Continuation of Journal 17 1-31-24
Kindness, I will define, as giving time, energy, money or physical resources to another, with the intent of pleasing or strengthening that person. Or, projecting a psychic or spiritual entity called love to another being or entity. Or loving another being, conscious of the golden rule. Or not speaking evil of another person in their absence. Or not projecting anger or hatred on another. Or, doing what is right, long term, even if it angers a person. Or, acting in environmental awareness.
Kindness is the very essence of religious truth. Kindness could be a religion unto itself. When I originally wrote this essay, in 2004, I wrote that kindness is the root of all religions and creeds. However, in our world, in 2024, we’re contending with religious sects advocating hatred and violence as the will of God.
The God I worship is the god of love, peace and Joy. We must, however, be ready and able to defend and protect ourselves against those that would harm our families, communities, and our nation.
Kindness is the root of peace and justice on earth. I believe a person can grow in the ability to practice kindness. By practicing kindness, one learns and grows in this ability, as one might learn a musical instrument. One who masters kindness, is a master indeed.
Enter the presence. Partake. Share. Repeat.
Peanut Butter and Jelly
When I was considering names for this project, “From the sublime to the ridiculous” came to mind. This one weighs in on the side of the ridiculous.
Peanut butter and jelly,
morning, noon, or night.
So tasty in my belly,
an absolute delight.
Grape, or peach, or berries,
apricot or pear.
Peanut butter carries,
the perfect lunchtime fare.
Smooth or crunchy,
on bread of white or wheat.
My favorite lunchy, munchy,
just the perfect treat.
So satisfying,
and so quick to make.
Goodness, I’m so hungry,
for a snack, for goodness sake.
Love peanut butter on the bread.
Laud the jam and jelly.
With tasty joy I spread the bread,
to fill a hungry belly.
Love peanut butter on the bread.
Laud the jam and jelly.
With tasty joy I spread the bread,
to fill a hungry belly.
For poetry group
For our writer’s group at Barnes and Noble, we had monthly assignments. This assignment was to write a piece in the non-dominant hand. It weighs in with the sublime.
I cannot ascend you,
unless I assume you.
I cannot assume you,
unless I accept you.
My child,
I have not judged you,
and Christ is my soul.
8-17-04 Bow Season- Billy’s camp. Update
Day three of the hunting season. I’ve seen four deer. No shots, yet. Yesterday, my practice arrows were way off. I’m hoping it was just the gusting winds. I’ve been in the kill zone, all year, until yesterday. My old bow needs to be replaced.
Last night, at mass, I prayed my arrows fly true. I prayed for my eyes.
Billy has lost his job in Florida. He’s been sick a lot. And his boss just lost his mom. I lift up Billy in prayer. He’ll be ok.
Back home, Kara’s dad has leukemia. She’s been laboring, and praying for a miracle.
Billy’s friends, Ray and Kenny have been stopping by. Kenny is very world wise. In the winter he captains a fishing charter down in Florida. He shared an adventure story with me.
He had a customer every day for two weeks. He took him 32 miles off shore, where the waters changed from light blue to dark blue. Then back to light blue. Back and forth, several times.
He located a reef, as the waters became smooth, and then turned purple. And then to chrome. And then on the chrome and purple waters the fish began to hit. Four tuna at a time. Time and time again.
This story lends another insight into “mind’, and consciousness. This day of Kenny’s was not just a lucky day. It was a mirror of his mind.
The Firefly, Campfire, and the Moon
One warm August night,
I gathered sticks,
and built a warm camp fire.
As I sat by the fire,
lost in thought,
the moon began to rise,
full and bright.
And then I saw a firefly,
flitting by.
Light, I thought, light.
Which of these is the truest light?
The camp fire
is bright and cheerful,
warm and near.
Lit by human hands.
The moon,
a cool and distant comfort.
breaking up the forest black.
The magical firefly.,
luminous through some
internal mystery.
Light is light,
I pondered.
It matters not
how it comes into being.
The campfire
requires wood.
The moon
reflects the sun.
The firefly needs it’s food and water.
The sun,
our sun, I thought,
is truly Lordly light.
