GHOST RESCUE

GHOST RESCUE

By Paul Schroeder

(Copyright 2016, Paul Schroeder – All Rights Reserved)
<Edited by Robert D. Morningstar>
*******
Sometimes, after abductions, the inter-dimensional door, left open, invites in the “gangster fringe” element of the spirit world.
I have heard astonishing things most unverifiable about Heaven, from ribald odd psychic mediums:
Too heavy smokers retain visibly black lungs, the vain- cosmetic- surgery- addicted, sport disfigured countenances, those too rich, ornate and gaudy, appear homely and threadbare.
According to some psychics, there is an inverse relationship between our aspects, after death, in transition, in an astral world, that mirrors and reflect our damages, foolishness and wrong values, from one’s  life most recently departed.
Who could foresee or imagine such instant spiritually blatant karma-ricochets ?
To skeptics or to the religiously programmed, I assert that the theory that consciousness ends with physical death, has never been proved, to me.
If one examines diverse spiritual phenomena: demonic possession, OBEs, NDEs, hauntings, poltergeists, reincarnation memories through regressive hypnosis, just to mention a few, the undeniable evidence of a spiritual reality looms as obvious as a trout in the milk.
We should all be born with lunch boxes for our stay here, in this school, is short, compared to the eternal spark of God within us that endures.
We step out of our body when we physically die , just as we do step out of our cars and our clothing, and we are no more our bodies than we are our cars or clothing.
Psychics and mediums well know this.
Our spirits, if not stolen by demons or reptilian aliens, or stuck, Earthbound,  move on to one of the very many varied realms of Heaven.

Spirits in beginning transition,  vulnerable to being stolen by reptilian aliens to be recycled, or garnered by demons who collect souls like children do marbles, will often  linger to stay close to us.
Since only our ‘clothing’, or our body’s external shell is buried,
visiting a cemetery is moot, because the loving spirits of our dead  travel with us there, and return from there, with us.
But, Earthbound sinister dark souls, and inhuman diabolical spirits, will persist within cemeteries.
Pregnant mothers are restricted from attending cemeteries by many religions, to offer protection to the unborn, from  opportunistic sinister spirits.
Certain minerals in stones, such as ferrous, jasper, tourmaline and quartz,  carried by some sensitives, can assist, and
can act as a deterrent.
I have also gleaned that The “LIGHT”, into which we enter, to ‘cross over’, at physical death, is not outward and external, but emanates from WITHIN us, at death, a detail overlooked and  unrecognized .
But, what about trapped ghosts?
 In our natural spirit state we are ghosts:
fogs of electromagnetic energy ,with memory and a sense of identity.
Ghost-hunters need a glimmer  that spirits who they document,  SHOULD BE rescued; this lack of moral recognition, risks  “depraved indifference”, a  moral crime.
Circus or rodeo’s audiences applause,  watching  abused animals hard- beaten- perform postures unnatural to their natures , is  similarly a ‘depraved indifference’.
Circus and rodeo  lovers, like ghost-  hunters, return to their cars to  leave a chunk of their spiritual evolution, behind..
We get a sure ride to Earth, from Heaven, at birth, but no guarantees for a safe return trip home.
When my psychic prowess began to sputter on, I initially was aware of so many ghosts afoot everywhere, that it made me doubt Heaven’s very existence.
1957 - Year of the Cock <br /> Computer Generated Phot... <br /> Manimals <br /> 1993 <br />
1946 - Year... <br /> Computer Ge... <br /> Manimals <br /> 1993 <br />
Trapped human spirits are ‘provoked’ by ghost-hunters to elicit evidences, and are  seen as sport, like an animal abused at a rodeo or circuses.
With ghosts, I think of the chrysalis that never emerges, the cocoon frozen and dead,  a human spirit lost in anguish between life and death.
My heart breaks and I am sullen for the unfairness of  God’s promise gone unkept, the return dream of Heaven, now deferred.
How and when did I learn that an unseen world exists all around us?
Picture - A Buddhist and Hindu temple Wat Rong Khun in Chiang Rai, Thailand  Also known as the White Temple  It was designed by Chalermchai Kositpipat. Fotosearch - Search Stock Photography, Photos, Prints, Images, and Photo Clipart
It blossomed
The feeling of unseen human hands and their undeniable touches on my arms, back and shoulders, with concurrent accompanying psychic disturbances  increased.
At restaurants, often a warm, heavy hand resides on my shoulder, for a moment, with no one observable, behind me, friendly but unsettling encounters.
I  feel symptoms of a dark one, a lost soul/ ghost, who jumps on me, and an energy connection is felt, in that my skin burns and buzzes where I am  touched and connection are made..
Sometimes that awareness crashes crystal clear:
Medusa HeadI recently had a very “odd in- your- face” encounter with a“Shadow Person.”
Sitting at my computer, writing long into the wee hours, the screen’s glow the only illumination in the room, I slowly became aware of a gradual peripheral movement alongside my right cheek, that moved forward into view, to emerge directly facing me.
A black silhouette of a face, illuminated by the neon glow of the computer screen, a side view of a profile of a slim young man, emerged which then quickly turned, to face me straight on.
A full second before I loudly exclaimed and shouted, an involuntary reaction, I could see a slim, thin human face darker than the room’s darkness, fully facing me.
As I have purposefully unlearned fear, the shout was instinctive and only awe surfaced.
But it was a “Shadow Person” up close and intimate.
At one time, in order to block these experiences, knowing that some medications did change brain chemistry to the extent,  to simply put one beyond the reach of such creatures, I tried antihistamines and did indeed manage to stop it all, temporarily.  I had read that on the Internet and just wanting to feel normal, again, tried it on myself.
I don’t know how it works but it works … temporarily.
But, one can’t live on Benedryll.
Other medications have specifically been developed for people who are troubled by ‘seeing things’, ‘hearing things’ and ‘feeling things’ and these were
