freedom of speech.

When I was growing up, I got my world view from Walter Cronkite, Charles Kuralt, and Lawrence Spivak from a little black & white television. We formed our beliefs and bias from our parents, our places of worship, our schools, our community from the morning paper, the evening news, and your drunk uncle on holidays. We had no internet, Google, YouTube, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter or an openly antisemitic Parler, or musings from a mysterious dark web with voices of nefarious individuals with evil intent. Now we have almost unlimited opportunity to speak our voice and be heard as well as opportunity to be manipulated.

Our freedom of speech as promised by the 1st amendment of our constitution is an inalienable right and is what truly what makes the great experiment that we call democracy work at all.  We have grown up with political satire and vociferous opposing views that serve only to strengthen our republic, guarantee our freedom, and encourage resilience in a nation that leads the world in innovation and prosperity.

Freedom of speech although does not include freedom for incitement of violent acts. Throwing tea from a Boston harbor is an act of defiance not violence. Killing a Police Officer with a fire extinguisher when doing his job to control an angry mob to protect our capital is not freedom of speech its murder. Murder over an allegation of wrongdoing perpetrated by inuendo of yet unsubstantiated claims of large-scale voter fraud that is voiced on social media and yet to be proven.

I was shocked and dismayed watching the events unfold, even more shocked and dismayed the days that followed with many Trump loyalists condoning the insurrection and even defending the murder and mayhem as unfortunate but necessary.

For over 30 years I have walked with the bereaved, sat in the puddle of their tears with them. I have sat with people in every major city in this country and even more in their surrounding communities.  Not one time in the countless thousands of times sitting in the puddle with a griever did we ever discuss politics other than for insufficient bereavement leave. 

We have an agitated and very frightened country with an amalgamation of influence that is threatening our future. We have a lethal pandemic killing 4,000 people a day, we are incurring one death every 8 minutes in Los Angeles county alone as we speak. Then we have thousands of protesters show up to our Nation’s capital with our country’s underbelly of miscreants, stooges, opportunists, and ignorant agitators that all claim the virus is a hoax and the election was stolen. This contingently  infiltrated and overtook the presence of any local peaceful protesters that were there. They came from all over the country to storm the capital from the urging of our president. They have one agenda to create discord & mayhem at the same time while smugly extolling their joy and carnival of doing it. 

I realize these miscreants are a small percent of those who support the ideals of President Trump but unfortunately, they paint all his supporters in a bad light. Call me hopelessly centric, but up until these past few years I have been. I had never heard of or was aware of some of these radical groups on either side of the aisle. Groups such as ANTIFA, BLM, Q-ANON, The Proud Boys and a plethora of other white supremist groups; many who are opposing factions with a different diametrically opposed views and agendas.  I had no idea that the far right has been nurturing and laying plans for a coup d’état of our country for a long time. This evidently has the support from far-right wing Christians as part of God’s plan. I have gotten veiled threats for daring to satirize their demagogue and leader as they honestly believe he is an appointed/anointed vessel of God to save our country. I have told from numerous supporters that it is ordained; Trump will be President for the next four years. I have been told by a direct source who I know very well and who is an ardent Trump supporter that there will be a military intervention before Jan.20th with the storming of state capitals around the nation. Several leading members of congress will be tried for treason and Trump will still be our president.

Seriously this a widespread belief among MAGA supporters; to hear it voiced directly is a bit unnerving, especially stated with a smug, just you wait see demeaner. Is this delusion or do we have a large-scale underground militia that are forming coalitions of insurrection composed of Orcs, Goblins, and opportunist Trolls in our country? 

A good friend and bereaved dad from the South who obviously is an ardent Trump supporter posted a comment in reaction to my satirical post/video that the attempted coup was staged by ANTIFA and were they were the major players in inciting the violence that resulted in breaching the capital and murdering one and harming many of our nation’s capital protectors in blue.

The most prominent and flagrant insurrectionists that lead the failed coup attempt have been arrested and being prosecuted as we speak. Not one of them has been identified as ANTIFA or BLM. Most of those arrested admitting to authorities with pride of their involvement with radical militia groups of the right to take back the country. The Viking dude wielding the horn/fur hat openly states he was a representative sent by QAnon. Richard Barnett who disgraced Pelosi’s desk openly touts being a Trump loyalist/patriot. Lonnie Leroy Coffman who had a car full of incendiary devices, guns, and gasoline jars that were fused and ready to go to cause harm, death, and damage at the capital is a proclaimed patriot. They are not ANTIFA , they are just psychotic insurrectionists who enthusiastically endorses Trump and his agenda.

When you see protesters wearing shirts that say Camp Auschwitz or the acronym 6MWE (6 million Wasn’t Enough) and many shirts and confederate flags degrading black Americans, it must give one pause to comprehend their peaceful protest ideology. Personally, it turns my stomach. Hundreds of agitators with combat gear, tactical expertise, some with pipe bombs and zip ties who were openly harassing members of congress and in unison asking for the hanging of Mike Pence and Nancy Pelosi. This is not fake news or cleverly disguised undercover ANTIFA supporters that was mixed in the crowd pulling the shots, we all heard the chants. It was an angry mob of right-wing agitators looking to cause harm to our duly elected officials on both sides of the aisle.

Their ignorance in plastering their own photos of the insurrection on social media is almost laughable; of course, they will be caught and prosecuted, it is on film and all admitting to being Trump enthusiasts and were all reacting as patriots to support our president. Four of their supporters died that day from their own activities in the insurrection that was triggered by the urging of their fearless leader and his family.

In this day & age that we find ourselves in, I was shocked to hear Rudy Giuliani say “Trial by Combat” followed by Trump saying: do not be weak when you march to the capital. Urging combat does not correlate with assertions that it was a peaceful protest. No sheep’s clothing here, the wolves were proud and loud.

The idea that this was coup was staged to paint a negative light on a peaceful protest is absurd. You can cut, edit all you want media accounts of the day, you cannot edit their actions or their confessions. Most our proud to be guilty.

Satire is American as Apple Pie and a hallmark of American politics:

The formal definition of satire is “the use of humor, irony, exaggeration, or ridicule to expose and criticize people’s stupidity or vices.” It is an extremely broad category. The “or” in the definition is key – most satires are humorous, ironic, and exaggerated, but they only must be one of these things to count as satire. There are two important things to remember about satire: It makes fun of a person, idea, or institution. Its purpose is not just to entertain, but also to inform or make people think.

The statement below is from Reuters, the most unbiased prestigious fact checker agency in the world, universally known and respected for its honesty, integrity and unbiased reporting with no agenda or political alliance.

Social media users have been sharing content online that suggests those who stormed the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6 were Antifa, not Trump supporters. Many have been using compilations of pictures as purported evidence, but examination of these images shows they do not support this claim. Meanwhile, the FBI has said there is “no indication at this time” that Antifa had played a role in the mob that stormed the Capitol.”

There are now 6 dead Americans because of the siege of our nation’s capital by insurrectionists. Exactly fifty years ago, Charles Manson was convicted as being responsible for the deaths of 7 innocents. He did not pull the trigger or wield the knife, yet he was convicted for inciting the murders from his influence and the direction that he voiced to his adherents.  Blind followers doing a madman’s bidding back then then and now. I will never understand that kind of blind allegiance. That people of faith that live by the 10 commandments can support murder and mayhem whiling tolerating the increasingly non-Christian behaviors of our president frankly baffles me.  Hundreds of people demanding that our vice president be dragged from his congressional chamber and hung from the gallows is not Christian behavior and shocking to see happen in our country. How this can be condoned by other loving Christians is completely beyond my understanding.

                      “Blessed are the Peacekeepers, for they will be called sons of God” Matthew 5:9

the offending satirical video : https://youtu.be/yItxABXIpBo

2020 is Hindsight

2020 is Hindsight…Many people all over the world regardless of race, religion, culture, or country of origin celebrate in some fashion with a traditional ritual to bolster ourselves for another trip around the Sun. Last year on this day people all over the glove celebrated the ringing in of 2020 with hopes of a better tomorrow.  The previous year of 2019 with the mass shooting in El Paso Texas held the record for highest number of deaths from mass shootings ever. The country was still reeling from the massive carnage in the Parkland Florida school in 2018, the church shooting in Sutherland Springs Texas in 2017, and The Pulse nightclub massacre in Orlando in 2016.

We became to expect mass shootings and terrorist activity as the norm in our society and although 2020 was consumed with mounting deaths from Covid 19, there were no “large scale” mass shooting incidents. Despite a drop in mass shootings our country still reported a record number of deaths from domestic gun violence in 2020 with many of those deaths being racially motivated. With thousands of deaths still not recorded from the pandemic for the year 2020, it still takes the lead for all time American deaths in any one year, now soaring to over 3 over million Americans lives lost in one year; the highest annual recorded mortality rate in American history.  

In 2010 the US population was 309 million persons with a death toll of 2.5 million people, < .8 % of the population.

In 2019 the US population was 329 million persons with a death toll of 2.8 million people, about .8 % of the population.

In 2020 the US population was 331 million with a death toll of 3.2 million people, or about 1% of the population. This is an overall increase in U.S. annual mortality rates by .2 % which is over 500,000 death more a year; more total US deaths in one year then has ever been recorded.

We are now entering 2021 with a boat load of death, grief, anxiety, hope and trepidation. What were your hopes and dreams, bucket lists and resolutions for 2020 that never happened?  Over the past year our country has been torn apart by politics and a relentless pandemic.  A nation divided by extreme partisan polarity in politics and racial unrest. Many families torn apart and are damaged in numbers that we have not seen since the civil war. We are polarized as a nation at a time when we have never needed more unity.

Not only are deaths mounting from Covid 19 whether from the virus itself or from the deleterious effects of social isolation.  We as individuals, as a family, as a nation, as a world tenant are experiencing an unbalanced planet that is wreaking havoc in our lives worldwide. The planet is one massive organism, our atmosphere is one massive organism, humanity is one massive organism. We are now at critical mass of inadequately supporting our planet and life on earth, even the earth is rebelling. We are in peril.

