The Daily Forest Report October 20, 2014 Prevention Is the True and Sane Future of Medicine

by nielskunze on October 20, 2014

I eat ebola for breakfast.

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Okay, not really… but I could… without fear.

The natural world is conspiring with us to provide all the assurances and defences we need.

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The rose bushes especially have responded rather favourably to my constant appreciation and gratitude. There are literally millions upon millions of rose hips along my daily route. And the great thing is… they all taste slightly different from patch to patch, from bush to bush. Their flavour ranges from distinctly apple to blends of apple with strawberry and cherry, and on occasion, even like the citrus of orange. Every rose hip ingested is a moment of anticipation, discovery and sublime satisfaction. I look forward to our interaction every day.

Incidentally, the paper I recently read about the efficacy of high-dose vitamin C in combatting the effects of ebola specifically listed rose hips as the preferred source in ebola cases. I’m covered.

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Other allies and helpers have been going the extra mile too… like this sweet clover in nearly full bloom on October 17th. That’s astounding! I use the vanilla-flavoured blossoms in combination with juniper berries to create what I call cinnamonilla lollipops. Juniper berries have substantial antiseptic properties as well as being a mild diuretic. I eat about twenty of them every day– which will continue right through the winter… along with about two dozen rose hips every day.

Additionally, I have been digging a lot of wild onions lately, as the winter season approaches. Soon the ground will be frozen and my onion supply will have to wait until the spring thaw. Onions are an excellent prebiotic. That means that they favour and promote the conditions within our gut for positive microorganisms (probiotics) to take up residence. The human immune system is about eighty percent centred around our digestive tract. That’s our first line of defence.

In other news, the forest has been rather quiet lately, with the animal interactions tailing off significantly. It’s as though we’re in a momentary pause. This has been ongoing for several weeks already. It’s like the animals are waiting for us to catch up… so that we can finally forge a new relationship with them.

Yesterday however, I received a reliable report that a pair of adult cougars were spotted in the yard of one of my parents’ neighbours. Perhaps a reacquaintance is in the immediate offing. I’ll keep you posted.

In the meantime, feast on this…

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Simple, positive visual impressions are just as important to ‘feed’ on as are nutritious immune-boosting foods. Be sure to get out and feast your eyes…!

The Daily Forest Report October 17, 2014 The Veil

by nielskunze on October 17, 2014

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A gold and copper stairway
to a meeting with the Veil–

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It stands as a separating skin,
a caul,
hiding faces in the distance within…

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Our internal complexities, dark laser beams
of scattered and tangled intent,
Hold off our sacred confrontation
with the treasures the Veil presents.

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With moss and lichen and fungal spore
Life inhabits the Veil… forevermore…

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And Beauty undoes dissection, reverses division,
empowered by every affirming decision.

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As only unbounded Joy is equipped
to run headlong into myth…

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Devoid of fear for plunging
over the shrouded cliff.

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Staggered and staggering horizons–
eyelines to destiny–

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Roll away into infinity…
Inwardly, a test to me.

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Can I find my own storylines,
threaded through the confusion?
Piercing the ancient Veil,
with my favourite delusions?

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The Bashibas unmasked…
Strange tales from the past…

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The Sorcerers stand still… for the day…
When the last shreds of fear lift away.

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A dozen… a coven…
Our mysterious cousin…

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Waited, baited and finally sated,
Exposing each ‘truth’ that just wasn’t.

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The Veil lifts and shatters
in soft cottony tatters,

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As mountains remember
whatever still matters.

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Peace.

The Daily Forest Report October 15, 2014 Every Rat Has Its Day

by nielskunze on October 15, 2014

Rat is the master of empire.

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Partway up the Purple Cliff, Pack Rat has made his new home. It looks kinda cozy.

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Although lab rats tend to look a bit creepy with their naked tails and bulgy eyes, the wild pack rat is really rather cute. It’s just his tendency to smell mildly of skunk and his incessant need to collect things, rearrange things, makes him an affront to orderliness.

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I’ve live-trapped and released four of the little buggers now. They’ll take over your entire home if you let them!