pharmacologically designed because modern medicine makes no differentiation, no distinctions between spiritual dysfunctions and psychological dysfunctions.
A modern clinician  unversed in such spiritual truths, perceives a child patient who experiences these phenomena as more psychotic than  psychic, certainly not ever a young ‘sensitive’, who has not yet learned how, but must, to  close his energies, to such entities… 
I was told by others early on that what I was going through was a blessing.   I did not accept that at the time.   It has been a tough learning experience for both me and the unseen world.
I once advised a spirit whose hand rested heavily on my right shoulder -I could feel the weight and span of fingers- to “cross over to the other side”-  meaning that other dimension that we all come from and go to, ‘Heaven’.
  After just a few seconds, it obliged my request, by crossing over to my left side, and  good naturedly resting its hand, THERE, on my shoulder..
I deduced that rather than having a rarefied sense of humor,  it likely had no idea whatsoever, what I was referring to…
Another major problem for psychic sensitives, is that of all the spiritual energies, unseen, out there, many are NOT human; some are reptilian alien.
When a demon or juvenile reptilian cruises in, for what turns out to be an extended visit, an onset of the most awful nightmares, unlike any one can imagine, vivid and terrifying, ensue.
Such brilliant diabolical entities refuse rescue and delight in tormenting humans; nothing else except unholy ones could do such violence to mere dreams.
Scary blood with an evil halloween vampire character splattered and dripping on a white background as a spooky symbol of danger and fear as paranormal fantasy icon  Stock Photo - 21743139
During such sieges, in spiritual crises, I have had to neatly discard any classic pedestrian Freudian or Jungian explanations as misguided and moot, and instead  to seek metaphysical approaches that do, after a fashion, work.
In self defense,  with heightened empathy for an energy who jumps upon me, I counsel with love and compassion, as one would a lost traveler or lost child.  It could well be you, or me, so lost.
I used to dismiss an unseen touch as though it were a fly at my mustache, or treat it with the disgust or shock that a ghost often elicits.
Then I tried to openly complain to the spirit, that phantoms DO-  fill -the- air – around us, and that although we all come from God, one way or another, some of us  fight  hard,  to return to God.
I relay this to the unseen intelligence touching me, with a lack of fear and with  pathos, as much sympathy as I can muster.
All the while, I am fully aware that it could likely be psychically dangerous, as deeply disturbed as it had been, in its body.
If it ever HAD a body..
If it’s “sticky”, and persistent , I surround myself in a three-feet-around-me violet cloud of love, to dissuade it, in a fashion..
The worst, most predatory and harmful negative energies ‘out there’, for a sensitive to sense, are juvenile reptilians and small dark grey aliens. They come on like gang-busters,  insistently stubborn and ‘hungry’ for my energies.
When such  painful burning touches apprise me that connections between my energies and dark energies are continuing,  a spritz of incensed holy water mixed with tea tree and camphor essential oils from a plant misting bottle clears the attachment feeling and the onset of mild psychic attack.
I tell spirits who touch me more gently, them that it’s sad and  ironic that God has sent them to me for help,  for I myself, spiritually, am  so often  helplessly lost.
I  tell them that touching people for energy, stealing energy from people,  traps them here, between worlds, where they are subject to bullying or worse, theft, by astral – fierce-predators, afoot.
I ask them to reach higher into their own dimension,  to  ask for angelic help as I do the same, in mine.  I remind them that since they didn’t die when they left their body, that they cannot  die, and insist that they not steal human energy; humans look  like bright porch lights to them.  Some do not listen, because they still feel so, ‘alive’, though not in their physical body.
The retort I have more than once heard in my skull was:
“How do I know, that YOU’RE not dead!?”
Some, however, do listen.
I ask   rescue beings of light to work to bring  a neighbor, a lover, a child, a former pet, a parent, a friend, a schoolmate, ANYONE, SOMEONE whom they can trust, to bring them over, to the Other Side.
I try not to surround them in a white light , for negative-thought-beings can feast on white light, which is why they go initially quiescent, only to come on, again, later,  like gang-busters.
Visualized purple light, used for self-defense, can also  ‘wash off and cleanse’ the external blackness surrounding a dark spirit, who is half- willing to be rescued.
Such a ‘wash’ of purple light onto such  creatures couched in blackness, always soon reveals a tiny, faint pearl- like light within the dark one,  my proof to it, of God’s creation of it.
Then, ONLY THEN,  bereft of its outer shell of darkness,  and meanness will I send it into a tower of white light, which contains the hidden full color spectrum with gradations of each color  a different dimension of (earned) Heaven.
Some dark spirits can only freely go into red light, or orange light, to find their rightful place, towards their next perfection; all varied colored spiritual destinations, not unlike a rainbow, are contained  hidden within white light.
However, this cleansing and rescue is best and more safely done within a circle of minds, with a psychic-medium also in attendance.    Creative metaphysics, towards rescues, using just one human mind can be dangerous  as some entities/energies out there, are quite amazingly nasty, brilliant and diabolical. Self-defense evolved into a changed outlook:
I pray FOR them, instead of for my relief FROM them.
It raises their vibrations and moves them out of the darkness and is appreciated by them and by others, and is considered,”service to the other side’.
I also try to goad them into the finer purpose, of helping me:
I ask them to leave as ‘ Earthbound’ spirits,  travel to the Christ light, and RETURN to me, as cleansed spirits to assist me in others’ rescue.