Our sun,
causes trees and plants to grow.
Our sun,
lends it’s light to the moon.
Our sun,
ordains the rains and winds.
And from where
does our sun
glean it’s weight and light, and power,
I pondered?
The word “ancient”
came to me.
The Ancient One,
The Ancient of Day.
God.
Camp fire.
Moon.
Firefly.
Sun.
God.
11-05-04 Hunting Insights
Two days ago, the day was pleasant, warm and sunny. Squirrels were everywhere. Birds were active. A knot of fifty vultures circled overhead. Turkey marched near, and flew up into the trees overhead. I had my bow, waiting for deer. And almost went back to the truck for a shot gun.
But I held my focus, standing in full camo with my bow. I’d been standing for four hours, and then a button buck happened by. He came into range, oblivious to my presence. He stopped at twenty yards, drinking from a puddle, vitals protected by a bush. My bow was drawn, as I waited for a clear shot. Then he moved. I shot. The arrow seemed to fly in full slow motion. Perfect shot.
I watched as the white tail bounded away. Then stopped. It was either down, or looking back. The spot of white did not move for five minutes. I knocked another arrow, and approached. The small buck was down.
Then yesterday, a storm system hit. Cold, wet, forty mile an hour winds. It occurred to me that the great activity of the day before was triggered by the pending storm. A hunter would do well to study weather patterns.
The turkeys have been coming by daily. And I’ve noticed something about them. They cluck as they march along. One can often hear them before visual contact is made.
If I were to hunt turkeys, I’d use the right gun, camo, and maybe a call. And I would be listening, and have my gun up before the birds come into view.
I tied a thread to my bow, to help me discern wind direction.
I had a chance for a shot two weeks ago. However, the arrow dropped off the pin at the crucial moment. One must be sure of finger position and the angle at which the bow is held, at all times.
I killed my first deer this year on my eleventh trek into the bush. About forty hours hunting. My old bow has served me again.
Essay 1-05-04
When I hunt, I am the predator. I rise from my bed when I come to the surface. I intuitively choose a woods to hunt. I sneak quietly into the woods. In silence I await my prey, standing ready for hours.
A deer approaches. Adrenaline surges. I am no longer a civilized being. For a moment I am a killer. A predator. The kill is made. A burden is lifted from my shoulders. I am filled with gratitude.
All things are connected. My killing a deer relates to my earthly father’s moods, my mother’s neediness, my own restlessness, the sun and the moon. My kneeling in prayer before God. I venture into the woods to find out who I am.
11-05-04
I missed a shot tonight. I had a straight on neck shot at ten yards. A shot I most likely would have made. But the doe was moving towards me, so I waited, hoping for a point blank double lung shot. Just as she turned broadside to me she began to bolt. The arrow was already drawn, so I let it fly at the fleeing deer. The arrow passed beneath.
It was a judgment call. I probably could have made the shot. But a frontal neck shot is not considered a safe bet. This fuels my quest to tag another deer. Hunting white tails is such a fantastic challenge.
Essay
I hiked back into the fall woods. Hunting season had finally arrived. I got myself situated, and quiet, in the cool shade of the forest.
I sent the thought prayer, “send me a deer, God, now, now, now. I’m ready, give me a shot. Time to kill a deer, now, now, now”.
To which His reply was stillness, silence, the cool breeze, the shhh of the river.
“God, I’m ready now. Ready now to kill a deer. Now is a good time. Now will do”.
To which he replied with the clouds passing overhead, the circling vultures, the caw of the crows, the laughter of the woodpecker, the scampering squirrels and chipmunks.
“Right now, God”, I continued “Now is the time. A shot I can make. Thank you. Right now”.
To which he replied with a deer sneaking by, out of range. And a stealthy fox. A hawk, and a setting sun. Gathering darkness.
“Right now God”, I thought. “Not much more time. It’s getting dark”.
To which he replied with night fall. And the sound of wind blowing through the dry corn, as I walked back to the truck. I held the feeling that I had accomplished something, though not quite sure what it was.
Now I’m back at camp, in the quiet of the evening. Tomorrow I head for the woods again. To talk with God.
