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Archive for November, 2010

The Gift of a Mystic Mirror


“Mirror, mirror on the wall, may I look with love on all.” That was written many years ago. Today I have the rare opportunity to amend what I’ve previously written. The person you see daily in your mirror is you, the most important person in the world.

Yet that mirror image of an independent individual is an illusion! Over the entrance of the United Nations building in New York is carved a quotation from the Persian Muslim poet-mystic Saadi Shirazi:

Human beings are all members of one body.
They are created by the same essence.
When one is in pain, the others cannot rest.
If you do not care about the pain of others,
You do not deserve to be called a human being.

So when you look in the mirror, look beyond the illusion and see the other who is in pain. It is a spiritual evolution to rise above concern for your own needs and truly care for others who are in great pain or suffering.

Give me the insight to see my face
in the faces of all the human family,
to care for others as I care for myself,
so I can call myself a human being.

From A Book of Wonders by Ed Hays

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Pit Stop for U.F.O.’s, and Humans Who Love Them!

UFO Pit Stop


By KIRK JOHNSON
HOOPER, Colo. — “I like humans, they’re fun,” Judy Messoline said as she showed a visitor through her vortex garden, which psychics have said contains not just one, but two separate portals to a parallel universe.

Kevin Moloney for The New York Times
Many of the humans who come to Ms. Messoline’s U.F.O. Watchtower, hard by the dueling vortexes, may be fun, but they are also wounded. About 95 percent, by her estimate — and she makes a point of asking — have experienced something, a shudder in the fabric of the ordinary, the sighting of an unidentified flying object that to one degree or another has haunted them and drawn them to this otherwise empty spot in south-central Colorado. Having fun in thinking about extraterrestrials, she said, is usually bound up with something deeper right here on the home planet.

“The world needs a place where people can go to talk about their experiences and not be laughed at,” she said.

People do laugh here. One of Ms. Messoline’s principles in building the Watchtower a decade ago, in an attempt to raise cash as her cattle ranch collapsed in economic ruin, was that U.F.O.-spotting should be a hoot, and whenever possible, a party.

“The best sightings have been when people are just out enjoying the evening,” she said. Fifty-nine events — lights that move erratically or, during the day, objects that defy explanation in shape or movement — have been witnessed from the tower since 2000, Ms. Messoline said, sometimes by dozens of people at the same time.

No one knows the count before that, since no local institution existed for counting. Many residents, though, say the San Luis Valley, just north of the New Mexico state line, has been a hotspot for decades. U.F.O. reports reach all the way back to the early settlements of the 1600s, with a particularly noted wave in the late 1960s.

The turmoil of modern life is also in evidence near the tower, at the house once occupied by Ms. Messoline’s son and his family, now vacant and in foreclosure since the couple’s divorce.

“Broke my heart,” she said. Adding to the pain, she said, is that the house will probably never sell. “Who wants to live next to a U.F.O. Watchtower?” she said.

Truth be told, the Watchtower — really just a framed metal platform perhaps 10 feet off the ground — is not much of a moneymaker at $2 a head for admission. Ms. Messoline, 65, a former housecleaner from the Denver area who moved to Hooper in the mid-1990s, still needs the paycheck from Miss Deb’s, a convenience store down the road, identified by the giant chicken out in front, to make ends meet.

But that is the interconnection of a lot of things in Hooper, a dot of perhaps 100 souls in a vast and lonely place. Harsh realities in economics and climate — high poverty rates and brutal winters — are interlaced with vistas of breathtaking beauty and a local culture that has long prized and cultivated the offbeat.

Ms. Messoline furthered that spirit by encouraging visitors to leave something in her vortex garden. One recent offering: a two-foot-tall Superman doll with one hand extended, holding a bottle of hot sauce, perhaps in greeting or in supplication.

Another visitor left a primer for extraterrestrials who might find themselves confused about human tableware. A folding knife-and-spoon was marked with text and helpful arrows pointing in the direction of each object: “This is a knife and a spoon, alien,” it said.

Even the winds are strange. One corner of the San Luis Valley, banked on all sides by mountains, somehow became a collecting spot for blown sand over the past few thousand years, since the drying up of an ancient lake bed. The result: a little bit of the Sahara in Colorado at Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, about 15 miles from here.

The sky, with barely a town to break the landscape, is black at night — a riot of stars not visible from the big city — and huge at all hours. And people here are used to being out and aware of their surroundings, which makes them perhaps more likely than city folk to see things in the great Out There.

“There’s not a lot of activity, so people have more opportunity to be watching what’s around them,” said JoDene Newmyer, 64, who works with Ms. Messoline at the convenience store.

Ms. Newmyer’s own U.F.O. story — and most people here seem to have one — occurred on the Friday morning of Memorial Day weekend, 1972. She was driving her daughter to the baby sitter at 7 a.m. when she stopped cold at the sight of a huge angular silver object just above the horizon.

“Flying saucer? I will not say that,” Ms. Newmyer said. “But unidentifiable it definitely was, because I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Ms. Messoline says the years of scanning the sky and of meeting people who are drawn to her and her tower have changed her.

She decided recently to put the patch of ground under the tower and the vortex garden in her will, donating it to a U.F.O. research group in Denver to continue the work, or the fun, after she’s gone, even though she knows that a tower in perpetuity will probably doom any chance of a sale of her son’s former home.

A Teacher’s Story

True or not – who cares, How many times do we “misjudge” by appearance?

Her name was Mrs. Thompson. As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. But that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he didn’t play well with the other children. His clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X’s and then putting a big “F” at the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child’s past records and she put Teddy’s off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.