What usually appeals to  ‘holdouts’,  is  reminding them that nobody  has spoken to them, or  paid any attention to them, for a  long time, except for me.   With a more humane stance, rarely do they attack with projected telepathic/psychic attacks, in nightmares, or sinister poltergeist machinations . I have bought some peace and I have done some service to the Other Side.
Ghost-hunters are the front line in this real endeavor, the rescue of ghosts, for in spiritually rescuing others, they can spiritually rescue themselves.
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AN ALTERNATIVE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE : A SPIRITUAL MESSAGE

AN ALTERNATIVE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE : A SPIRITUAL MESSAGE

by Paul Schroeder

A spiritual message, in a time of need, illuminated a larger life path:
“The Spell of the Yukon”
               By Robert W. Service
“I wanted the gold, and I sought it;
   I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.
Was it famine or scurvy—I fought it;
   I hurled my youth into a grave.
I wanted the gold, and I got it—
   Came out with a fortune last fall,—
Yet somehow life’s not what I thought it,
   And somehow the gold isn’t all…”
I rarely ever worked overtime, or sought spare part- time jobs to make more money, seeking blue skies above to doing work indoors, and I relished my poorer beer pockets without ever developing or resenting the absence of a richer champagne taste.
Those ambitious lads of my childhood who entered finance, medicine or law,  worked 24-7 towards a salaried lifestyle that flew them first class, overseas to luncheon meetings and purchased them mansions in the  glass sky towers of Manhattan.
Effete, they would confess,”Those who say that money can’t buy you everything, don’t know where to shop!”
I  became a college instructor teacher who received a meager pittance, but though  I relished my bankers’ hours’ 9 to 3  job, I deeply longed for the respite of work, each academic year, within a ten week vacation, over the summer.
During academic semesters I recklessly ate up all of my sick days and personal days, taking escapes in the sun at the beach, and landscaped land escapes in three and four day weekends, at mountain lakes’ sites to hike in virgin woods alone.
Others in Higher Education had instead garnered many days, ‘in their bank’, saved up jealously, to trade for cash, losing one day for every two saved, upon retirement.
To me, counter intuitively, non providentially, time away to think was worth more, as an escape valve,  than half of some obscure future money.
Work was onerous and exacting, and freedom was a hiking-in-the-woods- relief, from fluorescent overhead lights, and the grinding grading of incessant exams and papers.
For release,  the best part of my chosen vocation, I lectured and pontificated, teaching American and English Literature, in a large lecture hall,  chain-smoking unfiltered cigarettes, during class instructions, throughout, to self medicate.
I am presently retired, thirty-five years in teaching, and have a modest lovely home and property, and as for wanderlust, I  have long found that armchair travel is the cheapest kind of travel, content to read brochures, than take inoculations, to explore the world.
Money aversion- ennui got worse as I grew older.
 I soon preferred the sidelines of copious earnings, a spent man, seeking  to relax and to write.
Why was I, so different, to care little for “success”, measured in hard work towards riches?
I wasn’t remotely money excited,  as a child, dimly knowing on a subliminal level that God didn’t place us here, on Earth,  on a special mission,  to make money.
A spiritual message experience, I received, as a teenager, a homeless runaway at seventeen, running from a divorced household of violence and police- being -called -by- the -neighbors,
became a core influence for my slant on monied life, a purposeful one of just getting by, instead of working hard towards earning luxuries.
It was Christmas time in New York City and I was seventeen years old, homeless penniless,  and wandering.
I had exited  the Museum of Natural History on Central Park West, where I had feasted for hours, on museum eye -candy, but my stomach  had rumbled with hunger.
And now back on the street, I found that it had been and was now, snowing heavily.
I wondered worriedly where I would sleep, that night.
 A local movie manager,  a friend, Paul Gary, said that I could, when in Brooklyn, sleep in a little used old loft room in his movie theatre, the Loews Oriental, in Bath Beach, Brooklyn, in a dusty, haunted costume property room.
I was the inhabiting spirit.
The smell of freshly roasted chestnuts,  sold to passerbys from a kiosk wagon, near to the museum’s stone steps, in a blizzard of snow, wafted my way and roused me.
I had no money in my pockets; I salivated at the  sweet nutty perfume.
 Chestnuts were a seasonal treat I had  enjoyed, at this very museum’s site, when I had a bountiful existence within my cantankerous parents’ marriage’s deep pockets’ circle of influence.
I would ask my parents,  they’d  fish for loose change and I would relish the sweet flavor of fire roasted hot chestnuts, now a new symbol of want and the faded memory of childhood .
I was alone upon the streets of Manhattan, hungry and had no money.
The  snow covered shoulders and face of the man who stood behind the kiosk wagon, were wrapped in steam; he was small and dark, wearing mittens with holes for the fingers.
The snow fell heavily in sheets that made a city of asphalt shock look gentler.
I  came close enough to  inhale the dark aroma of roasted chestnuts,  a childhood memory token, an olfactory solace for my pangs of hunger.
 I  noticed that on one side of his kiosk wagon hung a large piece of grey cardboard with a blue magic marker message upon it, his philosophy of the moment, but on an unconscious level, one  for the rest of my adult life.
A raised consciousness was sparked.
It read:
“I really don’t like making money;
I don’t want to conquer the world,
and I don’t wish to ever be rich;
I don’t even want to set the world, on fire;
 I just want to keep my nuts warm.”
A spiritual message, in a time of need, illuminated a larger life path.

IN THE BATTLE OF THE SEXES, CAMOUFLAGE PREVAILS

IN THE BATTLE OF THE SEXES, CAMOUFLAGE PREVAILS

 by Paul Schroeder

“Sex is not the answer.
Sex is the question.
The answer, is ‘YES’!”
(Woody Allen)

Since sex is less than five or ten percent of a marriage, those who marry just for sex, find imposing reasons later on in the relationship, to not confine sex, within the parameters of their marriage, but remain as faithful, as their options and opportunities.

After all, man DOES need woman for the artistry and complexity of friendship, for filial fun, cute socializing, profound partnering, and deep soul intimacy, but they may not ALL BE with the SAME woman.

Women wander sexually, as well, as statistics reveal, that every other wife strays to another’s arms, for love making.

I often thought that women had it better ; if I were a woman, without any love, I’d be down at the docks,  no underwear, waiting for the fleet to come in, with my skirt pulled over my head.

There surely HAS to be some more dignified way of expressing desire and passionate love for another human being, because the human body is a sad marvel, with its waste disposal plant, immediately adjoining its amusement park area.

Sex, is forever something that parents are loathe to discuss with their children; when I was a child of seven, they mentioned the fearful danger of sex, saying, “not to play around with sex, because it was,”playing with fire.”

At seven years old, I recall thinking,

“Well, I HAVE a hose…

But one who marries, just for sex, is buying a 747 jet, just for the little bag of peanuts.

Surely, there’s other ways to get peanuts, if that’s all that you really want.

Yes, men are more shallow than one would imagine, and will as soon marry for sumptuous breasts, than for love, an idea so repulsive and childish, that it takes much head shaking, to comprehend,  because spiritual
love is appreciating, sharing, empathy and giving, quite bereft of the pangs of lust.
Yet, for all men’s fascination with women’s breasts, should men themselves,  overweight  develop breasts, they  do chafe ingloriously, upset about those unmanly acquisitions.
                                                 

Men are more juvenile in primitive sexual drives and emotional makeup, and women are indeed, far better human beings, providential, sensitive, charitable, strong and beautiful.

This DNA primate difference can be demonstrated.

At a very young age, place a group of five-year-old girls, in a room together, and they will sit, talk and relate to each other with civil chatter, sharing, and often with surprising wisdom.
 But, place a group of five-year-old boys in a room together,  and soon they will roll all over the floor, like shaved gorillas, lost in individual and mutual combative power fantasies.

Our lingering social notion  that men are more important, more apt and more likely to be leaders, is still a hard social prejudice to quell.