11-07-05
To let hunting elevate you. When one learns not to daydream in the woods, the mind is elevated into a meditation. Also, the deer will not take you by surprise. It is not good to let the quarry come too close before taking your shot. Too close, and they’ll see you and bolt. Even if you’re motionless in full camo. Ten yards is close enough. As long as you execute carefully. I harvested my second deer at six feet.
Regarding a frontal neck shot, the writings say it is not an ethical shot. However at ten yards, I would say a frontal neck shot is ok.
Yesterday I took my squirrel gun into the woods. In two hours, I killed one squirrel. So I went back to the truck and got my bow. Then the squirrels came out. So I went back to the truck, and got the squirrel gun. I was in the woods for five minutes when a six pointer came by. I was so exasperated, I left the woods.
When I was at the truck exchanging weapons, Michael Olton rolled in. I excitedly told him the woods were alive with squirrels, and that we’d talk another time.
After that buck passed by I left the woods. Michael Olton was already gone. I hope he did not leave the woods because of my brash presence.
It is my prayer to internalize these lessons. Focus on the most important quarry until you succeed. Then go for small game. Learn to let an animal come close, but not too close. Raise your weapon when it’s head goes behind a tree. And pray that hunting lessons are lessons in life. And that hunting will make me a better person.
The sunshine, the air, the exercise. The peace of the woods. The meditation and prayer. The lessons of the hunt. The sweet victory and gratitude of achievement.
11-07-04
A man on Christian radio today said “we burn out in our Christian walk when guilt is what motivates us.
This last week my labors seemed onerous and weighty. I realized that I was working to clear time for hunting. I’m looking deep within. Is this hunting bothering my conscience?
Two days ago, at the gas station as I was filling up, a bright eyed lady pulled up at the pump behind me. She blessed me with a beautiful smile. And honestly, she brightened my day. I’ve never before seen so clearly the magic of a smile.
Note: it’s Sunday November 21, 2004 5:42pm.
Shot gun season starts at dawn tomorrow. I’m up at Greg’s. Haven’t said hello in Portageville yet.
11-30-04
I killed my sixteenth deer three hours ago. I cannot express in words the elation and gratitude I feel.
I was at my blind, my stand, at Mary Cartwright’s. The corn was just cut. Five deer came marching through the cut corn, just five minutes after I got there. They were sixty yards out. I was ten yards deep in the brush.
As I stood and raised my gun, the lead doe saw me, and froze. Then they continued, quickly passing through my shooting lane. I had one chance, at the last deer.
I was using the 12 gauge Ithaca Storm I bought last year. The Tru-glow sights I had installed last year were made somewhat slipshod. It’s been difficult setting them up. The adjustment screws were a sloppy fit, and would not hold adjustment. The pin at the muzzle end was sloppy, and had to be stabilized with glue.
I shot up a lot of expensive ammo adjusting and readjusting the sights. And then the gun itself is quirky. Lightfield sabots were very accurate when I used them to sight in the gun. I chambered them one at a time. However, when I took the weapon hunting it failed the test.
When I shot at the doe on opening day, I missed, and pumped the action to chamber the next shell. Two live shells fell out and on to the ground. One live shell chambered, one remained in the magazine. The spent shell ejected.
I took the gun down to cousin Frank Oliver’s and had him look at it. We tried Winchester shells in it, which seemed to sequence properly. So I exchanged the Lightfields for Winchesters. We went down to the range, and fired fifteen rounds. The Winchesters seemed ok.
However, after I dropped today’s deer, and reloaded, the shells jammed. Is it the gun, or the way I handled it?
This was my 30th day in the field this year. This year’s second deer. I worked hard to succeed. I feel good.
12-08-04
The Ithaca Storm jammed again. It will have to go back. Returning a gun that has been customized is a problem. The manufacturer requires a full report. The report will be reviewed by my lawyer.