Teddy’s first grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners…He is a joy to be around.”

His second grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home is a struggle.”

His third grade teacher wrote, “His mother’s death had been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn’t show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren’t taken.”

Teddy’s fourth grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is withdrawn and doesn’t show much interest in school. He doesn’t have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class.”

By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy’s. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs.Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents.

Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one quarter-full of perfume. But she stifled the children’s laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.

Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, “Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mother used to.”

After the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, and writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children.

Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her “teacher’s pets.”

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life. Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he’d stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor’s degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer the letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.

The story doesn’t end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he’d met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the place at the wedding that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom.

Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. And she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.

They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs.Thompson’s ear, “Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference.”

Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, “Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn’t know how to teach until I met you.”

Remember – that wherever you go, and whatever you do, you will have the opportunity to touch and/or change a person’s outlook. Please try to do it in a positive way

Useful Dog Tricks

Jesse is an amazingly useful and intelligent Jack Russell Terrier, who loves helping around the house.

This video will put a smile on your face.

Nostradamus on the Assassination of President Kennedy

Nostradamus


I took a great deal of time and went through many of the quatrains of Nostradamus and found that there were far too confusing for me to make any sense of them or offer any intelligent response to what they mean. I have read through his prophecies before and always found it very difficult and admirer those who can break it down into terms that we can understand. The following is the only one that made any sense to me.

In a prophecy indexed 1 Q26, Nostradamus in 1555 wrote:
The great man will be struck down in the day by a thunderbolt.
The evil deed predicted by the bearer of a petition.
According to the prediction another falls at night time.
Conflict in Reims, London, and pestilence in Tuscany.

President John Kennedy was shot shortly after twelve noon 47 years ago in Dallas Texas, on 22 November 1963. In Nostradamus day guns had not been invented so it makes sense that he would see it as a thunderbolt. Senator Robert Kennedy was assassinated a few minutes after 1 A.M., moments after his victory speech in the 1968 presidential primary. Jeane Dixon, one of the foremost prophets of modern times, earned international notoriety for predicting JFK’s assassination as early as 1956. The last month before he was killed she repeatedly tried to get the message to him to be careful that he was about to be assassinated. I believe the bearer of the petition was Ms. Dixon. Nostradamus may have chronicled her unsuccessful attempt to forewarn the president, and later, Senator Kennedy, who was her friend. The last line dates RFK’s murder through events occurring around that time: student riots in France and London during 1968-9, (Reims is a another term used for France) and the 1966 Florence flood, when authorities feared that pestilence in Tuscany would follow the disaster.

Nostradamus was an incredible prophet it is amazing to see how he visualized something centuries ahead.

The REAL story of the First “Thanksgiving” by Grey Wolf



The story began in 1614 when a band of English explorers sailed home to England with a ship full of Patuxet Indians bound for slavery. They left behind smallpox which virtually wiped out those who had escaped. By the time the Pilgrims arrived in Massachusetts Bay they found only one living Patuxet Indian, a man named Squanto who had survived slavery in England and knew their language. He taught them to grow corn and to fish, and negotiated a peace treaty between the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag Nation. At the end of their first year, the Pilgrims held a great feast honoring Squanto and the Wampanoags.

But as word spread in England about the paradise to be found in the new world, religious zealots called Puritans began arriving by the boat load. Finding no fences around the land, they considered it to be in the public domain. Joined by other British settlers, they seized land, capturing strong young Natives for slaves and killing the rest. But the Pequot Nation had not agreed to the peace treaty Squanto had negotiated and they fought back. The Pequot War was one of the bloodiest Indian wars ever fought.

In 1637 near present day Groton, Connecticut, over 700 men, women and children of the Pequot Tribe had gathered for their annual Green Corn Festival which is our Thanksgiving celebration. In the predawn hours the sleeping Indians were surrounded by English and Dutch mercenaries who ordered them to come outside. Those who came out were shot or clubbed to death while the terrified women and children who huddled inside the longhouse were burned alive. The next day the governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony declared “A Day Of Thanksgiving” because 700 unarmed men, women and children had been murdered.

Cheered by their “victory”, the brave colonists and their Indian allies attacked village after village. Women and children over 14 were sold into slavery while the rest were murdered. Boats loaded with a many as 500 slaves regularly left the ports of New England. Bounties were paid for Indian scalps to encourage as many deaths as possible.

Following an especially successful raid against the Pequot in what is now Stamford, Connecticut, the churches announced a second day of “thanksgiving” to celebrate victory over the heathen savages. During the feasting, the hacked off heads of Natives were kicked through the streets like soccer balls. Even the friendly Wampanoag did not escape the madness. Their chief was beheaded, and his head impaled on a pole in Plymouth, Massachusetts — where it remained on display for 24 years.

The killings became more and more frenzied, with days of thanksgiving feasts being held after each successful massacre. George Washington finally suggested that only one day of Thanksgiving per year be set aside instead of celebrating each and every massacre. Later Abraham Lincoln decreed Thanksgiving Day to be a legal national holiday during the Civil War — on the same day he ordered troops to march against the starving Sioux in Minnesota.

This story doesn’t have quite the same fuzzy feelings associated with it as the one where the Indians and Pilgrims are all sitting down together at the big feast. But we need to learn our true history so it won’t ever be repeated. This Thanksgiving, when you gather with your loved ones to Thank God for all your blessings, think about those people who only wanted to live their lives and raise their families. They, also took time out to say “thank you” to Creator for all their blessings.

Win a Free Phone Psychic Reading!

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