Equality, in mutual passion, is easier to demonstrate:

When a cop on the beat encounters a young couple making love in the tall grass, in a park, he does NOT tap their shoes with his nightstick to angrily demand,

” All right, now, WHO’S in charge, here ?!”

Progress will turn HIStory, into HERstory.

Women remain naive and not the least bit aware of men’s glandular functioning concepts towards all women.

At a party or wedding,

men view a woman’s public, licentious exaggerated undulations in dance as her being naked,  and sexual fantasies unfurl

deep within men’s psyches.

Dance becomes sex in visualized fantasies of private encounters with these licentious, and actively lithe women on the dance floor.

For women,  few rarely grasp that their public dancing, is clearly nothing but public, overt, symbolic sex.

 

Perhaps this makeup makes it still a man’s world, because it’s much easier, in society, to BE a man:

Each solitary, individual feature on your face always stays its birth shade and original color.

Methinks, that If men wore makeup, most would be disconcertingly prettier than many women.

If a man chooses, he might, perhaps, consider a cosmetic shave, but ONLY to some parts of his face and neck.

You can always wear shorts despite how awful your legs do look.

Your last name, regardless of marital -legal battles, stays put.

People do not ever stare at your breasts and your nipples when you’re happily chatting with them.

You are genetically and socially blind to any but the biggest wrinkles in your clothing.

Calorie intake and belly size are never a crucial consideration.

 

You always have the consummate and total freedom of choice about the growing of a mustache.

 

You don’t have to remove all of your clothes just to pee.

 

You can wake up just as attractive as you were when you went to bed, rather than have your beauty somehow deteriorate, during the night.

 

You can more easily, socially, defend your space, with knee-jerk displays of violence.

Woman, as the pretty sex, is a relatively new idea:

 

Pirates who wore the perfumes, jewelry, silks and frills echoed this olden concept of male beauty; a classical nude in statue, was almost ALWAYS male, historically, in ancient Greece and Rome.
This classic maleness model of beauty oddly reversed itself in the eighteenth century and women became the “pretty sex”, instead.

Throughout the animal world, whether it flies or swims, the male is STILL the colorful sex, the female, the drab one.

 

But since the eighteenth century, sexual and cultural reversals have oddly persisted in human affairs, and women instead have become the pretty sex.

But “pretty” means, slim and skinny, as fashion dictates.

 

Today, women who carry a few extra pounds, live longer than the men, who mention it…

Straight men, do not adorn themselves towards being highly polished- exceptions exist for politicians, actors, sports-stars, head gangsters, and police detectives, for within these men, narcissism, a sinful sense of entitlement, and monumental ego all loom.

 

In those egomaniac ‘types’ , highly-polished, self-preening is always accompanied by bullying others.
But the question remains, for the sake of guile and deceit: how curried and airbrushed is too curried and airbrushed?
The first thing I look at, when I see a polished, curried woman, is her eyebrows; if they’re natural, it’s a blast of honest sexuality that curls my toes.
If they’ve been removed and severe Groucho-Klingon brows, of crayola, at odd sharp angles, or worse,  tattooed on, I experience an anxious ‘turn off’, a social warning of duplicity, and all of my ‘antenna’ are up, and waving..
Many women who look like floss, patina and veneer, are mostly shallow types who a man has to pay, for an intelligent conversation, because
 they have long cared ONLY about their outsides, and not ever about, their ‘insides’.

‘Beauty’ television commercials and ‘beauty’ magazine ads feature graphics of highly curried women, extolling Western society’s virtues of vacuous, narcissistic women, who gaze back at us, made over into a man’s surreal vision of what ‘beauty’ should look like..

 

In Maine, at a lobster restaurant, I went to the register to pay and behind the counter, opening the register, was a tall, strikingly handsome, buxom woman, in a formal ballgown who sported a large handlebar mustache.

 

Her startling visage has stayed with me, for many years, resplendent and role indigestible..
It’s a cultural facade and mirage of the sadly discarded true value of beauty, which always comes from within.
 A man in our culture says,”You’re beautiful”, before he says, “I love you”, and thus a woman is wrongly taught , that if beauty fades, then love must also fade.
Poorly informed, desperately seeking love, she runs scared to the beauty parlor, nail salon, hair stylist, cosmetic facial and breast implant surgeons, willing to suffer to maintain an airbrushed, curried, artificial “beauty” , so that “love” will not also vanish.

Men perpetrate this hoax until they themselves believe it.

In truth, a woman is as sexy in bed as that woman was interesting, before bed, and interesting, after bed.

But, for many non-self-respecting men, it’s all  just  about  a woman’s exterior patina, and veneer towards sex.

For these men, none of them ever reached under a woman’s skirt, looking for her library card…

 

Men admit that they LOVE women who look hot and who act hot;  homespun, often unwilling women, by comparison, are like radiators, men have to keep touching, to see if the heat’s coming up.

Yes, men are more shallow than one would imagine, more vain than women and more duplicitous in satisfying their overwhelming hormonal drives.

 

Thus, using men’s sex drive, against them, women culturally have been taught guile and deceit from a tender age, to ‘trap a man’, by using their physical, sexual allure:

 

They shave armpits,

shave legs and mustaches,

dye their hair,

use eye-liner,

mascara and false eyelashes,

face makeup,

 

(“Women will never be equal to men until they can walk down the street with a bald head and a beer gut, and still think they are sexy”)

 

 foundation,

earrings,

tints of rouge blush,

sport uplift brassieres,

apply perfumes,

apply lipstick,

go for Botox or plastic surgery to erase facial wrinkles,

 install Hershey-kiss silicone fake breasts,

wear high heels,

designer fingernails,

contact lenses,

  paint fingers and toes.
They put on things, to make them look bigger, and things that make them look smaller;

then, they meet a man,

and  they want, …”HONESTY!!”

Man, refuses to accept that makeup glamour fools the eye and deludes the heart, until he awakens after the wedding to see his bride without any makeup, and in shock thinks, “WHO is THAT?!”

Can such preoccupation with sexual camouflage avoid extra-marital diversion , and allow longevity and truthfulness towards a meaningful marriage?

 

Many couples who have lasted together forever, don’t have to work hard,  to get along  in marriage’.

 

When George Burns and Gracie Allen were asked how they remained so in love after sixty years, he said:

 

‘Marriage is a business.
When you work too hard to make the business of marriage work, you get tired, and when you’re tired , you get annoyed, and when you’re annoyed,  arguments start, and when arguments start…then, you’re OUT of business’ .