You may remember in the classic movie “The Never-Ending Story” when no one believed in unity, imagination or compassion and the world could not maintain its critical mass and started to dissolve. People are dying across this country from fear, apathy, and ignorance in record numbers. It is not only the virus, but as the old aphorism states: people are giving up the ghost. Losing the will to live at a time when the planet has never been so angry and vociferous with its growing pains. Like many of its people even Mother Earth has had enough.

Let us put 2020 behind us like a bad mushroom trip and embrace 2021 with a proclamation of resilience, faith, love, and comradery. Let us reclaim our lives, our modified society, our beleaguered country, and our exhausted world.  When Pandora’s box was opened it unleashed death and pestilence which covered the globe. In the legend there was one only word left in the box after the balance of evil was unleashed on the world. The word was hope.

2020 is hindsight. Full steam ahead with hope for 2021.

The Power of Art to Heal

I always wanted to be an artist.

Both of my grandparents were artists, my grandfather was a commercial artist who helped design the Land-O-Lakes Indian maiden logo. I knew as a kid I had a knack, as did my teachers who yelled at me consistently for doodling throughout all my years in school. After graduating High School, I attended my grandparent’s alma mater The Minneapolis College of Art and Design, who encouraged doodling. 😊

I got married young and did not finish art school, it was too expensive, and I had to get a real job to raise a family.  I set aside art as a hobby and continued with spontaneous creations with a variety of many mediums because I enjoyed it and it made great Christmas presents. Eventually I started to create pastel portraits for friends, mostly of their children and it became a sideline activity for cookie jar money.

We had our first child Kelly James in 1978, he died from cancer in 1987. The music stopped in my life, with no fuel for inspiration my creativity dried up for works of art; my muse took flight with my son. Then 10 years later September 5, 1997 my muse came back. Mother Teresa had died, it hit me hard, as she was my mentor for selfless service, kindness, compassion, and faith in the power of love and God’s grace. I knew I had to do a portrait of her but only in black & white with pencil and paper. Now 10 years out from the death of my son, I still could only see life in shades of gray, color was not even an option. I worked slowly and reverently in creating this portrait of my spiritual mentor and I still feel it is one of my best works of art, bottom line and it brought my muse back, it woke up the slumbering artist.

This was an important milestone of my grief journey and I started to create “memorial portraits” of children who had died. It also brought back my inner author and I found I could write again and began on my book “Letters to My Son, A Journey Through Grief” and published it 5 years later in 2002. It’s release, and later the release of the updated 2nd edition Letters To My Son, Turning Loss to Legacy. It changed my life as my book traveled the world, as well as the many portraits that I sent around the country/world for bereaved parents  The book soon propelled me into speaking engagements with my grief model of Proactive Grieving® as delineated in my book. 

With my newfound grief ministry, I felt compelled to do portraits of the wretched, pain ridden faces of the bereaved that I served; sometimes all I had to do was look in the mirror. I soon felt driven to create a portrait of every emotion in grief and over a period of a year or so I had completed 20 different 18”x 24” pencil portraits. I decided to create a workshop that revolved around the images that they portrayed, and it became a huge success as far as efficacy in helping the bereaved identify the emotions that they were feeling. They soon discovered they were not crazy; it normalized their angst/anxiety with what they were feeling and that these emotions were in fact a natural structural component of the long-term bereavement process for the loss of child.

In 2010 I donated the original Faces of Grief to the Bobby Resciniti Healing Hearts foundation located in Coral Springs Florida. Bob Resciniti after the death of his son Bobby started a foundation for bereaved families and built “ Bobby’s Place” a place for healing and sanctuary for the bereaved families where they could go for no cost clinical counseling anytime the needed to. Little did we know how valuable Bobby’s Place would be for the community as it was located less than 2 miles for Marjorie Stoneman Douglas School in Parkland where the massacre of 26 victims occurred.

The Twenty Faces of Grief in Parkland Florida

I have worked with this incredible foundation over 10 years and with their sponsorship have created close to a hundred memorial portraits for the bereaved. The creative arts are a powerful tool for recovery and resilience from loss and trauma; what is inside comes outside and shared. Together we heal. Reach out with your heart, reach out with your art.

MC

Memorial Life Portraits in Pencil

The Harmonic Convergence 33 years Later

Prayers for California and Points West                                                    

I am a Californiaphile at heart.  It was on August 17th, 1987 that my wife, my children, and I joined hundreds of light carriers, first nation families, sage old hippies, renaissance fair artisans for a large gathering on top of Mount Shasta. The date was noted to be a day of global change toward peace and associated with a significant cosmological event as predicted in the Mayan calendar. Mount Shasta has always been a significant holy spot the even predates our Native Americans. Like Sedona Arizona, or Tulum Mexico it is known to have spiritual vortexes that have always existed.  Natural electromagnetic field junctures such as these are like mother earth’s acupuncture points across the planet. They are at the epicenter of a natural torus that emits a high frequency that can purportedly restore equilibrium and vitality at a subatomic level. Our bodies being 70% water resonates easily with subtle energies, just as like a glass of water emits surface ripples with a subtle earth tremor; resonance happens.

We were on Mount Shasta, others were on Mount Yunaska in Canada, Mount Fuji in Japan, and many other sacred places worldwide for the 1987 Harmonic convergence, a gathering of believers praying for world peace and healing for those who suffer. We needed a healing our 9-year-old son who was dying of cancer. We were then living temporarily in San Diego continuing with alternative treatments for our son and we hoped for a spiritual healing from the event on Mount Shasta.

We as a family participated in a healing circle where dozens of people surrounding us, holding connection with us, praying, meditating with a focused mindfulness for healing. We had been fighting cancer for almost two years, we had sold our home, our cars, and almost everything we had. Earlier we had a miracle healing in Mexico where the cancer disappeared, but now it was back with a vengeance to the point of no return.  I was on Mount Shasta for me, I was physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually exhausted, my dashboard went blank, my tank out of gas.  My son was dying, I was depleted I prayed for the energy to move back across the country to Minnesota where he could die at home with family. That is when it happened; I received my miracle.

We spread out Laying as a family on Navajo blankets and chanted with the native Americans that were all clad in their regalia participating in a sun dance. When they were through with the dance many came to surround us on our blankets.  We were placed laying prone on our backs in a wheel of conductivity, all four of us were head to head, hand to hand in a center circle. People gathered and placed their hands on our feet, legs hands and arms and all started chanting Om and we were to ask the grandfathers for healing.

I cannot vouch for what happened for my family during the circle prayer but something very profound happened to me, which was powerful, unimaginable, but lucidly real. I was hit with a bolt of energy that I could see, feel, and react to. My body tightened; my back arched my back in response like paddles from defibrillator, but it did not hurt. I felt warm, loved, caressed, and in the company of an angel I could not see. As quick as it happened, it was gone, I was still holding hands with my family and they said I had never moved an inch.

When I opened my eyes, I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz when she swung to door open from Kansas to colorful Oz…step out of dark, and into the light. Something clicked in my soul, I felt energized and abundant. We moved back to Minnesota; we rented a home for month where my son died. We had to rebuild our lives from the journey of fighting cancer, and now the journey to comprehend our loss.  Like Zeus throwing a lightning bolt an angel jump started my heart to be able to bury my son and rebuild our lives.    I wrote a poem shortly after the experience as it is hard to articulate the inexplicable.

August 17, 1987

The harmonic convergence was

a convergence for me and the world alike

It promoted good feeling and worldwide healing

As souls and nations did unite

With hearts and hands held together

The forces of love encircled the earth

Spheres collided in cosmic places

In the mystic between death and birth

A portal opened between our worlds

And I was hit with a divine shaft of light

That seemed to pool in my hands ‘

Like the full moon in the darkest of night

It was hot as fire, yet had no burn

Intensely bright but I could easily see

And I formed from this unearthly light

a scepter I know was meant for me

I raised the scepter above my head

And drove it deep within my heart

 Immediately I felt love course through my veins

And I sat up with a start

 The portal of light closed just as fast

And my surroundings returned all intact

My son was still lying next to me

And I know we had just made a pact

We are a team, one family

With a loving God who is on our side

and no matter what may happen now

we are going to let it ride

I will never forget God’s touch

When I was in so exhausted and in a slump

Sometimes our faith runs out of gas

 and we find God waiting at the pump.

33 years now have passed since that day on Mount Shasta when the hand of God touched my heart and we prayed for world peace. I still pray every day for world peace and keep my pact I had made that day. Tomorrow is August 17th make a concerted effort to pray for country in such turmoil. Prayer is a very real and tangible energy which is measurable at a quantum level. Please Pray, make intentions; and vote, our country needs a healing.  

Personally, I believe that healing can only take place on November 3rd.

When California gets a cold the whole country sneeze. This state is the bellwether of the country for weather, economy, fashion trends, technology, racial demographics, entertainment, and social change. Climate change is real but slow to heal, the damage to the stratosphere will take decades if not centuries to heal to better protect our troposphere which is in big time trauma. It can heal with proper stewardship, but for us old folks it’ already too late; we are screwed already; it won’t come back in our lifetime. We can although make a significant influence for our grandchildren either way, which way is up to us.

For someone to say with a firm resolve that we can fix the fire potentials in California by raking leaves in 33 million acres is beyond ludicrous and makes a mockery of intelligence and leadership ability. A president mocking someone with a handicap goes beyond the pale of understanding, A president who openly degrades women is disgusting. A president who thinks hate filled racists are good people is unimaginable. A president who writes love letters to dangerous fanatical, nuclear war driven dictator is just plain bat crap crazy. A president who states at the beginning of pandemic to the American people that it will magically go away, and that it’s a lesser threat than the common flu, when he was just informed it is much more deadly than the flu and will kill a million people globally by summer’s end. And here we are almost a million dead, nearing 200k in our own country. Please consider this when you cast your ballots this November. It is not about red or blue, it’s about decency and sanity; make America decent and sane again; vote your conscience, not your party line.

Where Do We Go When We Die? …Insights from Heaven

Where do we go when we die?

                                                            -By Kelly James Carmody (with help)

Hello, my name is Kelly James. My folks had wanted to name me Connor, but they were admonished by my father’s mom that the kids would tease me when I got in school and they would call me Connie, a girl’s name.  So, they named me Kelly, go figure.