Last Sunday I took Uncle Billy’s 12 gauge Browning into the woods. I sat near the blind, at Mary’s. After three hours, three bucks came running toward me. A twelve, ten, and an eight pointer. When they saw me, they stopped in their tracks, about thirty yards out. Immediately the two larger bucks turned tail and bolted. The eight point was a bit slower. He didn’t see why the lead deer had stopped, turned, and began to run. I had a three second opportunity at the quartering away buck. I dropped him with a neck shot, as the others bounded down the ravine.
I walked up to the downed deer, and touched it’s eye with a stick, to make sure it was dead. A beautiful eight point. I was filled with gratitude.
I then noticed the spent shell was only partially ejected. Uncle Billy’s Browning needs to go to the gun smith.
Tonight I brought venison over to a neighbor for dinner. Fresh steak, and talk of hunting. A fine evening.
12-22-04
My tally for the year was three deer. This last Monday I took one last day in the woods. The temperatures hovered near zero. It was a day of crystalline clarity and brilliance. Fresh snow was on the ground. I tried out the little heat packs in my gloves and boots. They were very helpful.
I easily sat for two hours, up at Cartwright’s. There were deer tracks everywhere. But at two hours, it was time to warm up.
I went back to Greg’s, and did a little housework. Then ventured out for the last two hours of daylight.
I was sitting on a pail, at Billy’s back corner. As last light neared, I spotted movement. I asked myself if I needed another deer. The answer was yes. The big doe was browsing it’s way toward me. I was carrying a muzzle loader with me.
At twenty yards, I could hold my fire no longer. It should have been an easy shot. But somehow I missed.
In hunting, mysterious forces play. Killing a deer is rolling three sevens in a row. And venison is a divine manifestation.
Last night, at 4:30, the season ended. I succeeded, but desired more. More than money, food, friends, or sex, I desire to kill deer.
I desire to be in the woods. I desire sunshine and fresh air. I desire a pure and simple life. And to be with God.
2-14-05
We just celebrated my fiftieth birthday. My three sisters and Mom put together a fabulous party at the Holiday Inn. We had thirty five guests. Friends and family. It was a hunting-fishing theme party. There was a contest for the best hunting gear, costume. Frankie Oliver came in full camo. He looked scary, great! There was a fishing lure making contest, and ring toss with my deer antlers. Antlers that I’ve collected over the years. Joe Tillman read a toast. As did sister Sue, Mom and Dad.
Heilemans were there, Mike Gallo, Kara Proulx, Justin, Tommy Nowocien, Bill Garlapo, Lynn and Jenna Oliver, Dolly and Tony Verde, Melanie, Franco, Pam, Nancy and Mike, Joe Fricano, Sal and Kathy. Kara brought Kaila, and her mom Delores. The food was great, the wine flowed, It was a blessed and joyful occasion.
Poem
At the Well
One man at the well,
one small man.
One man at the well,
one small man,
bringing up waters of healing,
well being and peace.
Keeping his garden green.
One small man at the well,
bringing up waters,
quenching evil’s angry fires,
quieting the growling beast,
and praying it does not rage.
One small man at the well,
interprets prophecy,
and turns water into wine.
One small man at the well,
offers me waters of life.
I drink,
and know,
and ask for more.
4-02-05
Note John Paul’s passing. Our Pope. One of history’s great leaders. A true prince of the church.
Verse
Oh my friends,
I see now, and make known.
That he who walks ahead in life,
is he that walks alone.
Epitaph on a Tombstone
As you are now,
so once was I.
The hands of time
pass quickly by.
As I am now,
so you will be.
This is a truth,
all men will see.
4-17-05
When I see the violence over in the Holy Land, I am revolted. Palestinians against the Jews. Jews against the Palestinians.
I saw a special on TV last week. Young Jewish men were talking about the nobility of violence. The high honor of revenge. The godly pleasure of vengeance.
Bloody details were given of horror. And this has been going on for generations.
I realized they are feeding themselves spiritually on these horrific acts. Acts just shy of cannibalism in their horror. The killing of children. Bombs maiming dozens. They are unable to break the cycle.
I know we can feed ourselves, spiritually, through good and holy deeds. Prayer and sharing, good works, song and dance. But how do we get from a world of violent terror to a world of peace and joy?