I remember once being stopped and asked at Disneyland by a graying and aged couple, to “photograph them”, for it was none other than their “fiftieth anniversary”.

 

I saw the way he held her hand and how they hugged and kissed as I struggled to find and frame the picture.

I wondered what wisdom and marital advice they might share, for too many, marriages end sadly in divorce.

 

These too many short-term marriages, for too many men, seemed to me,  just like a tornado:

 

in the beginning, there’s a lot of sucking and blowing , and later on … you lose the house.

 

Whatever happened to the romantic woman and to the romantic man who said that they could not live without each other?

 

He went East, and she went West… and they both lived.

My wife went over to speak with his wife to comment on how sweet they looked together, but when

I returned the camera as when he  made his way to me,  I asked him the $500,000 lulu question:

 

“What’s the secret to being married, so successfully, for so long?”

 

He looked confidential and wise and peeked to see if his wife was engaged in conversation before he spoke:

 

“You gotta cheat”, he whispered.

Men are like linoleum floors. Lay ’em right and you can walk all over them for thirty years. ~ Betsy Salkind

GRANDMA’S RUSSIAN ADVICE

Grandma’s Advice

by Paul Schroeder

Just before my grandmother on my mother’s side died at the age of 95, I whispered a kiss in her ear and thanked her for her wisdom.

One odd piece of advice, that she had taught me when I was a child, I had carried close to my inner ear, all of my life.

It had been an Independence Day warning, borne of a distant Russian wisdom, one that she had whispered to me four decades ago, when I was nine or ten years old, impressionable and the apple of her eye.

The imprecation that I got from her, the warning whispered in my small rapt ear when I was nine or ten years old had been an odd warning that ruled and guided my life, and through angst, had come to define a larger part of what I called my soul.

Her ‘Russian optimism’ for the world, was childhood overwhelming for me.
For her, life was always a cup of optimism, but half full ….. with something, that could  kill you.

Now, she at ninety-five was far from that woman who in giving advice could be ironic and poetical.

She had used lipstick as a rouge to color her cheeks and then decided that her whole face was of a pallor that also needed color, rubbed lipstick all over her face.

She was quite a shock when I got onto the seventh floor of the retirement home and turned the corner and saw her sitting in a wheelchair, as though apparently waiting for me.

She still had her sense of humor.

She earnestly asked with a childlike innocence if I could bring her some new makeup and some big diamond jewelry for her to wear to dress herself up, when I visited her next?

Cautiously, I had asked her, skeptically dubious ;”What type of diamond jewelry?” She had said;

“Expensive, fancy jewelry.”

She labored under the delusion that she was in a hotel in Miami, one that slouched in basic standards;

“The meals at this hotel are terrible, but what is a person to do?”

She did not ever surmise herself to be in a nursing home near the beach in Coney Island, Brooklyn.

A person’s senior mind can lend a type of psychic anesthesia that acts in many ways to protect it from uncompromising and painful truths. .

Now I was an odd adult.

I wanted her to know that I loved her, how her whisper had returned years later as my gratitude.

I had loved to cherish ideas; a rare few philosophers had touched my early soul .

Dr. Seuss had barely competed with grandma.

But, he  wrote : “Be who you are and say what you think, because those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind, don’t matter!”

But grandma didn’t recall her similar advice or the small pleasures and agonies of our past.

My other odd philosopher was sitting here in her wheelchair, armed and propped with a pillow/ alarm that would audibly alert nurses in the retirement home if she pitched forward and left her chair’s upright fixed position.

She was different the next time I saw her, the way she used to be ;

” Hello, Paul; sharp as a matzoh and twice as crummy!”

“How come you don’t call your grandma more often? Humph!!”

“Humph;You going to wait until I’m in the cemetery and THEN you’ll visit me?”

“I’m sorry, that you’ll be sorry, but THEN it’ll be too late!”

This was the same verbatim greeting that I had gotten from her over the years over the telephone .  I presumed that I was calloused to it all.

It always deeply riddled me with guilt but I never let her know, but instead I saw it rather as a good sign that she was still feeling feisty.

When she successfully aimed ring-toss-Velcro-guilt in my direction, I rationalized, she must be feeling much better.

I quickly tried to change the subject; ” Grandma I remember that boardwalk we can see here in Brighton Beach from a time when you were fifty years old and I was about nine years old; I still remember the good advice that you gave me back then.”

“What advice did I give you?”

I told her.

It had stayed with me for many years as a token of her wisdom.

“You brought me to you on a bench on that boardwalk, in Coney Island, on a hot 4th of July afternoon, when the whole family was there suddenly hugging and kissing each other,

happy for once, to be all together and happy seeing the fireworks, and then you whispered it in my ear:

“Don’t get too close to people; you’ll catch their dreams,” You told me.

“What?”, she said, so I told her again;

“Don’t get too close to people; you’ll catch their dreams.”

“OH!”, she said,”I am VERY sorry, if I ever told you that!.”

“I AM very sorry.”

I reminded her, however, what an impact she’d had on me then.

“That whisper, as a recommended life philosophy, was both poetry and  true and that, your advice, really stayed deeply with me.”

Taken to heart, it had allowed me to remain aloof and separate from everyone, as a type of self protection,  to preserve my OWN dream.”She looked at me as though I were some stranger in a dream.

I said it, again;

“Don’t get too close to people, you’ll catch their dreams.”

She was thoughtful and then looked worried.

She looked into my eyes.

“I never told you that.” …

“You shouldn’t get too close, because…”

“Germs”, she said.

” I said that you’ll catch their GERMS.”

“I told you and your sister MANY times;

“Don’t get too close to people, ’cause you’ll catch their GERMS.” she said, again.


“And YOU’RE supposed to be the smart one?!””Oh,” she groaned in pain.” Take me over to the dining room; it’s still too early for the lunch, but I want to get there anyway, early.”

That wrong belief had overshadowed every relationship in my life with an ambivalence and a craving to just be left alone.

If one was alone, one was safe from what people could do to you, I had always reasoned.

Two marriages and a dozen influenza later, I had realized her truth, too late.

HOW TO RECOGNIZE AND SURVIVE A SERIAL KILLER ENCOUNTER

How to Recognize and Survive the Approach of a Serial Killer

by Paul Schroeder
(“There are two kinds of serial killers as far as the victim is concerned: the kind that you don’t see before they pounce on you and the kind you see and don’t expect to pounce on you.
There are many more serial killers living outside the prison walls than inside.”
Pat Brown)

The expression,”serial killer”, denotes the word, ‘serial’, which means, successful killer .