I was born in 1978 to these charming young parents that did not have a pot to piss in or even a decent window to throw it out. Both were dreamy eyed idealists, which was apparently at the time was a systemic problem for most High School graduating classes in the early 1970’s.  They both graduated despite the organized chaos that modular scheduling had created, and both went on to get a two-year junior college degree in nursing. I came along a few years later. That is for a later story. I need to fill you in about how my parents met.  They created my story.

My dad the last of 7 children was born into a 1950’s struggling lower middle-class Irish family on the North side of St. Paul in central Minnesota. His Dad was a poorly educated, 3rd generation Irish who worked two jobs to support his family: by day a commercial milkman, by night the Constable on Patrol (C.O.P.) for Grey Cloud Island.  When my Dad was in first grade, they moved out of the city to Grey Cloud Township, a small community of 150 homes nestled on a bucolic island situated on the muddy Mississippi river just south of the twin cities.

My mom was the second in line of four children born into an upper middle-class family in one of those classic sprawling neighborhood developments with brightly colored “model homes” to choose from. All the homes were connected by freshly laid sidewalks studded with Dutch Elm saplings on the lanes, circles, cult de sacs, and boulevards as if they had grown up overnight. Every street was named for a tree genus in Minnesota and the main road into the community had brick pedestals standing guard on either side as if it were a star’s home in Beverly Hills. A sign on the left column read “Welcome to Woodland Hills”, on the right column the sign read:” your neighborhood of the future”.   My dad used to say the houses were made from ticky-tacky and they all looked just the same.

Growing up with privilege has its advantages and disadvantages. My parents grew up in totally different worlds; my mom did not worry about much growing up and you might say a bit spoiled from the wave of upper middle-class luxury hitting the early mid 1960’s society. My Dad’s parents shopped at thrift stores and the kids wore hand- me- downs.  My Mom went to a genuinely nice and affluent private parochial school for girls where they had to wear uniforms and attend church every morning. My dad went to public school, with brown bag cold lunches; he had to walk to school after completing the morning chores on the farm.

Moving to “the island” for my Dad was the best thing that could have happened in his life. They had lived in the city on a busy main road in rundown house that supported 6 children at home, one child had to be institutionalized for severe mental retardation as they could not take care of him. Their home had several dogs, countless cats, and a few free-range chickens. There was no carpeting anywhere in the home.  Walking into the kitchen you could instantly see its history. You could see evidence of the tar paper backing that lay beneath the gray and maroon design of the cheap linoleum that resembled a once shiny bowling ball.  Peeking through the surface of the high use areas were little black half-moon crescents like unrecognized smiles. They dotted the periphery of the floor beneath each of the legs of the curved chrome tubes of the yellow vinyl chairs.  The rubber floor protectors had long worn down on the legs of all the chairs around the table. Each leg a bare metal tube carving its signature into the floors pathetic (asbestos laden) floor covering.

On the far end of the table where grandpa sat you could see on the floor how far back, he had to be from the table because of his immense belly. He had to pivot the chair back and to the right to release his belly from the table after supper each night; he literally had to push himself away from the table 😊. On the floor he left his signature for the new owners to see (recoil), but a floor leaves a story.

 You could look around the table and see everyone signature on the floor except for his mom’s, in fact the floor protectors still had some good rubber on them.  I think she only sat down in the kitchen on Thanksgiving when Grandpa sliced the turkey once a year, otherwise she cooked and served, then did the dishes.

Late night when the kids were in bed, she sat quietly night smoking her Benson & Hedges cigarettes and sipping from a bottle of Tab. Her tired worn index finger would slide absently mindedly up and the down the rough bumpy edges of the bottle of Tab which was off limits for anyone else in the house. The tendrils of smoke from her often-forgot cigarette would coalesce and swirl with the tendrils of her invisible daydreams that were emanating from her vacant but lucid green almost catlike eyes. The once sparkling green eyes that had captured my Dad’s father were now faded as the grass in late November and she looked resigned to her task at hand. She was a mom.  Dreaming of what could have been, what should have been, she takes another deep drag off her ciggie-butt crushing it out angrily in the faux gold & green bean bag ash tray and off to bed. Another day in.

My dad’s mom left her signature different from his dads. We all leave our signature wherever we go, different for everyone. Take a dog walking down a quiet street, he will leave his mark on the hydrants, or an expensive rose bush, he cannot help himself it is in his nature. We leave our mark with everything we do and that we say, we cannot help it; it is in our nature.

So, you on earth, when you are grieving a loved one and asking for a sign, dream, or visitation please remember a few things from our perspective that will assist you in that endeavor.

  1. We may be in an undetermined rest state
  2. We may be preparing for our task or next quest
  3. We may be too young in earth time to have created a recognizable signature
  4.  We may have returned very quickly *
  5. Conditions may not be conducive in your geographic area, no butterflies in the depths of winter; no rainbows at night.
  6. Conditions may not be conducive in your mental world, apathy, extreme anxiety, anger, and depression et al have an insulating effect to our connection.
  7. Conditions may not be conducive in your spiritual world whether lack of faith, faltering faith, no faith, atheist, agnostic, arrogant, or just an asshole.
  8. Conditions may not be conducive in your social world. If one is silent because of being afraid of judgement, shame, ridicule, dismissal, confrontation, disbelief, or patronization, it may hinder our ability to reach you. Many times, it is through others who are more receptive (naturally sensitive) or who in are the right place and the right time for connection that we can deliver a message to them for you. The more other folks that know that we up in heaven and that we have indeed survived death, the more ways, and opportunities to connect through your network of family, friends, grief support companions, even co-workers and strangers.
  9. Transparency, be honest, be transparent; feel what you feel, when you are transparent it is a two-way glass, it lets light it and allows light out. It is that seam which is the synergistic portal where we connect.  Be honest. Be open. Be aware. Be confident and give thanks in advance. Being thankful in advance brings in the helper bees. On earth you would call then nymphs, sprites, fairies or elfin that in a few rare instances have been spotted on earth. But know that they exist…they are prayer in action made physical and are always looking for work.
  10. The most important thing is simply be open to the possibility, actively look, listen, feel and petition: identify what our signature is and look for it. When you recognize it, we will acknowledge it; it becomes our handle for the rest of your life.   

Sorry I went off on a tangent (angel ADD remember) I believe we were in the kitchen of my dad’s old house growing up. At any rate my dad’s family as in the mass exodus depicted in the book The Grapes of Wrath the family piled everything they owned in the back of a borrowed horse trailer complete with compost for their new garden at no charge. They were off to Grey Cloud Island like the Beverly Hillbillies but no oil money to purchase a mansion. They attained a 30 year mortgage on a 3-bedroom rambler with a detached one stall garage, a small barn, large garden situated on the banks of the Mississippi backwaters on 5 semi-wooded acres. My dad was in heaven, funny how everyone says that on earth, if you only knew, but then of course you would be dead.

Grey Cloud Island was an open playground for my dad, the only boy in the family and on his street, he spent most of his day on the banks of the river, climbing cliffs, swimming, exploring the woods, fishing and canoeing down the quiet backwaters by himself.  This was a paradise for an introverted, skinny little geek who preferred the company of polliwogs to people.

Then a crushing blow; his father dies in ICU following a failed triple bypass in 1969. His dad was only 49 years old. My dad was 15 at the time; everything changed in his life, Grey Cloud Island was no longer heaven on earth.

My mother around the same timeframe had been bullied severely by some public-school kids repeatedly, calling her many derogatory terms and making fun of her uniforms.  She told her parents she would not wear the awful plaid skirts, white blouses, bobby socks and Penney loafers ever again. She refused to go to school. Pampered to the extreme by her parents she got her way and she finished out the year at Our Lady of Perpetual Grace for the last time. Next year she would go to public school at Park Hi. The puzzle pieces were already coming together for my life’s task, but they were clueless.

My dad could now finally ride the bus to school. He left the security of his countryside junior high to attend Park with kids from all the surrounding suburbs. Most country kids attended an exceedingly small elementary school, my dad’s school on the island was the original one-room schoolhouse used for over a hundred years. The outhouse although boarded up was still in the back. The local kids all walked to school. They attended until 6th grade, then graduated to attend one of the two Middle School/Junior Highs according to district geographic boundaries. Graduates from both schools combined with refugees from parochial school now merged to form Park Hi.  Like a microcosm of the melting pot of our country a diverse combination of elements created the alchemy that provided the foundational corner piece for my puzzle.

My mom noticed something special in my dad, he intrigued her. He was vastly different from the other boys, odd in fact but in a good way. He did not care what people thought, was kind of loner he was not part of any clicks, gangs, or academic groups, but did not hug the walls either. He seemed to appear proud that he was a geek and that he really liked school. My mom liked that part of him, and he was cute to boot. She started a background check and enlisted girlfriends that I knew to plant seeds on her behalf et al “you should ask him to the dance “.  They gave good counsel; Mitch and Barb met at the drinking fountain in 1969. If all went well, I would see 1979 with the eyes of a brand-new baby. The summer of love was already in progress from 1967 and was flourishing, that should not be a problem.

The rest as they say is history. They dated throughout high school, then both went to different colleges together 😊, got married, got pregnant, gave birth to me, and 3 years later my sister Meagan was born. Then at 7 years old I got sick, extremely sick. Shortly after my 9th birthday I died of a brain tumor. This is when my true destiny/task began and why you are reading these words at this very moment.

 I knew I was dying; mom and dad knew I was dying, everyone whispered that I was dying, but no one talked to me about it. I was dying to talk about it !!!!😊.  My body ached, my head pounded continually, every step I took was an upward loud thud to my already throbbing brain, I could not even complain because it hurt to talk; I was just too damn tired to even try. The body shutting down really sucks, I thank God my Mom thought to run me hot baths all the time, that was all that seemed to stem the excruciating pain that was taking over my every waking moment.  Morphine suppositories are a joke and are literally a pain in the ass; a warm bath and my mom’s caressing hands was the best pain relief in your physical world.

Now on with the story. Did I pick my parents for this journey called life?  Damn straight I did, as you will eventually find out as your read this incredible tale of destiny and grace.  Life is a truly a waking dream for which we are active participants, dream big; there is a bigger picture. Let me attempt to elucidate you and expand the limits of what you believe to be true and to validate what you know to be true from a perspective only gained through my death.

