And The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth
And the Meek shall Inherit the Earth
As he spoke, on a large screen behind him flashed pre–programmed 35 mm slides in five second intervals, photos of UFOs and artist’s renderings of myriad alien life forms.
“UFOs were seen in the skies in both parts of the world just before the rain and the darkness fell, in America and in Zanzibar.”
The caption underneath the picture read:
“This reptile type has cat-like eyes with gold-slit pupils.
This being is sinister and deceptive in manner.”
” Aliens, through exams of abductees seem to be testing for the mystery of goodness in human beings.”
“Why would a G. I. throw himself on a live grenade, to save a group of men in a trench that he had never met ?”
“But the unhappy evidence suggests that most people who have entered an alien spaceship will not remember the experience or ever know what has happened to them except in recollections of so-called dreams or under medical hypnosis.”
“Such strangeness and such mysterious facts, those sudden shadows that fall in broad daylight when there is neither any cloudiness nor an eclipse.
In the sink under a dripping, dripping, dripping faucet, were old sardine tins, cans of half eaten food, half- smoked cigar butts and dirty dishes.
“cassock, dalmatics, tunic, surplice, maniple, amice, alb, and cincture.”
Then despite fear of such intensity that it caused him to shake, he lay down again on the bed to escape his fear.
A planet of waves a thousand feet tall, rolled in on all the battered coasts of the world and drowned all traces of land.
Mountains of green thunder towered onto and consumed Earth and every living thing that could breathe air.
Deluged months of torrential oceans and then calmer years of heavy rain, continuous waves of rain that boiled and whispered.
dry land emerged.
The meek, had inherited the Earth.
IN THE BATTLE OF THE SEXES, CAMOUFLAGE PREVAILS
by Paul Schroeder
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.
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 than men and that 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.
More and more women today, say aloud, that they “don’t need any man, anymore, even for sex, but that they DO need men , sometimes, but then, ONLY, to lift and move, heavy things around…
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,
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.
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.
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,
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,
deep within men’s psyches.
For women, few rarely grasp that their public dancing, is clearly nothing but public, overt, symbolic sex.
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.
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.
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.
Woman, as the pretty sex, is a relatively new idea:
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.
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.
‘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.
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…
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,
(“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”)
tints of rouge blush,
sport uplift brassieres,
go for Botox or plastic surgery to erase facial wrinkles,
install Hershey-kiss silicone fake breasts,
wear high heels,
then, they meet a man,
and they want, …”HONESTY!!”
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:
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 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 he made his way over 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:
ALIEN MIND CONTROL DURING ABDUCTIONS
By Paul Schroeder
He marvels at the texture and color of his neighborhood, and his movement above it.
He is dreaming, but he is awake.The smaller craft lands near a much larger ship, hiding in plain sight, in a field.
A long ramp extends from and to the ship.
He is told by a small, dark, grey alien, always just out of sight, that he is to wait on line, for a tour of a country estate.
People stand on the ramp and slowly move forward
He is numb and is surreal vividly dreaming, but he feels that he is awake.He moves forward, people in front of him and in back of him, on a narrow path surrounded by a false screen memory of a flat, uni–dimensional static scene, a photograph of an English garden.
It is hot and humid with the rank smell of soil.
People clutch what looks like brochures and move slowly in a single line, towards the country estate, bored, and only mildly interested.
He approaches the door of the large alien craft.
A ticket taker sits at the entrance way, on a stool behind a lectern, observing the entering crowd, a doorway official seen as a slim teenager.
He thinks it odd, that such a young caretaker should seemingly be in charge, and as he lifts his eyes to meet the teen’s gaze, the young boy turns into a kindly old man.
“It’s mind control, not shape-shifting”, he is told, by a sonorous tour-guide’s voice, in answer to his unasked thought.
Everyone is awake and dreaming.
Inside is a waiting room, dirty, dull and round, a white room with no adornments and a black floor.
He awakens, dreaming and feels that the room is in flight.
It is a dream within a dream.