Ted Bundy said that he often wore his arm in a sling to perfectly trap random compassionate women, who traveled to his car door to assist him with his theatrical ‘struggle’ with packages.

These outgoing, caring women were brutally clubbed into his trunk for later torture.

Serial murderers who instead of passion, kill in ‘cold blood’, and  do not know their victims, beforehand, for they kill randomly, purposefully moving from town to town, city to city, without any remote tinge of latent regret or  accumulative  feelings of guilt.

Unlike a murder of marital or  organized crime Mafia passion, there is no plan for a pre- dug grave or a methodical bother to dismember the corpse.

They make no attempt to hide the bodies of their victims.

They  stop on a deserted road and open the hood of their car to flag down a helpful motorist to kill them with a gun.

Back into the victim’s stolen car, in the next town,

they  lure a child into a car by asking them to help find a lost puppy or by offering them a kitten from a box of kittens, which disarms any child, and then  stab the child to death.

Later that night, they stop at a truck stop to pick up a prostitute to then strangle her afterwards leaving her body on the side of the road.

They remember to be most careful to use a different method of murder, each time to confuse police efforts from various jurisdictions, from establishing an M. O. pattern

that links random killings into a single silhouette, the  fingerprint of a singular serial murderer.

Interstate highways lend a unique anonymous isolation to the mentality that serial killers love and use:

Truckstops are high risk areas, as are truckers, themselves, and especially long off-ramps are  over represented with highway murder deaths, a study of  murder statistics show.

A big, friendly, helpful smile, or a helpful assist from a total stranger, is the last thing one will ever see and one will never see it coming, the guise of

serial killer psychopaths .

These serial killer psychopaths travel from state to state blithely killing random people, leaving corpses on roadsides the way that we leave cigarette butts, without a single afterthought ,

psychopaths who from childhood, have had  their consciences, all of their lives, sit in the corner, like a well trained German Shepard .

There is an unspoken spiritual truth, and it is that

such serial killers are demonically, Dark Force Entity possessed, humans.

Unlike unpossessed people, such Dark Force Entity humans do not return  to Heaven, our truest dimension, when they die, but instead are ‘shuttled’ through another and darkest ‘door’, directly back into another human fetus to reenter our world again.

Unlike most of us, who spend  time in between lifetimes, to garner spirit helpers and spirit guides, to prepare us for each arduous successive incarnation, serial killers enter back into this harsh world without a written ‘blueprint’, without spirit helpers and without  protecting angels.

These dark souls do again return to become serial murderers,


killing a long series of  innocent, unsuspecting people and as such theyall manifest the same three exact, precise signature evil  traits of demonic Dark Force Entities: sinister, predatory and self justifying.

Such”psychopaths”, possessed and guided by demonic entities within,

cannot be reformed or changed.

There is nothing that one can ever do to change such a Dark Force Entity in  human form.

It is good advice that one should avoid them, sidestep them, and never attempt to tackle them head on.

But one CAN recognize and survive an encounter with such a serial killer predator, by

taking careful notes from serial murderers who have explained their ‘trade-craft’

( from Internet unknown source):

” Trust your intuition:

Do not ignore your instincts or intuition.

You have likely recognized something indefinite that spells out danger, and your mind has not caught up with your recognition – you do not yet perceive how to dissect it logically.

This is intuition.

If something does not feel right, then it is not right.

Never ignore such inklings; do not be embarrassed to change your mind in front of a stranger or have fear of being rude.

It’s better to be rude than dead.

Under no circumstances get into the Car:

Once victims get into the car, few return alive and are later found dead at a secondary crime scene.

Whether you’re helping some stranger carry a package to the car, being offered a ride, or having someone else near your car, they can all end with you being murdered.

The presence of a baby seat or children’s toys in the vehicle – or even children themselves- are tools that a serial killer uses to mentally disarm victims.

The Green River Killer, Gary Ridgeway, once returned to a body dump site to have sex with the corpse of one of his victims while his son slept in the vehicle.

– Serial Killer Warning Signs of Entrapment-:

A Pretended injury/weakness:

The murderer makes a huge effort to let you know that he is physically weaker than you.

He may stumble and drop packages

“Please help me carry this to my car. Ever since my spine injury, I can hardly move.”

He may wear a cast or walk with a cane in the Ted Bundy method, to trap his victim.

Too much information:

The murderer will give you too much unnecessary, detailed information:

“My sister has a sweater just like that. She was living in California but she moved home last year. Her boyfriend gave it to her for Christmas, but afterward they broke up …”

When such a serial murderer is telling a lie, though it sounds credible to you, he often has little confidence in his talking-trap method and will tend to add too much detail, more than necessary to support it.

This ruse of details makes a serial murderer seem less a stranger and appear more familiar than he really is.

The un requested promise:

“Just one drink and then I will take you home, I swear!”, when you never asked him to promise you anything.

Sudden unsolicited promises can be a sign of an underlying sinister agenda.

Friendly authority:

The stranger projects some kind of non threatening authority:

“I’m the security guard/ the park ranger/ a police officer.”

“You didn’t see the signs; this is closed. I’ll escort/drive you out of here.”

‘You shouldn’t be alone here; we are on the lookout for a serial killer in this neighborhood. Get in and I’ll drive you out of here.”

No law enforcement official would tell you that there was a serial killer, for

they avoid giving outside knowledge TO  ANYONE of an ongoing case for media avoidance purposes.

Some serial killers come tricked out with police identification and police-like vehicles.

Insist that he call a uniformed backup if you did nothing wrong but are being “arrested.”

Challenging your personality:

The killer labels you, in a critical way, hoping that you will attempt to prove them wrong, “You’re too weak to help me lift this box into the back of my van.”

“You’re not frightened of me, are you?”

Teaming:

Often a killer will manipulate you to “team up” with him.

You and he instantly become a “we” – “I hate drinking alone, I know a great place we can go to up the road.”

“I’m going there too, we can get there in my car.”

This attempt to bond with you is a way to quickly establish a familiarity.

Imposed obligation:

A serial killer will impose his help on you, hoping that you will feel obligated to help him back.

“Let me help you carry that to your car” will lead to “Can you give me a lift to the corner?”

You leave your home to find your tire flat.

“Let me change that flat tire for you” will be followed by “May I come inside to wash my hands?”