Amidst the greed, waste and sheer excess of imperialism, Pack Rat– and rats in general– thrive like no other. They are some of the most adaptable animals around, able to make the most of nearly every opportunity, including opportunities which wouldn’t even be recognized as such by others.

In the Empire of the Controllers, Rat is the ultimate rebel. He will not conform to any civilized notion of orderliness. He very much has his own ideas about how his little corner of the world should be arranged… and he really doesn’t care what you think of him and his activities. His ideas about life make sense to only him… and he is ready to accept the responsibility for his own decisions. He does not respond well to persuasion; he will insist upon force in order to remove him from his entrenched and enacted ideas.

As the Empire crumbles, it is Rat who rejoices the loudest. He feeds on chaos, reducing it to manageable waste. He strikes true fear in the hearts of those who rely too heavily upon the accruements of civilized systems. He lives and thrives in the cracks and pores of unsustainabilty. He is perhaps Nature’s best argument for the rewilding of the world.

He is a difficult guest to welcome openly into your life, but in times of tumultuous transition his teachings are priceless!

The Daily Forest Report October 12, 2014 Sweet Forest Song

by nielskunze on October 12, 2014

More and more humanity is being called back to Nature… and joyously heeding that call.

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(Tamarack Room by my band Missing Peace from our 1996 album Tense Moments, composed by Niels in the early nineties)

(Another name for larch is tamarack. Though the above song has little to do with trees, it digs at the heart of humanity, asking tough questions about those less fortunate… which are enthusiastically answered by an “unfettered smile.”)

Here in Canada, it’s the Thanksgiving Weekend. The cottagers are here in droves. In some ways it’s nice to hear so much human activity out in the Forest; it didn’t always used to be that way. It is humanity’s inexorable return to the womb of beauty. Unfortunately, it is also hunting season, and nearby gunshots have recently cut our walks short or forced us to take low-risk detours.

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Instead of taking our usual zig followed by the inevitable zag, once we hit the power line, we cut straight toward the Mesa. That’s the spot where we camped two weeks ago during the Concert for Bigsquatch.

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Overall, the Mesa is vaguely keyhole shaped. Above you can see the narrow flat-topped ridge leading directly north toward the river. This day we followed the tiny brook which exits the swamp, running along the base of that north-pointing ridge.

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There’s something very peaceful about this gentle bend around an old tree.

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But Lhasa gets so excited by any opportunity for a swim that she can hardly keep still.

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This is just below where the last beaver pond used to be, and right before it drops sharply toward the river in a boisterous waterfall…

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The bush-whacking was a little more intense than I remembered it, although Sitka and Toby seemed to have little trouble.

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Little pools along the way were useful for washing the accumulated debris from my shoes.

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And once we got to the river valley bottom, among the intertwangled red osier dogwood bushes, I happened to glance over my right shoulder to notice a perfect forest portrait! Nature has all the time in the world for superlative art.

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Here we see the rainclouds trying to amass above the eastern peaks of the Rockies. What a difference from the clear skies of just the day before!

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My river pics are usually looking downstream… Here’s one looking back to our ancient past… our glorious future!

The Daily Forest Report October 11, 2014 “Give Me Back My Breath!”

by nielskunze on October 11, 2014

Spectacular! In every direction I cared to look, the view was devastatingly gorgeous!

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Yesterday’s Report was a bit of a rip-job for those who come to my blog to check out the pics. Well, this time I snapped more photos than I ever have before; I couldn’t help myself. Let me make it up to you…

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Just try to place yourself within the scene, as though you’re the one taking the pictures. How does this feel to your imagination?

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Are you beginning to see why I choose to do this every day?

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This has to do a heart good!

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My response to the extensive chemtrailing from the day before was obviously very thorough. In the above pic, that was the only cloud I could find in the full breadth of the sky, far to the west, from where our weather typically comes.

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I sent my dream body– from my belly consciousness– up into the sky to gather together any agents of nefarious intent directed toward me, and to send them back to the originator of such intent and all those who willfully carry out its action in the world. Sorry pilots, you’re not exempt. Nuremberg applies: “I was just following orders” doesn’t absolve you of responsibility.