I just looked up Mohandus Ghandi in the encyclopedia. He was just one man. He was sworn to non violence. He changed the course of history. The violence in the Holy Land will cease, I see, only when we are blessed with true leadership, sworn to non-violence.
Ghandi was assassinated. His followers were killed by the hundreds. But in their non-violent activism, they led India to freedom.
Israel and Palestine will know peace when Heaven sends enlightened leadership. Courageous in peace. Peaceful in courage.
Poem – Silver Chain
Was that a mole,
or was it a vole,
or a little brown mouse,
scared from his hole.
What’s that,
some coal,
or rocks in a bowl,
or sticks and bricks,
upon the knoll.
Over the bar,
and under the pole.
We work like an ox,
a mare and a foal.
Ruby, diamond,
silver rings.
Gold and emerald,
angel wings.
Bees have honey,
sheep have wool.
Wild birds sing,
God bless my soul.
See sunrise
from the mountain high.
talking brooks,
that wind and sigh.
Journey now.
The way begin.
to the land
of peace within.
Take the crown,
and touch a star.
Knowing now
just who we are.
Silver chain,
ring of gold.
Our poem now read.
Our story told.
Silver chain,
ring of gold.
Our poem now read.
Our story told.
Journal June 12, 2005
I’ve been very busy with the landscaping. Working through the challenges, one at a time. It’s working out pretty well. Tommy N. is working with me. He is a strong worker.
I’ve applied for a peer advocate, part time, position, at BPC. Twenty hours a week. 13,500.00 per year. I should know this week.
Journal -7-24-05
I dated a girl for a couple of months. A brief reprieve from my celibacy. It seemed good, wholesome, and healthy. It brought my body peace. However, after a while we began to strive with one another, and have not talked in a month.
Poem-The King of Grumpy
The King of Grumpy,
preaches from his stumpy.
Munching cookies, cake and pies,
he’ got a plumpy rumpy.
The Royal King of Grumpy,
on the road so bumpy.
The rocks the logs, the pits the holes,
the trail so bumpy, lumpy. To be continued.
Poem- The Hunter’s Cup
Deeply have I drank,
from the hunter’s cup.
Deeply have I loved from the woods,
yet not drunken up.
The caressing love of Autumn.
The calling of the birds.
And the white tail faintly crushing leaves.
Yes, this I’ve heard.
Stately turkeys marching through.
Hawk and owl glide.
Chipmunks, squirrel, foxes.
Circling vultures fly.
From dawn’s first light to sunset,
the Eucharistic sun.
I sense my father’s father.
And peace of mind is won.
Opossum, and raccoon.
Juncos, waxwing, a wren.
Nuthatches, a dove,
a grouse now and then.
Playing a game,
in the spirit of the wild.
A game of tag,
between a deer and a child.
Long cold weeks,
In the fawn’s own wood.
And prayer to God,
the great, the good.
Jays and woodpeckers,
up in the trees.
Like naughty children
that mock and tease.
Weeks of meditative calm,
await the gift deer’s visit.
Purified and made strong,
by the woods in which I sit.
To sit with this mistress,
named Autumn Wood.
Her stews carefully simmered,
Our fellowship good.
But yet, I am the artist.
Time in the studio, time in the wood.
Reflecting and carrying
that which is good.
Forsaken the table
to kill the deer.
Should I leave the woods,
another drum I hear?
Could I tell the hunt farewell,
and seek artist’s fame?
Teach the children at church,
build for myself a name?
Yes, I have deeply drank
from the hunter’s cup.
Though other moons pull upon my waters,
I have not drunken up.
I’ve kissed the winds of Autumn.
Embraced December’s cold.
Though other stars are calling me,
my heart, the woods do hold.
Yes, I’ve drank deeply,
this quest for strength, for good.
But still I thirst for the hunter’s cup.
So tomorrow, again, for the cold Fall wood.
Yes, I’ve drank deeply,
this quest for strength, for good.
But still I thirst for the hunter’s cup.
So tomorrow, again, for the cold Fall wood.
From a Journal numbered 18 in the stack of Journals
First week of September 2005
A job, an automobile, some responsibility, bring a certain self importance. But detract from the simple business of prayer.