But he WAS the one who punctured the tire in the first place.

Having already accepted his help, he hopes that you feel bad enough to refuse a request like that.

Once inside, you’re a murder victim.

An appeal to a feeling of being vulnerable:

“Help me find my lost puppy before it gets away too far.”

“I need to drop off this medicine to an elderly person upstairs, but I can’t legally park here; just come and sit in my car while I run in for five minutes?”

“My little girl is missing, will you help find her?”

– Not taking,” no”, for an answer-A classic murderer’s tool.

No matter how many times you say, “That’s okay, I don’t need your help,” the stranger insists on helping you.

If you give some weak excuse or sound unsure, he will persist.

Do not be afraid to be loudly blunt and rude: “I said, NO! Go away! I do not want your help!.”

Many are loquacious and charming, but it’s only a ‘tool’ to conceal a demonic intent:

“I’m the most cold-blooded sonofabitch you’ll ever meet,”  said Ted Bundy.

“I just liked to kill, I wanted to kill.”

The signature symptom of the psychopath is his inability to see others as worthy of compassion.

Victims thus become dehumanized, “flattened into worthless objects in the murderer’s mind”.

John Gacy, who never showed an ounce of remorse, called his victims “worthless little queers and punks,” while the “Yorkshire Ripper” Peter Sutcliffe declared that he was “cleaning up the streets” of ‘ human trash’

All of these killings were managed with an initial charming smile, a smile carefully contrived, before a lethal knife or hammer fell.

Would YOU have easily fallen, do you suppose, for one of these “tricks of the trade”?

Would you have been naturally leery enough to survive such tactics or would you be clearly very prone to an evil stranger’s charm and closeness, to become yet another murder victim?

And many rare victims who survived later said, “But, he was so sweet!”

Sweetness, is not the same as being sweet.

Sweetness can be used as a deadly manipulative tool.

A charming smile can mask the most evil intentions.

Once one is alerted to these uniform techniques employed by many incarcerated successful, serial murderers, one can teach one’s spouse, one’s children, one’s colleagues and one’s easily duped friends, to be much less trusting, to raise their fence higher, around themselves, to prevent them  from becoming  the next victims of a murderer.

One must teach one’s loved ones  to be immediately suspect, of any closehand encounter with a stranger, who pretends a stance of authoritarianism, need, or one warmly disarmingly charming,  widely used  tactics that serial killers rely on.

An approaching car, one that passes close by you, while you are out walking late, in an abandoned hour, or in an empty place like a deserted parking lot, could  easily spell death.

A serial  killer, hidden behind the dark car windows, could , at gunpoint, have you, or your wife or daughter within its interiors, within less than five seconds.

They are everywhere and in transit through small towns; be wary, be aware, beware.

One must be taught, instead, to be poised to bolt, to be alarmed by any car’s or person’s close proximity to one, in a lonely place and moment, and to lose one’s sense of blind trust, or blind faith of one’s presumed safety with a total stranger.

The suspicious always appears “ordinary”, until suddenly, it isn’t.

Can anything be done to change and redeem such serial killers’ dark minds and souls?

Capital punishment for such murderers is spiritually counter-intuitive, because after physical death, they linger on this plane and join together with dark others, to accomplish yet more evil than they ever could have when they were alive.

 

This is yet another salient reason to discard the death penalty, unless and until their hearts finally are shifted..

 

One should always avoid and sidestep them, and never tackle them, head on.

Only God can and will “shift” them, in His own time; until such time, don’t talk to strangers..

SEX IN PUBLIC, OR SHALL WE DANCE?


Sex in Public Places is Fabulous or Shall We Dance, Instead?

by

Paul Schroeder

Sex in Public Places is Fabulous or Shall We Dance, Instead?
“Sex isn’t the answer; sex, is the question; the answer is, “YES!” (Woody Allen)
Mark Twain once said, “No sane person dances”.

Must one be crazy to dance,

publicly ?

I thought long and hard about that statement, approached it from different angles of thought and pondered it.

Orthodox Hasidic Jews, believe that wild dance, ensemble, is a way to approach sublime Divine attainment, most tribal and ancient.

Is it the case that

those who were deaf, could not hear the music and thus thought the dancers insane?
What makes a person gyrate sexually in front of strangers? I finally accept that dancing is publicly symbolic sex, with the exception of Lambada, which IS sex, most graphic in public.

Lap dances and belly dances enthrall men as consummate sex fantasies unfurled, and these reside deep within our psyches.

Men who routinely go to “topless” bars to watch naked women dance, harbor a wild and degrading fantasy, an addictive stimulant, that seems just as unwholesome as public sexual gyrations to music.

But sex, in public?!


Sometimes, watching people dance, at weddings and parties, in, you’ll forgive the expression, “ballrooms”, I can see the symbolic give and take sex act in dance.Waltzes and Tangos are elegantly choreographed and highly polished sexual moves in partner synchronicity and poised ‘give and take’.I do also think that alcohol loosens inhibitions on the dancefloor as well as in dating.

Why do you think that men are so very willing to buy ladies drinks?!

“On-stage dance takes from sexuality practices “off-stage” and imaginatively stylizes them and possibly reinforces or challenges these practices that include expressions of sexual identity and attraction, flirtatiousness, friendliness, exhibitionism, eroticism, and love-making.”

(Hanna, Journal of Sex Research / March-June, 2010 )

Would one who is a Buddhist and contemplative, dance or would he resist the impulse as unabashed sexy exhibitionism?

After all, what is,”sanity”, if “no sane man dances”?

Drinking alcohol during a “cocktail hour”, before public dancing at such affairs may assist the temporary insanity inherent to very public sexual gyrations called dance.

Sexual unabashed exhibitionism?

I can often resist the impulse to publicly gyrate, or to circle dance or line dance amidst a large group of people by recalling Twain’s sentence.

But, if dance is truly symbolic sex, the horizontal mambo, then group dancing brings to mind another quote:

“Sex between two people can be a wonderful thing, among ten people, it’s just fabulous!”

To me, having unabashed multiple polygamous sexual partners is demonstrated by line dancing.

Dancing in public, however symbolically obscene in its blatant sexual gyrations, is not likely to expose one to HIV or STDs.

For one like me who will not dance, I wonder about the biological absurdity of dance and of sex.

There has to be a more dignified way of expressing your deep love and affection for another human being;

the human body is a odd marvel in that it has its waste disposal plant immediately next to its amusement park.