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It seems that my dream body was able to carry out its mission… not a single trail in the sky for the entire four hours that I was out snapping photos. Guess everyone called in sick!

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My repeated affirmation is “Healthy, clear skies.”

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Larch is my favourite tree. It’s the only conifer to shed its needles every autumn. They’re just turning from green to bright yellow now. Soon they’ll transition to a deeper orange before they fall to the ground. I’ll try to catch that spectacle for you in a few weeks, preferably on a wet day when the trees look almost black, standing above their own carpet of bright orange.

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Most of the yellow in the higher elevations is due to larch forests.

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We lap up as much beauty as we can, the dogs and I. The river flows with soul-quenching surety.

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And here’s a closeup of Toby Dirtface. This landscape is so imbued with magic that the dogs just can’t seem to eat enough dirt! They know beyond a doubt that happiness is a dawdle when you’ve got the right bacteria– and magic– in your gut.

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And now… back to the forest!

The Daily Forest Report October 10, 2014 Rise Above

by nielskunze on October 10, 2014

What malevolent intent seeks to insert itself into the truth of my own integrity?

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(excerpt And You and I by Yes from their 1972 album Close to the Edge)

(Of all the different vocalists I listen to, Jon Anderson of Yes has the most angelic voice… and perhaps the most positive outlook too.)

It was strange to see MY skies so heavily chemtrailed! I couldn’t help but wonder if I was supposed to take this personally. If so, that’s rather encouraging!

I look at it as a great opportunity to re-establish my primary boundaries– what I will accept in my reality, and what I won’t. Those who manipulate and control can only do so with our consent– albeit usually a tacit form of consent.

I do not consent to the agenda being enacted in my skies. As such, I easily return that intent to its originator and all those who carry out its action in the world.

I stand in the forest and say as much out loud. (Just remember to be aware when focusing on the sky that there may be lovely pies of bullshit underfoot which are best left untrodden. Oops!)

I get to decide what truth expresses in my reality. I can only be a victim if I choose to view myself as such. And an egotist like me rather likes the attention of dozens of planes overflying my remote corner of the world. So much effort directed at… what?

The latest on chemtrails suggests that there are nanotechnologies within the aerosols raining down upon us… just one more thing for a healthy immune system to deal with. The microscopic neurotransmitters/receivers are part of the latest transhumanist agenda for connecting us up to a very sophisticated artificial intelligence for the general purposes of our further robotification. I AM a free-willed being, and I do not consent.

Have you ever spent an afternoon cloud-busting? By drawing a conscious breath from deep within your belly and then projecting it out through the heart centre, it’s fun and easy to disperse small clouds in the sky, taking careful aim with our eyes. Play with it; you might be amazed. I’ve demonstrated the procedure live many times to friends out on an afternoon walk. You have far more power than you typically know!

And we all have very powerful allies. By now you’ve probably gathered that my closest allies are Mother Earth and Sabaoth, the Sun. Let’s now add to the list my own inner child, Nilly. (Nilly is an expert at dreaming– both awake and asleep.) Together we all enjoy getting witchy, practicing magic.

In consciously affirming our heart connection to the Earth, to the Sun, and to our own inner child, there is no outside force that can mar our integrity… unless we ourselves grant permission. All the chemtrails in the world can’t get between the Sun and your ability to receive its grace when you forge the daily conscious choice to receive it. You are the ultimate arbiter of what enters your frame of engagement. It’s time to remember that in every moment now.

(For a more 3D treatment of chemtrails, please check out the documentary What In the World Are They Spraying? If you watch right through the scrolling credits at the end, you will see that I was one of the ‘funding angels’ for the making of that documentary– I’m proud to say.)

The Daily Forest Report October 8, 2014 Awaken the Belly Brain

by nielskunze on October 8, 2014

Dream from your belly, not from your head.

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Our connection to this beautiful Earth is primarily visceral. We connect most intimately through our gut.