I don’t know what you have been told, what you imagine, speculate or know to be true about life after death, but if I am communicating this to you the reader, it must be obvious that our personality, who we are does indeed survive death.  I am not providing this narrative to prove that fact or try to convince anyone of the notion that there is indeed life after death, it’s a story, my story.  

It’s so odd to think we that we can dream in heaven, but we do; we dream of earth. I have often dreamed of places I wanted to go visit and have often been with people that I seemed to recognize but not sure how or where I knew them from, just a “feeling “I would get.  Those feelings lingered in my soul as if though the dreams were real, the places were real, the people were real, the emotions I felt were real and I longed to go to earth more and more each time.

I started to wonder if these were scenes from a past life on earth where I longed to return to or to a new life on earth where I was being prepared to accept. Is funny that most people think that when once one gets to the other side you are in a glowing paradise sitting on a cloud with a bottomless cup of lemonade or playing a harp in the angel choir. Sorry to burst your bubble folks, it is not much different from earth in that respect, it’s a lot of work and a lot of patience. 

The difference is there is no hell up here, that is reserved for you earth dwellers. Heaven is a divine realization that cannot be denied, hell is denying it, hell is living in a vulnerable body, hell is feeling pain, hell is separation from the cosmic grid of perpetual grace. If there is a hell, Hell on earth is the most logical assumption. Purgatory is plain ignorance.  Heaven is cool, I like it here, but I also know I must travel to earth, like a moth to a flame, drawn to a light that it finds impossible to resist.

My Earth dreams were becoming stronger and more enduring, I could remember smells, remember names and places. I knew my time was coming soon, I was going to Earth!!!!   I had a dream of young couple who met for the first time at the drinking fountain just prior to Christmas of 1970.  It was my mom and dad of course. He took a sip from the fountain and water was dribbling down his chin, my mom without thinking flipped the droplets from his chin very seductively but yet quite innocent and said “are you going to the Christmas dance on Friday at the Country Club?  My dad, quite the geek that he was, replied to her:  No, I am going to a Friday bible study.

I said to myself: are you kidding me?  A beautiful girl walks up to you, makes physical contact that sets fire to your burgeoning hormones, then she asks you out for a date and you reply I am going to a flipping bible study?  That did it, this ain’t going to happen unless I intervene. I had to go in and make my first human contact at this stage of my development. Geronimo!!!! I jumped into my future dads head without any reticence and made him say…” wait a minute I think I will go to the dance, I will meet you there at 6:30. With that he blushed deeply and quickly ran down the hall to his next class.   My mom pulled the invisible air horn as she rounded the corner down the other hall to her class and said “yes”.   Close call. Dad is kind of naïve that way.  Mom makes shit happen.

My dad arrived late, which made my mom a little nervous that he had gotten cold feet and she thought he had decided to warm them up with a good fire & brimstone bible study for a few hours. LOL.  His bible study teacher Mr. Morrie was legit, a great guy, very humble and a good honest servant and I approve but I needed to be born. My dad’s feet were not cold they were floating on air, his buddies were late picking him up.

He arrived late with a consort of his buddies dressed in almost matching dirty blue jean jackets with long hair to their shoulders to match. My mom was escorted there by her older sister Jackie. Jackie recently has come to stay up here in heaven and OMG she was soooo glad to see me again!!! But off topic…at the dance she clutched my mom tightly and said “he is not one of them, is he?  They look like hoods “. My mom responded to her, just his ride sis, he is a sweetheart.

A far cry from a hood he was a although a thief. He stole her heart. He also stole a blue Christmas bulb off the clubhouse tree in the foyer, one of those very thin fragile glass ones, ice blue as her Nordic eyes.  He presented it to her as if it were the gift of the Magi outside in the cold Minnesota night in the snow-covered parking lot of the country club. Light newborn snowflakes glittered momentary in the warm glow of the sodium lights and melted softly on their upturned faces.  Her face glowing, she accepted the gift and thanked him with their first kiss.

 I was in like Flint.  I was so grateful and ecstatic they were perfect for me; they would create a perfect vehicle for my task and a chance to shed my wings for good.  It was either that or I start looking for a new car, and God forbid I get a used one again, my karma ran over my dharma last time; this is my last trip to Earth and all goes well I will get to be a full-time guardian angel and graduate to Angel 2nd class.

I know that the boychild that they will create for my vehicle will be a short lived one, as I will die incredibly young, but I also know it is my choice. This will cause them much pain, horror and duress but is also part of the task they themselves chose for their soul’s own participation in the master plan for which I was/am a part of.  We are all puzzle pieces in some beautiful mosaic that has already been created at the dawn of time and that we slowly become aware of …sooner…or later and we put the puzzle pieces together in this life or the next.

This life that I am being born into, granted is a short arduous, unpleasant one, but one that needs being done and completed by design. I will be like Johnny Appleseed planting seeds in the landscape of the moment, and like Johnny when you run out of seeds, your task is done, you give thanks of gratitude for the journey that it took you on and have faith the seeds will sprout, and they will.

The human body is amazing but limited in a very oppressive world, all things living are subject to dying.  Our earth task is “our time in the body”. Our genes, our environment, our body, mind, and soul choices and that of others can cut short or extend the years the body survives on the planet.

I accepted this task in spirit, knowing what was in store, I have no regrets, it is impossible to have regret, remorse, guilt or sorrow in heaven.   There is however regret et al with choices that we make on earth. Free will is a blessing and a curse. Faith is knowing we will make the right choice. Wisdom is knowing when we have not. Serenity is when we recognize the fruition, the completion of the puzzle set before us.

For the most part it seems many pieces of the puzzle are missing in our lives, when in reality the timing of their placement is just not right. I remember trying to force a puzzle piece in; on earth we tend to do that.  You want to make it fit, not wait for it to fit. Your biggest problem on earth is not allowing the wheel to turn, even some so ignorant to think they can stop its course. Like trying to stop a hot lava flow, you cannot; you get out of the way. Sometimes on earth we need to get out of our own way.

The cogs of eternity shall continue to turn regardless, resistance is an illusion, but you can grease the cogs with intention to promulgate non-resistance. Time will still move forward, but without  perceived resistance the apparent flow of time is indiscernible; it just is; like the pause on a remote that seems to view a static picture when in reality the story has been already been told.  Things appear to be paused when in the ultimate reality -we are paused.  We are at the center of the wheel with many spokes that lead outward to our story. As the wheels on the bus go around, and round… so does our story. We cannot escape the wheel; we are the wheel. Be your story.

Going back is impossible. Time exists because it is a product of our creation, a creation that continually recreates itself moving forward as does the expansion of the universe, as seen in the centrifugal images of the nebulas of our galaxy; like our own DNA a helix, chain, a flattened torus of perpetual reinvestment. Now is all that we have, time does not forget, it does not foresee, it only is… so we be the best we can be at the current moment.

Einstein nailed it with his theory of relativity, Ram Dass said “be here now”. Jesus said I am the way and the light, follow me.  The past, the future, the present all on the same wheel. On earth you tend to concentrate on what you think is your individual spoke of the wheel from a place of ego and not a place of connection.

 You are much more than a single spoke (spokesperson 😊) but have not evolved enough to feel the wheel.   As Obi-Wan Kenobi in Star Wars might have stated differently… “Luke…feel the wheel”.   From the circling electrons in an atom of your big toenail to the to the spinning and ever-expanding matter in the galaxy of Andromeda, the wheels on the bus go around and round into infinity. Nothing ever dies, energy is not consumed, it is transformed.

It is fair to say I was not consumed when I died. My body was being consumed by cancer when I was alive, but it could not touch my soul. My body without spiritual support merely transforms back into its carbon and hydrogen-based constituents that it shares with all matter and reconstitutes itself.  The soul gets back on the bus and the wheels go around and round.  When I took my last breath, I found myself back on the wheel and like a contestant on The Price is Right some angel like Drew Carey barked at me:” Kelly James Carmody come on down”.  

I remember his voice from when I died the first time but that time it was Jesus who spoke to me, but it was same gentle voice with the same reassuring and soothing timber that “I felt” as much as I heard. This felt the same.  When I died the first time my body was being operated on to remove a brain tumor that was wrapped around the medulla oblongata of my brain stem.  The diagnosis was terminal, but surgery would give me more time. Without surgery I would have died within weeks in horrible pain. My parents had no choice.

This all began when I was playing with some buddies in the playground at Bayport Elementary school, just a few short blocks from my house. I was hanging on the monkey bars when I heard a loud buzzing in my brain, like a loud freight train coursing through the echoes of a long tunnel and everything got blurry; I let go of the monkey bar falling to the sand below in a full blow grand mall seizure.

It scared the living shit of my teacher, and all the kids were crying.  That was the first time I left my body remembering only the acrid iron taste of blood in my mouth as my teeth clamped down like an alligator on my tongue and I shit my pants.  I could see my body cashewed into itself and was violently shaking on the ground in repetitive convulsions; pink foam bubbled from my tightly clenched lips that were now turning the color of a long-faded tattoo. I felt a warm light breeze carry me away from my body,  I felt like a baby again wrapped in the arms of my mother and she was singing softly in my ear the iconic Bob Marley song “Don’t worry about a thing; every little thing is going to be alright” and I fell into a deep, deep slumber and all went dark.

The next thing I remember was waking up in a hospital bed, my head shaved with a breathing vent tube be stuck in my throat. I could not talk, and I wanted to scream about what happened to me in the operating room, I remembered it all. I had left my body and I was holding hands with Jesus; I shit you not! it was him freel. Somethings you just know, he did not introduce himself, but he just smiled and said, “My Son you will be well”. He smiled like he had some great wonderful secret and I reached out to hug him but then everything faded and was wide awake in the hospital bed unable to talk. 

I had just met JC, the man, the savior, Lamb of God, Prince of Peace, Jesus Christ, many names, same powerful entity. I know we had met before, but things get cloudy coming and going. I guess in old books they called it the veil of forgetfulness, like when you hurt yourself really bad, or someone causes you great pain we tend to forget shit associated around heavy-duty trauma; birthing and dying ain’t no picnic so it’s a good thing. But you do not forget meeting Jesus.