Awake again, briefly, he is dreaming while standing upright, walking in his sleep, climbing a steep metal stairway ladder path-bridge, that leads to a very large room at the top of the stairs.
Someone in front of him dreams, and wakes up dreaming.
He looks to his right, as he climbs, to see an enormous domed -curved window which makes up the staircase’s whole upper wall of the alien craft, and as he climbs, feeling very numb, he pauses, and stops the line of mass abducted people.
Outside is blackness…
Silver and bright, the Moon, far to the left portion of the glass, also hangs suspended in a black nothingness..
Far away, violet splashes of nebulae, and points of red pinpoint starlight, intersperse with millions of white stars.
Chin in his hands, he leans over and says in a wistful, admiring tone,
The small, dark, grey alien tour guide became startled and all at once, the window’s 3-D space scene, becomes a painted uni-dimensional flat portrait, of an English garden landscape.Chin in hands, still looking out of the window, but now at the expanse of poster-like green lawn, of a garden landscape, he dully repeats,
“They DO have a nice view!”
The tour guide, startled to hear him repeat this praise, seemingly unaware that the scene of the garden had already worked to distract him, knee-jerk- reflex -overreacted; he is slammed with a mind control jolt.
The alien creature tightens and magnifies its short psychic leash of control to throw him into a vivid emotional ecstasy, and he feels compelled to look down at his feet, and away from the window’s view.
Powerful awe, love, and wood -admiration, a godlike reverence of wood, flashes through his mind at the mirage of the intricate wood designed staircase, suspended in air.
Complex, gorgeous and lushly constructed, a staircase in multicolored woods, forces an almost religious awe, which courses through his brain, to thrill him, a tsunami of reverent awe for the dazzling wood patterns, and for the unknown artist-architect, overwhelms and distracts him, a gifted attempt to get him to forget what he has seen outside of the craft’s window.
The tour guide, just out of sight, presumes that the delusion is strong enough to have worked and he hears a resonant, deep, paternal, impatient voice, now within his head, “Just keep going; it will be there, for you to see, when you get back.”
“But, things change so quickly, in dreams”, he thinks, “and this gorgeous wood stairway, will likely not be there, when I return.”
He lingers, enthralled.
Abductions and their remnant elusive memories have opened all this for me, a confirmed atheist, UNTIL I saw aliens float me out of my body, in my bed, at night.
Avoid church-based or organized religions and put the Bible on the same shelf as “The Tooth Fairy,” forGod is real, but He’s to be found down a long hall, and somewhere else.
DEBUNKERS OF UFOS and ALIEN ABDUCTIONS?
Rescue of Stray Cats
Dozens of cats are born on the farm next to me.
Cows low moos, aching to be milked, at dawn, singing birds chirp and warble in clouds of wings that fill the trees, and at dusk and dawn, roosters ca-ca-doodle-do within
Its fenced perimeter, less than 100 feet from my backyard.
In the tall grass fields, among goats, sheep and cows grazing, feral feline queens drop litters of four to six kittens, every seven weeks, and sooner or later show them my backdoor
which always sports a bowl of water, and a plate of cat-food.
A frail black kitten who cried on and off all day, abandoned under a nearby woodpile on a rainy day, was left by his mother and not returned for.
It took my son and me over an hour to first locate the cries and then to remove the virtual ton of lumber precariously perched , under which his mother had left him.
He had cried plaintively for hours, wet, cold and frightened but hidden too cleverly to easily reach.
He was so hungry still not weaned, that he bit off the rubber nipples on the small kitten bottles I fed him with, swallowing rubber that made me rush him to the vet .
He was barely four weeks old, but I held him on my warm chest for him to hear the familiar solace of a heartbeat, and I talked to him, at great lengths; he was one I didn’t succeed, though I tried, to give away, but he was instead lovingly cared for, hand raised.
He was symbolically difficult from the very beginning; it took us almost an hour to unload that large teetering stack of planking woodpile, behind a neighbor’s shed, to finally locate him in pouring rain.
His mother, well within sight and earshot, patently refused to come to him, to comfort or retrieve him, from where she had carried and hid him, and for a good reason.