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Although I am provided with a daily visual feast, the real intimacy of shared being comes through the things that I eat. I am what I eat… as are you. In this physical expression, I am Earth.

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Whether the petals of a late-season daisy…

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…or a mild autumn aster, my forest foods directly feed my belly brain.

Eighty percent of our immune system resides in the gut. That’s the front lines where first contact is made. The immune system is responsible for deciding what is ‘self’ and what is ‘other.’ Despite what our heads may think, designating certain items as food, if our guts don’t recognize it as real food, it is treated as a foreign invader– as a germ, or poison, or merely as waste. Practically all processed ‘food’ falls into this category.

Our immune systems and especially our guts have been severely compromised by a lifetime of abuse. Our belly brains have been overwhelmed for so long that they barely function anymore. The consciousness which resides in the gut is imprisoned by old impactions and stagnates from misuse and neglect. But who cares, right? As long as the intellect still functions…

Proper dreaming occurs via the dream body which is a projection of belly consciousness. Dreaming accessed through the head (crown chakra or pineal gland) is merely astral masturbation. To dream with the ancestors or the future generations waiting to incarnate here, we need to dream with Earth Mother. Our primary connection to Earth is through the gut. I hope this is rather obvious.

We are meant to dream with Earth, especially now. Our lives may very well depend on it!

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And here’s a tidbit of esoteria… our dream bodies are not merely equipped to function while we’re asleep. They may accompany our waking-life missions as well. For instance, you may be inspired to project your dream body from a healthy enlivened gut into the sky in order to deal with chemtrails and the like… or perhaps to travel vast distances to deliver messages to loved ones. Dream bodies are pliable and versatile; it’s time we used them for the magic they represent.

It’s time to get witchy.

The Daily Forest Report October 5, 2014 Exploded Birds and Crushed Beer Cans

by nielskunze on October 5, 2014

“It doesn’t mean you should just because you can…”

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(Facts of Life by King Crimson from their 2003 album The Power to Believe)

Well, it’s hunting season. I’ve seen quite a number of trucks in the area recently and even spoken to a few hunters seeking whitetail. It’s a bit of a dangerous time for me and the dogs with gunshots ringing through the forest almost daily. As long as the gun-wielding badasses are being responsible we should be fine though.

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But that’s not always the case. Sitka was happy enough to find these remains, but they seem to speak to a certain mentality…

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…especially when found in proximity with crushed Budweiser cans. I mean, does anyone cool drink Bud? I think not. (9 times out of 10, when you find a discarded beer can in the bush it’s a Bud. There’s just something about their main demographic which rubs me the wrong way. That, and their beer totally sucks!)

It might be a raven; it might be a grouse. The feathers all seemed to be the under-feathers, so lacked the distinctive colours and markings which would make identification possible.

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The contents of its stomach were pretty interesting though. It’s mainly bearberries and grasshoppers. No shortage of either of those!

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And then there’s what looked like the remains of a small snake. Do they swallow everything absolutely whole?

Anyway, heads up hunters. I’m counting your shots. Eight gunshots to bring down a whitetail is too many! That seriously undermines my confidence in your aim.

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Please remember to drink deeply of the beauty surrounding you… and try not to shoot everything that moves!

All That Dies at Death is Death Itself

by nielskunze on October 4, 2014

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“All that dies… is death.”

Ah, from the mouths of babes! Cameron had been the first up– as usual– and had quietly crept into her room– the ‘gloom room.’ He’d awoken his Grammy– who wasn’t really sleeping– to deliver his earnest message. But, as is often the case with 5-year-olds, he hadn’t gotten the message quite right… but something of the gist of it still shined through his glittering, youthful eyes. It was meant to be a comfort.

All of their visitations– or intrusions, as Grammy regarded them– were meant to be a comfort. They were not. Not hardly. Cammy she could forgive; he was only five. But the rest of them… Why did they feel so compelled to fill her head with nonsense? As if dying was a thinking process… and you had to work it out just right in your head… or else the Angel of Death would politely tap you with its bony finger and solemnly say “You’re doing it wrong.”