I and Twain, shall instead, sit this one out.

TALKING TO HEAVEN, BUT LOST IN TRANSLATION

TALKING TO HEAVEN, BUT, LOST IN TRANSLATION

by Paul Schroeder

Translation trip- ups, are screw-ups, mistakes that can alter reality.

 

President Carter visited Poland, in 1977.

 

Through an inexperienced translator, Carter said,” for your desires in the future”, which instead was wrongly translated as,”your lusts for the future”, and said,
“When I left the United States”, which came out as,”when I abandoned the United States”, mistakes that the press found amusing.
Nikita Khrushchev, gave a speech, at the U.N., during the Cold War, in which he said a phrase, interpreted wrongly in Russian,” We will bury you!”,
which gave cause for alarm to NSA and CIA, when the more accurate meaning was actually,
“We will outlast you!”

 One’s personal destiny, much like history, is also affected by such screw-ups in translation.

 

I had the same interpretive conundrum trying to communicate with angelic beings, spirit helpers and my Higher Self,

for I desperately needed spiritual help, protection against untoward, unpleasant and unwanted paranormal experiences.

 

 I felt that perhaps I could also be able to assist myself, because I  knew fully well that

the human mind, in itself, has Godlike  powers, to alter reality.

The mind, the conscious soul, by sheer force of  will, is able to  alter our  predetermined and programmed  ‘reality’,

 our life- scenarios,  pre-arranged in a blueprint.

This blueprint,  carefully pre-planned by us, our spirit helpers, and guides,  before our birth, is for spiritual learning, within this school, that we call, “Earth”..

But the more that I fervently prayed, with angst, to Heaven to  cease and desist paranormal untoward horrid experiences , the more things got worse.

 I had close encounter sightings of overhead UFOs and  then suffered subsequent abductions by, brilliantly diabolical reptilians, who imposed vivid, nightmares.

My prayers, all my life heard, and responded to,  now failed to elicit  spiritual help.

My mind also failed to translate its power to tell ‘reality’,  to stop paranormal encounters that loomed as dreadful.

I discovered that fearful pleading to Heaven for respite and relief did NOT mean that one had the language to effectively communicate.

Why did things get worse, after  desperately fervent prayer?

Why were my experiences worsening and  my intense requests lost, in translation?

I felt an electric mortal terror of alien critters.

After abductions, I felt harmed, threatened and  wounded.

 My fervent prayers to Heaven’s Hosts for  protective relief  were ignored

I needed access to a more correct language, to reach Heaven’s ears, the spiritual software in spirituality to reprogram my blueprint, while still submerged  in life’s midstream .

But instead,  my  suffering  expressed in focused prayers, made all Hell break loose:

Ghosts, demons, shadow people, poltergeist phenomena, dreadful , vivid nightmares, Out of Body Experiences, and aliens in overhead craft who abducted me.

  I was flirting with an onslaught of inter dimensional bleed-throughs,  and face to face with The Beast of Madness.​

I  agonized over my thwarted  spiritual rights  to demand cessation, seek balance, grounding and  protection, from my angels, my guides, God and my Higher Self.

 But, the more that I worried, petitioned and implored, in despair, to Heaven, to end  bizarre encounters, the more that unholy creatures carrying butter knives, pranced naked, into my bedroom.

The uninvited fully devoured me, at night.

Why does the buttered slice of bread always fall butter side down?

It’s not the weight of the butter.
I herein share a mystic’s revelation,  that took me ten years to discover.

Fearful worrying,  negative energy, manifests those very things, that keep you up at night, worrying about.

Since your energy goes where your attention goes, chronic fearful worry, only brings more wolves, to all of your doors.

Though we are not ever alone in this life, we may as well be, for our Higher Self, spirit helpers, angels and spirit guides, do NOT use the King’s English, in the same way as we do.
Communication from you to them  is interpreted,

not by  words, but by the inner focus of the mind’s emotional energy.

It’s a translation problem, that makes things that you desperately seek cessation from, to continue to manifest in your direct path.
Lost in translation, the spirit world  naturally and wrongly  assumes, that  horrid events, are precisely what you are asking for!
Like trying to avoid a dangerous road obstruction, just ahead, in front of you, while you are driving, your  fearful focused gaze directed at it, only helps you, to hit it.

The translation software apparatus that works  requires that  you never despair, or resign yourself to grief.

Like a weary survivor lost at sea, tired of swimming , in terror, that he will drown, who decides to end his suffering agony, by

 inhaling a merciful  lungful of water, exemplifies how  negative fear and worry bring about ruination.

The  spiritual translation software instead  requires the  swimmer to relax and float, expectantly grateful,
with relief , certain of a wondrous rescue.
However counter-intuitive this may feel, then spiritual help will begin on its way.
 The  translation- language, to reach  those, ‘behind one’s curtains’,  requires one  to

 feel GRATEFUL, THANKFUL, and JOYFUL, as though full relief  has already been afforded you.

 

This  translation program,  however oblique and counter-intuitive, is an emotional software language  which works.
                                   Program translation RULE
Stay positive.
Simpsons Fox cartoon
Shift  from the negative
unhappiness expressed in :
“Oh, MY DEAR God!,  I beg you, PLEASE help me with——–!”,
to:
“THANK YOU, GOD, for your wondrous help in successfully keeping all traces of——– forever far away from me!”,
 an inner emotional stance of THANKFULNESS, APPRECIATION, GRATITUDE and RELIEF,

AS THOUGH WHAT YOU DESPERATELY SOUGHT ,  from Heaven,

HAD ALREADY  BEEN DELIVERED TO YOU…

  Like magic,  I was finally able to communicate passed translation bottlenecks, using  emotional relief and deep gratitude, regarding my travails.

 

Rather than send  more wolves, Heaven instead began to perfect a remedy for me.

A spiritual technophobe, slow to learn,  it took me ten years to figure this out.
A prayer request using RELIEF combined with GRATEFULNESS,   gains and re-adjusts ‘the ear’ of our Higher Selves, angels and spirit helpers, who manifest reality for us,  according to the emotional energy focus, of our heart and  mind.
.

Paranormal inter- dimensional untoward bleed-through experiences  have  diminished, in ferocity and incidence, as a direct result of this ‘language’ software shift in demeanor, to

lend a new meaning, to the expression, “from your lips to God’s ears” .
God is real, but down a long hall, and somewhere else, other than organized religions’ (and the Bible’s ) wrongheadedness.