Male cats were marauding nearby and she knew that by feline male nature, they’d slaughter the kittens, and then wait for her dugs to grow dry of milk, and go back, into heat.
I weaned him, doctored his ailments and assuaged his angst.
Now, in his seventh year as a twenty-two pound neutered black tomcat , he has earned his name, Nudnick.
before he will settle in to sleep!
(Nudnick, is Russian, for an annoying, boring, persisting and irritating pain in the derriere, personality. )
He is tall and large boned, an enormous pure alpha male with a huge square head who affectionately and jealously loves our family with his head banging, deeply jealous of my other cat, a doddering senior female, of tiny physical proportions, who hates him.
Squeaky, is the oldest rescue cat I ever found deserted: feeble, senile, on antibiotics, a twenty-two year old ailing but purring, shriveled feline,
tiny, under five pounds, with glazed over eyes ,
who walks in lost circles of dementia,
When Nudnik sees Squeaky getting required medication with commensurate affection, consumed with jealousy,-(he has core abandonment issues)-, he feels compelled to jump onto her to bite her.
You can see his eyes grow large with pain, when he sees that she is being cared for.
Because of jealousy, Nudnik tortures her and this, in turn infuriates me, which only fuels his jealousy.
She walked into my living room from my back garden years ago, to claim us, a stray lost and she rolled around on the floor in grateful pleasure and sat perched in our laps to thank us.
Now, she’s a twenty-two year old, frail, striped tabby, who faces an unsettled old age , because an adopted kitten ballooned into a vengeful King Kong.
I wondered who had lost her and what quantum of love had been lost.
but I said that we would mend and adopt her, instead.
It seemed a betrayal, for she had shown a poignant gratefulness, a recognition of her rescue.
Nudnik tackles and torpedoes her mercilessly, whenever she tries to move from
her bed to the litter box, and makes her transit anywhere, Hellish .
I had caged him for periods, when we were out and about, to insure her safety,
afraid that I’d come home to find her murdered and afraid that, I ‘d find it hard to really forgive love Nudnick..
Her life was wrecked by Nudnik and to protect her we caged him whenever we went out, in an attempt to protect senile Squeaky from persistent Alpha male assaults.
It was an ungraceful, dreadful old age retirement for her, because of Nudnik, who
I have admonished a thousands times, but he is truly a Nudnik.
Once a nudnik , always a nudnik.
He exhibits his nudnick nature when he tries to steal a leather recliner chair from under me,
(“One cat, leads to another” (Ernest Hemingway)
when I am comfortably perched within its embrace.
He will jump up, get behind me on the chair, and bully me, physically nudge and push me, followed up with bites to my arms to force me out of the chair.
When that fails, he leaves the room and knocks something loudly to the floor in an adjacent room, to get me up to investigate, and when I do, he then runs into my chair.
Should that fail to work, .
When I am halfway there, he runs in at full tilt, or slowly swaggers in, a form of cat smugness, jumps up to steal my chair, supplants me, and stretches out in the warmth imparted by my body.
One can see some logical deviousness in his methods ; he has worked this out in his big headed little mind.
I have never before hand raised a cat, from a tiny kitten, to discover a neurotic Nudnik!
He, alone, has given me more trouble than any collection, ensemble of cats , combined, that I have ever rescued.
His cat rules:
- Always give generously. A small bird or rodent left on the bed tells them, I care.
- Climb your way to the top. That’s why the drapes are there.
- Curiosity never killed anything except maybe a few hours.
- Find your place in the sun. Especially if it happens to be on that nice pile of warm, clean laundry.
- If you’re not receiving enough attention, try knocking over several expensive antique lamps.
- Life is hard, then you nap.
- Make your mark in the world.
- Or at least spray in each corner.
- Never sleep alone when you can sleep on someone’s face.’
- There’s no denying the splendidness of felines:
I recall a graphic in the “New Yorker”, where a well-dressed, neatly groomed man, stands over a litter box, arms akimbo, to directly address a cat nearby his feet and
the caption read:
” Never, EVER think , outside the box!”