How hard could it be? Really? Every damn person who had ever lived throughout the ages had done it; no problem. Falling off a log should be a mite harder than dying; it should be the easiest thing in the world– for the one doing the dying… but for everyone else… it seemed they had some serious problems with it.

The worst had been her nephew, the OR nurse. He had come to tell her tales of NDE’s. “First you’ll leave your body… and maybe hover above it for awhile. You’ll probably be greeted by long-lost loved ones… who will take you into a grand tunnel of light…” Why don’t you just draw me a fucking map? Grammy thought to herself. She would never use the f-word out loud, but these days it was a frequent visitor to her private thoughts. Besides, everyone was convinced that she couldn’t talk anymore. The truth was she’d just run out of salient things to say. Only Cammy knew that she could still talk… mainly because conversations with 5-year-olds were all that made any sense anymore.

“Who is the message from, dear?” she’d asked Cameron that morning.

The little boy had shrugged before answering “A girl… about my age. I think her name is Rose.”

Well, that was interesting. Grammy’s name was Rose, but Cameron probably didn’t know that. He only knew her as ‘Grammy.’ She was curious. “And where did you meet this little girl named Rose?”

“She comes into my dreams sometimes.”

Fascinating!

Now, as the door clicked shut behind the last intruder come to pay their respects, Grammy Rose was left in the silence and the gloom. There was only the sound of her own laboured breathing; even her troubled and profane thoughts had trickled to a whisper in the back of her head. What was left? Nothing, just the dying.

This was it. Grammy closed her eyes with final purpose. Perhaps she would manage to fall asleep once more– this last time– and just drift away. It was true; she slept. Deep into her body she nestled with the measured breaths of one purposefully striding toward a new infinity. She didn’t wake up when Cameron crawled in beside her… and placed his tiny hand on her chest, above her heart.

Perhaps it was nothing more than the heat from his touch. Or perhaps it was the power of true innocence contacting her there, but Grammy Rose was drawn into her own heart. It was the only proper place to be… at a time like this.

And there, she fell into death.

It wasn’t like a real falling– just like falling in love doesn’t involve any real falling. But oh, it was so real!

She was moving into herself in a way that just didn’t seem possible while she was still alive. In the dying process, she was becoming more and more herself… embraced by memories long forgotten. She suddenly recalled Cammy’s message and thought that maybe now she understood…

“All that dies at death is death itself.” The proper message had been spoken by the little girl herself. She was here, in her heart. Grammy Rose met her own innocence. She hardly recognized herself.

“I see what you mean,” she answered easily.

The little girl nodded. “Here it’s all eternal life. There is no death.”

“Tell that to the ones who come to collect the body!” They both giggled. “It’s only real to them,” mused Grammy more seriously. “Such fuss and nonsense… and death is only real to the living.” Grammy shook her head and laughed. It doesn’t exist!

The little girl took her aged counterpart in hand and said “We’re together now. Should we move on?”

Grammy beamed a smile down upon her own innocence, this lovely child she once was, and answered “Of course. If I can’t trust you…” The thought completed itself. “Let’s go.”

Hand-in-hand they turned to a doorway that slowly burst open before them. Beyond the threshold it was indescribable. A place like this had no relation whatsoever to the ‘gloom room.’ Everything about this infinite space within her own heart, hand-in-hand with her own innocence, spoke–no felt– of a living eternity. It was just so alive! So inviting…

“This is the rest of you– of us,” said her innocence. “Our treasure. This is your soul… our home.”

“My god!” gasped Grammy Rose.

“Yup. That too.”

Message To the TOURS #21 The Fate of All the Worlds and Heavens Lies in the Hands of a 5-Year-Old

by nielskunze on October 3, 2014

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The sound of puzzle pieces falling into place is like the gentle pattering of rain…

I generally don’t get too excited about materials from outside sources. And in the rare instances that I do, I usually have something to add or clarify to ‘make it better.’ I have no means to improve upon this. I hope everybody will take the hour out of their lives in order to view this little talk by Matt Kahn.

If Jesus or Buddha were currently vacationing on Earth, they might give a talk something like this. Finally we’re ready to receive…