I could not wait to tell my Dad, he would think that was cool, as he believed in all that weird boogie woogie spirit stuff, Ouija Boards, Tarot Cards and crap, but he also had a very good relationship with Jesus, albeit a very casual one 😊 he had a deep faith.

Would someone please take this God damn tube out of my throat, so I can tell him! I screamed with my eyes.  I felt fully awake but could not seem to make my body work, and my head hurt like crazy, like the time I fell on ice when I was about 5 years old on the skating rink next to St. Charles church. I blacked out and had a concussion. It felt like that again waking up and not knowing where I was. My head hurt the same but this this time a could not move my body except for my eyes. I was scared but JC just told me I would be well, so I had faith I would be able to speak again.

A nurse came in with a look of alarm on her face. When her eyes finally connected with mine and we had eye contact, she saw I was awake; my eyes now pleading for recognition. I could feel most everything, but I could not move, and my whole right side felt extremely hot as well as did my head and the back of my neck. My head hurt everywhere, but the constant thudding headache was gone! I could not move or talk but I could feel the cooling pool of tears puddling up on the pillow behind my neck that had been streaming down my face since my eyes opened. The nurse quickly adjusted something on the IV and I drifted out of consciousness and felt myself zooming back home again (heaven).

When I arrived in Heaven, I found myself smack dab in the middle of lucid dream back on earth again. I was on another freaking game show, only this time it was Monty Hall on the stage of the Let’s Make a Deal, and he said Kelly come up on stage. Once on stage there was a hula girl from Hawaii that I knew (that is another story) who was the Vana White kind of lady that was introducing me to each door with almost a comical Hula move that made me laugh.  As she pointed to each door one at a time, Monty Hall with the same gentle voice I had heard before said: Kelly Carmody, this is your life, it is time for you to pick a door number.

I had to choose what was behind door number 1, 2, or 3.  Behind one door was the scenario that I would return to earth and live a full child’s life, grow up to be an adult, marry have my own family with three boys, a job as a computer analyst and my wife an author of children’s books. Behind another door was the scenario that I die of an undiscernible brain hemorrhage and wake up from this dream back in heaven, dead on earth.  Behind the third door I would go into a coma for a short while then have 18 months to get better, stronger and make some very necessary appointments before I die. Appointments that would fulfill and set up scenarios for other future synchronistic puzzle pieces to come together that have wonderful ramifications for the world. We all have our task to make that happen. It is our soul DNA helixing through eternity, reinventing itself for survival of our collective soul.

I had no idea which door held what fate, but I instantly felt the urge to choose door number 3 and shazam!! I immediately woke up back in my body in Peds ICU and I could move!!!  I am back; let the games begin.

 I awoke to see my mom and dad both holding my hand, as I reached for their hand they were struggling to speak, tears were pouring from their tired ashen faces; they were smiling and gasping for air at the same time; they thought I was a goner, but I picked the right door, not the worst, not the best one, but the right one. I had them for 18 more months, I had work to do to make those months count for my task and for theirs.

They alerted the nurses right away and as quickly as they could they removed the tracheotomy vent from my throat. I was obviously agitated, thrashing about and I was struggling to open and use my lips to speak.

Finally, the stupid tube was out but my throat and my tongue were so dry I barely croaked out “water” sounding very much like Patty Duke playing a young Helen Keller – it came out a very weak and raspy wa…wa but they got the message. I was given some water and started to rattle off the best I could what I had just experienced.

I was running at the mouth like crazy, but the looks on my parent’s faces looked perplexed and confused; they could not understand a word I was saying. The surgery had caused a small indiscernible bleed which would have killed me if I had chosen door number 2. Seeing as I chose door number 3 the bleed resected itself, but it had caused a stroke on the left side of my brain, the area that controls speech which also resulted in partial right sided paralysis. I could understand in my head everything I was saying, but all they heard was wa wa, dubba dubba wawa dubbadub wa etc.

WTF?  I want to go back to heaven, this really sucks, everything hurts, I cannot talk, I only have 18 months to live anyway. I just want to die, but I cannot as I already did. Boy howdy, was my brain in cognitive dissonance. I should have picked door number 1 or at least door number 2, but why this and for what?  So, I can hurt some more before I die again for the 2nd time. Let’s make a deal, thanks Monty, fun game, and you too Drew Carey thanks a lot, the price is right my ass.  I hope to awaken from this nightmare on the game show You Bet your Life and the duck from the ceiling drops with the magic words “you are going home”!!!  

I was so agitated and obviously making no sense they increased my pain meds and things started to fade and I soon drifted off to sleep. This time I wake up and I am sitting on a park bench but it not in a park, but a bench oddly placed in the middle of nowhere on the crest of a hill overlooking a beautiful bucolic valley.  It had a shiny brass plaque attached proudly to the top rail of the back of the bench with the words “The 4 O’clock Bench” stenciled in italic relief. There were meadow larks singing loudly who were gracefully soaring above the blooming areas of clover that were bursting with hues of whites, pinks, and magentas. Honeybees joined the mix and the starlings were pecking away the drying cow pies scavenging for undigested grass seeds. A slice of Heaven. Or is it?  I am still trying to get my bearings and figure out what is real and what is a dream.

The meadow opened to smooth rolling hills manicured smooth like the green felt of poolhall billiard table from the hundreds of years of family owned land that supported large milk herds. I could see hundreds of ever-grazing black & white Holsteins peppering the verdant green landscape, not unlike a Grandma Moses painting come to life but in the right perspective 😊 and in HD. I never felt anything more peaceful in my life. In these relaxed soothing musings that I was having, I suddenly realized I was in no pain at all. I jumped up and off the bench screaming thank you God…and found myself soaring above the bench and above the serene landscape.

Not sure how to control this flight thing, was this heaven? was this an earth dream of heaven or a heaven dream of earth? or was I really flying? I was confused but delighted as I continued to soar above the countryside. It made me think of a movie my dad and I loved so much starring John Candy my favorite actor, who incidentally I got to meet up here!!!! He is a hoot; he is even funnier in spirit. In the movie, John Candy was riding shotgun in a dust cropping airplane and the pilot scared the hell out of him when suddenly, she shouted, “You ever buzz sheep Steve”?  The pilots face stamped with the look of someone about to scare the shit out of you and loving it, the pilot proceeded with a full downward plunge dive, with John Candy screaming the pilot pulled back on the throttle and just cresting closely above sheep, and they scattered madly in all directions. I remember when I was alive telling my Dad, I want to do that someday and it dawned on me that day was here.    

Like Casper the friendly ghost I flew down over the grazing milk cows and they scattered away scared as hell just like Steve’s sheep. Wow, what a feeling!!!! Then the epiphany struck me that they could see me, or at the least feel my presence. OMG I can still affect this world! I can communicate through the veil with my presence! This is huge. I can connect, I can engage with the planet in a very real way and I am confident it will work with humans as it does with cows; if they just learn to get out the way (the humans that is).

I started to think about the bench and there I was again just sitting on the bench in the warm summer sun listening to the meadowlarks sing and I drifted off into a deep slumber. When I awoke this time, I was back in the hospital bed again hooked up to monitors, the room was dark except for the faint glow of the monitor lights and the silent reflection of the nurse’s station lights dimmed for the evening. No sound on the floor except for the distant whirring of medical equipment, the steady woosh, pause, woosh, pause of someone’s life support and the occasional beeping monitor that stabbed the silence with an eerie calm. I was back, I was going to be okay.

 I believe that I am being groomed for “my task” but first my physical body needed to rest & digest, rebuild, and reclaim its potential. The cancer is still alive and well and the surgery had spread cancer cells in my body like a blowing seeds from a spent dandelion bloom.  Those seeds need to be beaten back if I am to make it 18 months, so they intend to pump me full of roundup and throw me in the microwave to slow it down. Then I will have daily physical therapy to rebuild control over the right side of my body as well as speech therapy to be able to speak intelligibly.  Isn’t this going to be fun?

Eventually I got the use of my speech back, but I had switch dominance of   hands and now was a born again left hander like my sister Meg. My recovery is another story in and of itself, a lot of hard work but not germane to this tale or my task at hand. If you are diagnosed with ADD on earth you will absolutely love it in heaven. When you find yourself in heaven, you will find we are big time multi taskers, especially early angels that are hungry for many simultaneous projects and tasks. Almost like bees collecting pollen in every direction with no sense of time, only of duty. They fulfill a plan (puzzle pieces) that they innately know what they need to do. Just as the geese know to fly North and the butterfly South it is in their nature.

This to so some extent is why so many people who want to hear from their loved ones get so mad/sad when their loved ones don’t seem to send them signs. We are busier than hell (pun intended) LOL up here, so much to do, get done, experience, discover, seek, prepare, influence, and intervene. Time does not exist in heaven so we may lose track of it, if that makes any sense. I know that processing the pain for the loss of loved one is time consuming. In grief you consume much time but without the awareness that it is happening.

The overwhelming grief for the loss of child can actually cut a piece out of the fabric of time; it changes the course of natural events, its bends light, it warps our constructs of time and parts of your reality are gone forever into a black hole of time and space. An “essential pause” takes place; not gone but embedded. Embedded in dark matter where light cannot reach, a missing puzzle piece waiting to be found. Read Einstein’s theory of relativity, he will validate what I mean.

I had referenced before in trying to stop time it is akin to pressing the pause on the remote. Grief gives us the illusion of a stoppage of time when time in your reality is only slowed down. Slowed down to growth of blade of grass, imperceptible but it happens. Nothing stops its forward movement.

Have you ever sat on a train in the trainyard and your train is sitting motionless, yet when the train on the next track moves the other direction you feel as if your train is moving forward in your train car? If you look out the other side of the train window and you now see a motionless train, your brain understands you are motionless too. Now if that train started to move you would again feel the same sense of your train moving when in reality it is not, but it is an illusion your brain believes.

What if the train on your right started to move one direction backward and the train on your left started to travel the same direction backward you would indeed experience the illusion that your train is moving forward when in fact you are static or paused while forward movement goes on regardless on either side. This is the illusion of time. It is our perspective that governs the speed at which we perceive its forward movement.   Driving home from a trip always seems faster does it not? Yet it is the same distance, same time covered. A good book, a good conversation accelerates our perception of time; pain slows it down; grief brings it to a halt. It takes forever for the toasting bread to pop up from the toaster when you are hungry and late for work; payday arrives way to slow when your broke. Backassward is it not?