I am coming to a fuller understanding of the psychic forces around me. A lot of junk, with some useful leadings in the mix.
Yesterday I went looking for the crypt that may hold the Mormon gold. I found the stones from which the crypt was built. But they’d been push several yards by a bulldozer.
The entire mystery of the gold is one leading I have not been able to dismiss. It’s been twenty years now. I’ve tried to push these thoughts out of my mind. But they persistently return.
I’m going to write the whole story, and submit it to an archeology professor at UB. I’ll tell the whole chain of psychic leadings, and see about getting some professional help in a systematic search of the area.
Recently, I’ve contemplated asking the voices to speak, instead of blocking them out. And, with just this thought I see their frequency and amplitude magnified. There seems to be a whole world of spirit entities urgently desiring to speak to this world.
The problem is, that some tell of sickness and tragedy. But more than that, they seem to have the ability to precipitate these evils.
Other voices promise great reward, but demand blind obedience in return. Possibly bringing about mental schism.
Yet others foretell some coming but minor event.
What would happen if I openly bid the spirits to speak? Promising I would document their telling. But asking for useful information in return.
I’m fifty years old now. My body is strong. My eyes are good. I feel like a champion.
Right now, at home, my worker Tommy is covering the business for me. While I investigate the gold. And spend a few days in rest and fervent prayer. My first prayer is for greater faith. And secondly to be restored to the high calling for which I was created.
God spoke to me in a dream five years ago. He told me I was called to lead the nations. However I strayed from this calling in youthful sinfulness and pride. I chose to court evil forces. I ask to be forgiven and restored.
11-21-05
I hold the thought tonight, that man cannot be complete without prayer. Prayer is part of the eternal whole, the truth.
Just as no man is complete without an eye or a leg, he cannot be whole without prayer. A man is not fully functional and capable unless prayer is a regular part of his life.
When I pray, I usually begin the same way. “I come before you Lord, to commune with you. To win your favor. To please you. Please grant me victory”.
“Please restore me to the path to which I was called. The path from which I strayed”.
“Grant me greater faith, and banish all doubt, Oh Lord”.
Poem
No ice.
No fry.
Sizzling cold.
Remember our cry.
Get guts tough.
Fly sky high,
or die.
Now is the Time
We learn to be kind,
by practicing prayer.
Prayer opens one’s mind,
and teaches us care.
Our auras
grow bright when we pray.
Providence, protection,
with prayer, every day.
Know evil
blinds the mind.
In sin, without knowing,
dullness I find.
If we fall in sin,
this I believe,
Our protecting angels,
they leave.
While sinners assume
the life of the good,
Tobacco smoke rises,
a witch and a hood.
I slam my Bible,
and shout “this is the day”!
“Get down on your knees”.
“Face God. Pray”
Now Is the time.
Build castles of light.
Before darkness falls.
the coming of night.
Our castle of light,
furnish it well,
with comforts, devotion.
Ring the high bell.
Ring with kindness.
Ring gentle care.
Join us, worship.
Let love fill the air.
A castle of light,
in a world of dark sin.
Now is the time,
Let us begin.
Chords crescendo.
Dissonant chords.
Angels, demons,
clashing swords.
A cup of tea,
a piece of pie.
offer me something,
when I pass by.
Let’s build a kingdom
of strength, of might.
Walls high and strong,
of love and light.
Let us be safe
from one that destroys.
Mothers, and fathers,
girls and boys.
Now is the time.
This is the day.
Get down on your knees,
face God and pray.
Yes, now is the time.
Yes this is the day.
Get down on your knees,
with me,
and pray.
Essay 1-01-07
The human being, as a living entity, experiences being alive in a many faceted way.
I am writing to clarify the insight that the human mind, body, spirit, when clean and healthy, properly balanced, will generate energy. Like a mechanical dynamo creates electrical energy. This energy needs a name. I will call it spiritual-psychic energy. Abbreviated SP energy. It is my hypothesis that, in great volumes, this energy can be systemically and deliberately created. And once created, it can be directed and used. It can be used, in somewhat variant forms, to accomplish important and necessary things.
First, I will discuss how this energy can be created. Initially, one labors to keep the body healthy.
This means eat right, sleep right, drink clean water, and exercise. Next, one must strive to be mentally clean. Not wallowing in violent or lude images.
Continuing on, it takes an act of will to rise above anger, hatred, jealousy, and worry. And here, we step into the spiritual portion of this hypothesis. Prayer.
When one truly learns to pray, a door to a more dynamic source of energy is opened. Once accessed, this energy reinforces and magnifies itself. It can be directed into situations, bringing about illumination and growth.
Our mind is a tiny fleck of the infinite entity we call God. Thought is the precursor to both emotion and material creation. We see gifts and talents at work in people, because God is present. Present is a particle of wisdom, power, and energy.
As there is no clear line between thought and prayer, there is no true line between a living person and their possessions. There is no clear line between a person and their personal relationships. There is no line between the spirit-psyche and the physical body. When SP energies are maximized, problems in the material realities are minimized. SP energies always create orderliness, this to include peace, and justice, and wellbeing. Mind encompasses it all.
One builds an aura around himself. To break the aura is to sin. To sin is to allow destructive energies to enter. Destructive energies here have two forms. The first is simple entropy. Iron rusts, shoes wear out. The second form is conspiracy. One who chooses to harm another ultimately harms himself. Here we could begin a discussion of the golden rule, and the Day of Judgment. But that’s another discussion.
Here I want to discuss how some people have a way of draining the SP energies from the souls and lives of others. There are many folk who will drain you of your energies, if they can. Thank God we are not locked up in prison or a psych ward with those who would rob life from your body and soul.
As a free person, it is important to limit how much time and energy one bleeds into the lives of others. It is important to get away often to re-energize. With the energies of health, intellect, talent, and all the SP manifold manifestations and gifts.
Yes, it is my hypothesis that we can, in a systematic and scientific way, attain higher levels of energy. And this energy has many ways of manifesting itself. We can reach out and grab hold of gifts, strengths, and talents. These gifts are attainable as we strengthen and purify our minds bodies and souls.
1-02-07 Proverb
Dropping a deer, and dragging it out of the woods is hard.
Dragging a human soul out of the deceits of the world, and into the light of the Kingdom, is infinitely harder.
Poem-Untitled
The bonds are deeper than blood.
But truth and life and love.
When I’m weeding, or trimming, or raking, or edging, my task is simply to labor. If I rest from my labors for too long, however, grave concerns fall upon my shoulders. I begin to assume responsibility for the poverty and disease of fellow men, for the salvation of the planet, and the lives and souls it bears.
What is the consciousness that resides in my mind, the light that enlivens my flesh?
My disability is that which holds me back.
I desire to say, Kara, I love you. I desire you.
You open your heart and home to me. And led me to your husband’s guidance and kindness.
Again, I love you. The years are passing too quietly, too quickly. And life’s flower will fade and pass.
The inner man is made whole, healed. Now the external realm must be ordered.
I lay my hands on this wounded world.
Can simple labor save a soul?
Poem – Fishing
When I was a young child,
to be happy with mom and dad,
and my sisters, was enough.
I loved pork chops with stuffing,
and catching sunnies off the dock.
But around sixth grade,
I realized that I wanted to be cool, and tough.
I started thinking about popularity.
I still caught sunnies,
but perch, bass, and pike, as well.
And then whitefish.
As a young adult,
I wanted to be powerful.
I was too extreme in self denial.
As I progressed into adulthood,
fame and fortune became my idols.
I lived a fractured and difficult life.
I seldom fished, but thought of it always.
Now at fifty three years old,
I keep my bill paid.
I desire to ascend to Heaven when I die,
and yes, I fish often.
As I age, my desire is to experience a foretaste of Heaven,
here and now.
I chase salmon and trout,
bass, pike and pan fish as well.
And when I become aged,
I desire to have my loved ones around me,
to be simply happy.
And if grace allows,
an occasional dinner of pork chops with stuffing.
And to catch some sunnies off the dock.