In grief we are paused; time moves on regardless; we lose track of time in grief because our soul is on pause. In heaven we lose track of time because there is no point of reference to provide the illusion of its existence. For a point of relatable reference, one minute in heaven is roughly equal to one year on Earth.  I died 31 years ago in human understanding; at this writing in Heaven time I have only been here for a half an hour or so.  Crazy stuff huh?

With that being said, we can easily lose track of your time, which makes a big difference to you on earth and yet only a few milliseconds to us. Sometimes when our deaths are very violent, traumatic, sudden, or self-inflicted our souls rest in what some earth religions might call a kind of limbo. It is basically an ICU for the soul, a trauma reentry room of sorts that up here we call the cradle. Those souls who die in trauma need a very delicate reentry. Conditions of horror as in the holocaust or as in your society today with the many school shooting and terrorist attacks, so many souls leaving the earth unexpectedly and violently were totally spiritually unprepared.

Take 911 for example thousands of souls without presage ascended to heaven in an instant. All immediately went directly to the cradle. It is comparable to putting your earth body into an induced coma for long rest. Souls of evil intent and malice of heart who died that day also went to the cradle for rest (mostly containment) and eventually are reprocessed in completely differently area of the trauma reentry room that deals with dark energy (more on that later).

We are all composed of the same Star Stuff as your Carl Sagan coined on earth in the last century. He was pretty darn right on. We are star stuff. We are matter, our bodies are matter just as is the stars. Our souls our different although. They are made of anti-matter, alike in every which way but with a negative charge, whereas the body has a positive charge.  Just like a battery can only send energy to a bulb to produce light with a negative and a positive flow of energy. As is above is below. Its Yin Yang man. Basic shit.

Conception happens in humans and matter is created, a body grows in the womb from a mixture of DNA, and like the blue creatures in the movie Avatar await the arrival of soul. Soul can only enter the developing body when there is a working bipolar current which begins in the heart. Our consciousness, our spirit of life, our signature, the footprint of our soul and who we are -begins at that first heartbeat only 18 days from conception. Heart cells are specialized electrical cells, the heart itself is only a blood pump with no on/off switch. Its cells beat in syncopation with each other at a cellular level. The heart provided with oxygen in saline solution will continue to beat outside the human body indefinitely and why it transplants to other humans works so well.

When those first few heart beats begin, spirit, the life force, the light from the big bang invites in soul to animate this growing human child and a life begins. That is where we as potential earth dwellers get our call to “Geronimo in” and our task begins at that first heartbeat.

The flow of souls to and from earth is complicated to explain but I will try to simplify.  Currently on earth the retired baby boomer generation is dying to get here 😊 we get over 100,000 beleaguered souls a day.  The birth/death rate algorithm by design is 2 to 1. Twice as many souls heading to earth as those leaving or currently about 200,000 births a day worldwide.  Sadly, enough about 10% of those births are returned because of genetic flaws, a non-viable environment, disease, accident, abortion, or murder. Those returning so quickly are often sent back immediately if there is an opportunity that aligns with their task.

When death happens for any reason at age, it is when our heart stops. We are off the grid of grace, we lose power, our body goes dark, our soul separates from the physical like smoke from a lazy campfire. 

When death occurs matter and anti-matter separate. We are not the star stuff you see glowing in the night sky, we are formed from the collision of matter and anti-matter that creates pure energy, the quintessential form of synergy where the sum is greater than the means. When that happens, a life is created, and we get back on the wheel.

Dark matter is another thing, much is unknown on earth about it, but it nevertheless exists.  Dark matter is the space between matter and antimatter, like the space between the nucleus of an atom and its electron or the space between the nebulas in Andromeda or between the rings on Saturn. It is the plasma of the universe that holds all things together.  It does not interact with light, its dark and invisible yet has mass and exists in quantities 6 times that of matter and antimatter.  It coexists and has purpose.

People on earth are often quick to claim they have the answers before they even know the question. Scientists, spiritual leaders, and politicians alike have their own versions of the truth.  No one really knows on earth, so they speculate, harangue, and proselytize their version of the truth. Humans are merely arrogant hairless apes with an attitude of superiority that they think that they oversee the planet and the heavens. They are not in charge.

There is only light when matter and anti-matter collide and produce it.  Light is God; the inceptual algorithm from the big bang sending light forever outward in the universe for eternity. Darkness is merely absence of light, the dark matter between the stars. This is what you earth dwellers call hell.

Many religions say hell is the fires of eternity, a lake of fire within the bowels of the earth to burn and torture the malevolent souls for eternity. Many people claim hell is on earth with so much pain, murder, and mayhem besetting people every day. Many claim that Hell is a fictional place invented to keep the masses in line and that it simply does not exist.

To put it succinctly hell is separation from God. We are matter, our soul’s antimatter, in-between we have dark matter that will not hold or react with light. Dark matter has the capacity up to 6 times that of matter. The malevolent souls who separate from the God given light that they are born with, will most likely bypass the trauma re-entry room upon their physical death. They spend a short period in the cradle for a chance for remorse/reconciliation. If it is determined that they can be exonerated, they will return, or they will spend eternity in the dark matter and slowly be absorbed back into the sun to nourish the planet. Kind of a cosmic compost, a process that turns shitheads into photons.  Like the phoenix rising from the from the flames of the sun. Light waves return to earth.

Heaven is not so much a place… but a place of being; intense light and divine matter. Earth gives us the opportunity for expression of that being.  Almost unilaterally across the globe most religions state that God is up. That heaven is in the sky and most beings when they die are said to ascend.

As in most beliefs system it stems from a kernel of truth, which is then telephone gamed into somethings else entirely, but this is fact. Heaven is up and it has a name. Scientists have referred it to as the Van Allan Belt. They are not referring to it as Valhalla or a heavenly paradise but to the radiation belts that surround our planet.

Around our planet is two doughnut shaped belts of intense radiation that circulate in Taurus fashion from the Earth’s Negatively charge pole to its southern Positive charged pole.  They are to thought buffer and protect the planet from dangerous solar flares but are a dangerous radiation concern for Astronauts. When passing through it, they do so quickly at the thinnest part.  For souls coming and going from the planet, The Van Alan belt is Grand Central Station for all travel. The inner belt for all intents and purposes is our trauma reentry area and where souls are cradled and bathed in the positrons of goodness and light.   

The inner Taurus is where all the newborn souls “Geronimo” in from to their intended bodies when its designated heart cells start to beat.  Quick returns who only stay briefly, stay, rest and are returned from this the area of heaven very quickly. In the last few years, your scientists have discovered an overwhelming presence of anti-matter in the inner belt, never known to exist.  As I told you before our souls are anti-matter. The mirror image of each other but with reversed polarity.  Our bodies matter (pun intended) our souls are anti-matter. Therefore, when people see a vision or visitation of their deceased love one and it looks like them because it is them. Only difference is they are anti-matter, pure light not physical mass, but a mirror image of the matter you knew. Like the reflection in a mirror does not have mass but still exists, we see it.

The inner belt is closest to the earth at both poles where it is the thinnest and where astronauts travel through back and forth from space. This is also where souls pass back and forth. The outer belt is composed mostly of electrons, but it is where brand new souls and recycled dark souls coming in as photons (loose particles from the sun) who gather to form a human soul. With the store of excess electrons in the Van Alan belt God creates a new ethereal body of anti-matter that can take on physical form. When that is accomplished, they travel to the inner belt where they are assigned or reassigned their task; they wait patiently for their avatar’s heart to start beating.

This lower Torus (Grand Central Station) of heaven is only 360 miles above the Earth. We are much close than you think. Souls leaving earth enter the magnetic field of the first Torus, rest and wait instructions as do souls entering from the upper Torus going earthbound.  Antimatter in the lower Torus is for the most part recent souls from earth awaiting task assignment. Cradle time is almost instantaneous for those needing it.  Those waiting, orbit the planet by its gravitational pull until it’s their Geronimo time and  two become as one, God manifested in Matter and the heart begins to beat. That is what is so unique about our planet and why it sustains life, we are girdled by heaven created by father God and sustained by Mother Earth. One inseparable ecosystem of the divinity that runs by laws of physics not the laws of man.

This lower Torus is where the trauma reentry room is located as I mentioned before its where souls travel too upon their physical death. You may remember the scene from the movie the Wizard of Oz where they brought this unlikely band of travelers to special room upon their initial entry into Oz. They re-stuffed the Scare-a-crow, oiled, and buffed the Tin Man, gave a spa treatment and pedicure to the Cowardly Lion.  That is kind of what happens up here, it’s our port of entry where all souls who cross over are cleaned up, deprogrammed from earth logic and prepared for re-entry to heaven (task completed), a return to earth, spend some needed cradle time or are jettisoned into the dark matter and recycled.

The more traumatic cases go to areas of deep sleep, akin to a coma in heaven the rest in cocoons of ancient light emanating from the beginning of time; they rest for as long as needed. In earth time that can be many, many years. Not only are they processing this as part of their task, but they are processing it as part of yours. Your loved ones, your friends, the strangers you encounter, are all puzzle pieces. Puzzle placers or puzzle dodgers are placed in your life as part at their task and yours. There are things left undone, unfinished business, seeds sprouted and yet unattended, holes that we leave on earth left unfilled.

If grievers on earth harbor any anger, resentment, guilt and unforgiveness toward their loved one or in constant petition to have them back in their life it only holds us back and we may slumber through a griever’s earth lifetime.  Just a heads up to earth dwellers, you can help us or hinder our journey and how you choose to live your journey. Please try to remember that we are in this together, always have been, always will. It is a part of every task we accept; we are spokes on the same wheel.

It is also important for earth dwellers to remember to pray for the wee ones that cross over too soon whether they die in the womb, at birth or soon thereafter.  They only rest for a short time in the cradle if at all, and its back in the saddle again.  Wee ones have not created a signature for the world to recognize and it is challenging at best to communicate back.  Mothers who carried their child and or a gestational twin that shared the womb have a physical conduit of connection that others do not and may be predisposed to receive signs easier.  

The wee ones who return so quickly are heaven’s cherubs. You must realize the birthing is an extremely arduous task not only for the mother but for us.  We have the freedom of no restrictions in heaven whatsoever and we can convey our thoughts at a whim; we don’t use our lips in heaven; its heart to heart which need for translation.  We can move about easily without hinderance of physical form and we feel no physical sensations.

When we take on body, we are comfortable, cozy, well fed listening to the comforting metronome of our mother’s heart. When someone lets the water of the bathtub, we know it’s time to get out; shortly thereafter cold and shivering we are pulled into the very small drain of the birth canal and literally get the shit squeezed out of us.  I did not need someone to slap me on the ass to get me to cry, I was screaming with a voice I never heard in a scary place I have never seen. So why did I want to come here?

To piggyback on that, when there is fatality at or near birth with a baby, after a brief rest (in heaven time) their soul returns from cradle as a cherub and they flit around happy as can be, ready for the next task, or making mischief on earth to get a new vehicle ready. See where the Cupid story comes from, it has a basis in fact. But in many cases, they return right back in the same birth mother or a member of the extended family very quickly to resume their task where earth conditions, timing, people, geography were all still favorable for the task at hand.

The onus to the grieving earth dweller it to learn how to communicate heart to heart. Look with your love and believe with your soul that it ain’t over when it is over.  Expect miracles, but you must look for them. You do not find a 4-leaf clover if you do not look for one. You do not get directions if you do not ask. You do not win the Lottery if you do not by a ticket.

We are not in control of our actions when in rest, but after an undetermined rest in limbo the souls are released. On earth we would call it PTSD, in heaven its PTDS, Post Traumatic Death Syndrome 😊. In horrific death situations as mentioned before, energies must be balanced and insights into transitioning restored slowly and delicately which takes (from your perspective) much time. It may be years before they fly, dream visit, send a sign or communicate or prepare again for their task. They cannot venture out while resting, but they can and will when ready. Incidentally, prayer is a very real energy flow and helps us heal in the cradle faster, as well as in healing from any of your earthbound challenges.

Now on with the story when I made my dad “go condo”. This was last click in the stargate between our worlds that opened the portal allowing placement of the last piece of the puzzle into place for my task. That is where my Dad is now. My task is our task; we did it. 

To be continued.   Chapter 1: Going home, the day that I died.

Mitch Carmody

August 2020

http://www.heartlightstudios.com

Who Let Toto Out?

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In every psychosocial trauma experienced in a relationship there is always a catalyst or trigger that begins a chain reaction of unfolding events that snowballs into hyperarousal and a three-ring circus of shame and blame, where trauma becomes drama.

Who, who …who let the dogs out?

Did Dorothy herself let her dog out, who then allegedly bit Elvira Gulch?  Did Auntie Emme, or Uncle Henry let Toto out while going out to get the mail? Was it one of the farmhands who neglected to close the gate? It is obvious that the inerrant innocent act created a cascade of life changing events for Dorothy and her family when Toto was loosed.

Who let Corona out of its cage?  Did he escape or was he let loose? Color me confused.  I believe in wearing masks, I also believe in herd immunity. I believe in vaccinations, but also starting to lose confidence in their efficacy and safety.  I believe in opening the beaches, the forests, parks, golf courses, but not large gatherings inside buildings.  I believe in freedom but also protective marshal law if necessary, to contain a pandemic.  I believe in generating and reading data and believe in a whistle blower’s dispute of that data also being valid. I believe in health professionals that I know that are standing on street corners saying to wear masks, I also believe in health professionals who say it may be over kill.

I believe in washing hands a lot; I do not believe in overuse of disinfectants that is killing our other natural immunities countless times a day. I believe in freedom of speech but not carrying weapons to a protest. I believe in the American flag, but not next to a swastika. I believe in intelligent unified compromise, but not derision and entitled violence.  I believe in natural phylogenetic adaptation; I also believe that viral DNA manipulation happens.  I believe humans are inherently good, I also believe humans make mistakes. I do not believe money is the root of all evil but do believe that greed is.

We as a human species share a common genetic inheritance that yearns for warm attachment. Our whole nervous system, the limbic system e.g. is always looking for connection; much as a dog does with its nose lifted to the wind.

Between everyone us on this planet there is this invisible synapse between the dyadic relationships that we carry with every human being that we encounter. From the moment we are born, we are given a template for relationship for our survival.  We crave human touch and face to face contact from inception; it is fundamental to our DNA; it is in our nature. There is so much communication that occurs below our conscious awareness, and it is this perception that for the most part is invisible to us all. It is this universal synapse that brings families, communities, fraternities, tribes and best friends together.

We already have primitive epigenetic coding in our brains to self-isolate to protect “our tribe” from animals, weather and marauders.  From the Neanderthal guarding his cave, to early American settlers holed up in a mountain cabin for the winter, to a COVID-19 grandmother holed up in a senior care facility for months on end. We have the genetic predisposition to handle isolation for periods of time, but an extended amount of time without human interaction we can indeed get cabin fever or stir crazy.  In simpler terms we get extremely restless in isolation which leads to anxiety and if left unabated it may lead to trauma, and even psychosis. The limbic system in hyperarousal may go into forays of violence and anger, or conversely a hypo-arousal response into a limbic system freeze; an autonomic shut down with apathy, numbness and depression.

What is obvious is that we are all hard wired with genetic tools of adaptation to survive under a plethora of assaults to our mind, body, soul and spirit. We are built to survive, and we shall survive if we do not fuck it up with arrogance, self-entitlement, ignorance and greed.

I believe in the capacity of the human body to defend itself if given the right tools and resources to boost its own innate immunological response.

I believe in the capacity of the human mind to research, investigate, experiment, learn and create.

I believe in the capacity of the human soul to think out the box and to make intelligent decisions for the good of the whole.

I believe in the capacity of the human spirit to attempt to conquer any obstacle in its path.

I believe in God that provides us with all the necessary tools for survival, procreation and joy.

 

So, who let Toto out? Who put the whole world into chaos?

Let us not consume our energies with conjecture, conspiracy, violence and lies to who let the virus out. The horse is out of the frigging barn. Let us combine our efforts and intellect to contain the ramifications this virus has unleashed upon the world.

I believe in the human spirit of the American people to come together beyond party lines to make America safe again.

What I do not believe is any statement from any politician from any party, or any representative of any pharmaceutical company.

Toto got out; this is not Kansas; we cannot pretend it is. We either comply with efforts to resist the spread and do our part to cooperate; we collaborate with naysayers that may encourage the spread, or do we join the resistance for truth, tolerance and a cure.

Follow you heart; be kind; take one day at a time.

I continue to believe in America body, mind, soul, and spirit.

“There’s no place like home”.

Heartlight Studio’s Carl Griffith Sourdough Bread Tutorial

 

Heartlight Sour Dough Bread

This is the best recipe that I have found for making Sour Dough Bread. It is a method that I have developed over many years of much trial and error with ingredients, preparations etc. It is easy to bake a loaf a bread, a child with a Easybake oven can do that. To make Sourdough bread you rely on the artist in you to and why it is called artisan bread; it takes some time and effort, but you will be heartily rewarded. Sourdough does not mold, has a fantastic taste and delightful texture/crust, digested slowly and is tolerated well by gluten sensitives.

This bread is composed of three main ingredients flour, water and salt. You add a few 175-year-old bugs and you have a sourdough starter. There is no commercial yeast used in making this sourdough, it replicates a natural yeast called Candida milleri, and little baby microbes of bacterium called Lactobacillus sanfranciscensis that have survived since 1847.  Wagon trains heading west carried and created sour dough starter across the country for making bread on the road. In that process they picked up bacterium strains from all parts of the country. Yeasts that were born in the wild west from wild winds and wild grains from across this land that took refuge on the flour bags in the Conestoga wagons creating this unique starter kept alive since 1847.

The most important ingredient that I not listed in the recipe is love. This bread recipe is infused with love; Love is patient; love is kind; all by design. To make good sourdough it must have this ingredient. One must be a nurturer, someone who needs you and knead them. One needs to be patient with the process and committed to caring for and feeding your starter on a regular basis to keep it healthy and vital. You need to use some or discard some once a week and then feed it and refrigerate.  It still is active but slowed down. If it is in storage too long alcohol may form a thin layer on top, that means the bugs you need to be fed. The bugs eat simple sugars, they burp CO2 and shit alcohol; when swimming in their own shit, they stop burping… it is time shake it up, remove some and then feed.  I either bake bread, make sour dough muffins, dry it out to send to friends for starter. I do not like to discard.

A baker’s dozen tips:

  1. Use unbleached “bread flour”, bread four has higher protein/gluten content
  2. Use some natural whole wheat flour for beneficial fiber, (it helps move the mail)
  3. Use a little Rye flour which helps to stimulate the starter
  4. Use natural unrefined sea salt with beneficial minerals and add salt at later step, it slows down the bugs replication initially.
  5. Use only un-chlorinated or bottled water or boil your water for 20 minutes, chlorine is bad mojo for bugs
  6. Use your oven with the light on and place resting dough and or levain in oven to double, keeps it about 80 degrees and no draft or bugs.
  7. Add some Potato flakes to the starter as friendly catalyst to encourage activity
  8. Mist the bread with water just prior to baking
  9. Preheated 500-degree oven
  10. Bake in Cast Iron Dutch Oven
  11. High Hydration water content (sticky dough); Dust with rice flour to prevent sticking to banneton
  12. Sharp razor for scoring
  13. Patience, it is a two-day process

METHOD:

  1. Activate sourdough starter.
  2. Autolyze: measure/weigh all ingredients (except salt) into a bowl. Mix well. Cover and rest dough for 2 hours.
  3. Bulk ferment: Add salt. Stretch and fold dough (with damp hands) every 45-60 minutes for 2-4 hours at room temperature. Keep dough covered.
  4. Pre-shape. Cover and rest the dough for 15 minutes on the bench.
  5. Final shape. Put dough into a floured banneton (or floured, cloth-lined bowl/tin). Cover dough with cloth. Cover with plastic and retard (refrigerate) for 8-12 hours (optional).
  6. If dough was refrigerated, bring to room temperature. Rise in banneton for 1-3 hours or until ready.
  7. Pre-heat oven, baking tray and roasting lid (or ceramic casserole dish including lid) for 1 hour before baking (500°F).
  8. Sprinkle the dough surface (base) with dusting flour. Turn out dough onto a sheet of baking paper. Spray lightly with water (if adding topping). Score bread. Spray lightly with water. Put bread in Dutch Oven with lid on. Bake at 500°F for 15 minutes (lid on).
  9. Uncover and Bake at 450°F for 15-30 minutes (lid off) until golden and cooked.
  10. Remove bread from the oven. Cool completely on a wire rack.
  11. Slice bread and serve.
  12. Store bread at room temperature (covered) or wrap and freeze (whole or sliced).

Detailed instructions

img_2794img_2772                                           Step 1. Making the Levain (starter sponge)

The night before you make the levain, make sure to feed your sourdough starter. I usually add 1/3 cup bread flour, dash of rye and 1/3 cup water and mix it well.

¼ cup (40 grams) bread flour

¼ cup or (40 grams) wholegrain wheat flour

¼ cup (40 grams) sourdough

1/3 cup (80 grams) unchlorinated water

Mix all ingredients and put it into a tall see-through glass. Put an elastic band around the glass or mark the jar so you can monitor the growth of the levain

Cover the glass and put the levain somewhere warm. Preferably 77°F (in oven with light on is perfect)

When the levain has almost tripled go to the next step.

 

img_2791          Autolyze ( hydrating flour)

3 ¾ cups (675 grams) bread flour

½ cup (150 grams) whole wheat flour

2 cups (575 grams) water (reserve 50 grams of water for adding salt later)

Instructions:

To do the autolyze all we need to do is mix water and flour

Measure out all the flour in a bowl and all the water except 50 grams that we reserve for mixing in the levain and salt later. Mix it but don’t knead, just get all flour hydrated

Cover the flour water mix and leave it until your levain has at least doubled in size.

Mix the dough

Put the levain on top of the dough. Spread the salt over the top and add the reserved 50 grams of water

Mix it all very thoroughly. I usually use my fingers and push the levain through the dough and do some light stretch and folds. I keep repeating until I feel like it’s been mixed very well

Cover the dough and leave it to rest 30 minutes somewhere warm

Bulk fermentation

It’s time for the bulk fermentation. During the fermentation we develop the doughs gluten and get air into the dough. With this dough 3 stretch and folds are usually enough

Wet your hands so that the dough doesn’t stick to your fingers

Grab the size of the dough furthest away from you with both hands. Grab a hold and stretch the dough upwards if it can go without breaking. Then fold the dough down towards yourself

Turn the bowl 180 degrees (a half turn)

Do another stretch and fold

Turn the bowl 90 degrees (a quarter turn)

Do another stretch and fold

Lastly you should turn the bowl 180 degrees (a half turn)

Repeat the last stretch and fold

You have now stretched and folded the dough from all four sides. Leave the dough to rest somewhere warm, covered, for another 30 minutes

Repeat this process two times more

After the third stretch and fold, I will do a windowpane test. Lift and edge of the dough and stretch it with your fingers. You should be able to make a thin membrane without the dough breaking. Look at the video in the article

If the dough still is not strong enough to pass the test, I do a 4th stretch and fold and repeat the test. Do this up to the 5th and 6th stretch and fold.

After the last stretch and fold you should leave the dough until it’s grown by 20-50% (usually 1½ hours)

Preshaping

First we are shaping the dough to build a gluten membrane on the top of the dough. This will help the oven spring during baking

Pour the dough unto an unfloured table and divide it in half. Put a sprinkle of flour on top of both

Grab a lump of dough and flip it using your bench scraper so that the floured side is now on the table top

Grab the part of the dough that us the furthest away from you. Stretch it and fold down in front of you

Repeat with the part that is right in front of you. Grab the dough with both hands and stretch it and fold it away from you. Repeat with the right and left sides of the dough

In a swift motion invite the dough so that the part you previously floured is now turned up

Put your bench scraper behind the dough and pull it towards yourself. I hold the scraper in my right hand and I guide the dough with my left. The front of the dough should be pulled underneath, and the top of the dough should tighten

Now put the scraper in front of the dough and push it forward while twisting, so that the scraper ends up behind the dough. You can now repeat the process in the previous step

Repeat until you have a nice round and taut boule (ball). Pop any big bubbles you see on the surface

Repeat with the other lump of dough. Let them rest 15 minutes under a cloth

Prepare the bannetons

Make a mixture of half bread flour and half rice flour

Put a dish towel in the bannetons. If you don’t have one, you can absolutely use a bowl with parchment paper.

Put some of the flour mixture in a strainer and flour the bannetons. It’s better to use too much than too little

Final shaping

We do the final shaping to make sure the dough is super strong

Take a boule and sprinkle it very lightly with flour on the top

Flip it using your bench scraper so that the floured side is against the table

Repeat the process from the preshaping

When you have finished the shaping, grab the boule with your scraper and invert it into the banneton. The bottom should be up

Repeat with the other boule and place it in the banneton

Sprinkle the dough liberally with rice flour and put the bannetons into separate bags. Make sure you get some air in there so that the plastic does not get into contact with the dough

Place in the fridge overnight

Heat the oven – next morning

Place Dutch oven in oven as well to get piping hot.. Turn the oven to 500°F. If it doesn’t go that high, put it to maximum. Heat the oven for at least an hour. We want the Dutch oven to be completely warmed through

 

Baking the bread

Take a banneton out of the fridge and let rest covered for a few hours on the counter

Put a piece of baking paper on top of your peel and put it on top of the banneton

Turn it over and carefully lift the banneton off the dough

Slash the dough using a super sharp knife or razor

Open the oven and move the dough to the Dutch oven

Spray the top of your dough lightly with your spray bottle

Put on the lid and close the oven

Bake for 15 minutes

Remove the lid so the bread can get some color. Turn the oven down to 450°F. I usually bake for another 20-25 minutes for this bread or until internal temp is 190°F. I love it when the crust gets dark and crunchy.

Remove the bread from the oven and let it cool on a wire rack until it is COMPLETELY cooled off.

Turn the oven back up to /500°F. When it is hot, repeat the procedure for the other bread.

Watch master breadmaker Sune at the Danish Bread Geek website:,

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Znv99QbfWGs&t=222s

Origin of starter and instructions to activate:

http://www.carlsfriends.net

 

Easter Mourning and Elephants

1-elephant in room

Pastel colors, daffodils, shiny new shoes, hats with yellow ribbons, hugs, hard boiled eggs and bunnies; hams in the oven and the songbirds are chirping love songs, it is Easter morning…but for some this year it is also an Easter mourning.

Easter is the U.S. is a major Judeo-Christian holiday that is celebrated by most Americans in a Hallmark Card kind of way as opposed to a deeply religious ceremony that some observe.  Regardless of your religious convictions Easter is treated as an unofficial national holiday when families get together for Sunday afternoon repast and relaxation. When families do get together sometimes there is an empty chair at the table and an empty heart in despair.

How do we survive a loss in our life and face the holidays with honesty and joy?  How do you prepare something delicious to eat for others, when everything tastes the same?   Food in general becomes meaningless for it represents sustenance when we do not want to sustain.  How do we make small talk when our soul is screaming inside?  How do we not cry when all we see and feel is the empty chair that no one else sees? For most everyone else all they see is a very large sleeping elephant, one that they dare not awake.

Let’s get serious, a kitchen, a living room or dining room is just no place for a sleeping elephant.  Who in their right mind would bring a creature like that into the house? I remember growing up on the farm with a variety of animals domestic and feral alike that would get into our house. My dad’s horse was his best friend and I will never forget when he brought Lucky into the kitchen when we had guests over for dinner. People move quickly with a large animal comes in the room; believe me and why this metaphor has such power.

In our continued despair we speak in frustration about the elephant in the room and why it’s there. We have to realize for the most part it is our elephant; we brought it here with us and people are just being polite not to mention it. It is up to us to lead it out of the room, ask others present for help in doing so. Literally ask them “can you please help me get this elephant out of the room?”  If it steps on a few toes on the way out… so be it.  Grief is not pain free; pass your pain around, share it. Wake up the elephant, and use it to carry you to a new place at an elephants pace, slowly one step at a time.  An elephant can also break down walls if they are in the way, use your elephant.

The timing of Easter is interesting as it is determined as the first Sunday following the last full moon (Paschal moon) of Passover which roughly coincides with the vernal equinox of March 20/21. Easter bespeaks of the resurrection of Christ in the Christian tradition, beginning of Passover in the Jewish tradition, and in most cultures is recognized astronomically as the first day of springtime and rebirth for the planet, when days get longer and the fields get greener. This cycle governs all living energy forms on the planet; we are all on a yearly cycle of death and rebirth.

Our calendar days without the rotation of the earth -meaningless; our calendar years without the earths’ rotation  around the sun -meaningless; our birth without our death -meaningless; love without loss -meaningless; extremes define each other, they need each other to exist. So we learn to dance between the extremes.

This Easter, this spring, look at each new lengthening day as an opportunity, a day to start a new year with hope.  I think most New Year’s resolutions are a sham and are built to fail from the start, they are made in the darkest time of our planetary cycle and we make resolutions based on hope not on faith.

If we are to make a resolution to bring new hope and healing into our life, let us coincide it with the natural flow and growth of the planet. Experience our own rebirth, our own renaissance, our own unique healing and personal growth as the planet comes alive.  I believe all resolutions should be made at this time of the year. This is our own fiscal year of the soul that starts at springtime and we can change our tomorrow with faith in an even brighter spring next year. It’s up to us.

We as a collective tribe will never forget the Easter that never was. Churches empty, no baked ham at Grandma’s house, or croquet in the yard, no main street parades, or mom’s hot buttered rolls made with love and lard. But we shall rise from this tomb that we find we ourselves in surely as Jesus did. We can become a casualty  from our great losses or become a springboard to an unknown, non-envisioned future of limitless potentialities. We have choices. Grief is a powerhouse of transformation, how and what it turns us into is up to us. Use your elephant if it’s in the room, a elephant can take you places. carry a lot of weight and it can travel a long distance at a slow pace. Be your elephant.

Peace love n light

Mitch Carmody

 

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

Ecclesiastes 3:1

Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always To be Blest.

-Alexander Pope