It was a lovely Saturday morning. The sun was shining and there was a hint of Autumn in the air. Although there seems to be as many animal hospitals or clinics as there are furniture stores in this part of the country, I had chosen a veterinarian in a small town, north of the city.
Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, needed a rabies vaccine. The trip was going to take about forty minutes, one way. Runtly has been doing practice runs riding in the truck. In the past, he was absolutely terrified, but since we have been doing these mini rides, he seems to be getting the hang of it. One mention of "a ride in the truck" or the jingle of the keys and he is ready to go. He still has to sit right beside me as we go down the road, but it seemed to be progress in the right direction.
We hopped into the truck and started the journey. The clinic was only open from 8-11 on Saturday mornings and the plan was to get there about 10. Runtly sat beside me as we left the safe confines of the complex. One mile down the road and arriving at the first left turn, I glanced over to the passenger seat. There sat The Voice, that lives inside of my head, peering into a small animal carrier. Knowing The Voice does not have a pet, I took another look and realized it had put a pair of shoes in the container. I rolled my eyes and as the light turned green, we made the first left turn.
Another mile down the road, Runtly decided the ride was not near the fun he had anticipated and tried to get to the floor board. I knew if he managed to get there, he would be under my feet and the brake pedal. I grabbed his harness and held him at arms length. Looking at the clock, going back for the crate wasn't an option.
I was thankful that I had spent the last month trying to get into better shape. Driving 60 mph, holding 15 pounds of squirming dog at arms length, for 30 miles, was quite a workout. There was so much dog hair flying around the inside of the cab, The Voice even rolled down the window to let some of it out. After it rolled the window back up, it peered again into the small animal carrier and cooed gently to the pair of shoes.
The clinic did not take appointments so it was a first come first serve situation. I thought arriving at ten was a good idea. As I pulled into the parking lot, everyone else from the city must have had the same idea. The place was packed.
We entered into a waiting room lined with people, pooches and one lone cat. After getting checked in and finding a seat, we began the waiting process. The clinic did not actually close at 11, that is when they stopped taking clients.
Animals do not usually forget their first visit to the veterinarian. This was made even more obvious watching large breed dogs get that first whiff of where they were, when coming in the door. Then, watching as they had to be pulled across the waiting room floor.
Runtly was no exception. After a two hour wait, along with getting reprimanded for barking, he was certainly a sad looking canine as I pulled him into the examination room.
Once in there, it was discovered Runtly needed a simple test that required a small amount of blood to be drawn. This is where the real fun began. I could not hold him, no matter how hard I tried. The young assistant finally convinced me to let her hold him because I was beginning to look like a shredded tissue. I relented and she took control. Runtly began to wail like a banshee and I had to stand in front of him so he could see that I was still there.
Needless to say, I certainly did not have to drag him out of the clinic. I was hoping the trauma he had just experienced would calm him down for the trip back home. I was wrong about that.
Another 30 miles, with him held at arm's length and five hours from when we had first left, we were home. Runtly promptly went to his favorite spot under the couch and The Voice took its shoes out of the carrier and put them back in the closet. I grabbed my billfold and headed out the door because grocery shopping was next on my "to do" list. As I got back into the truck and saw the carnage of white dog hair, that my husband was going to be thrilled with, I knew one thing for certain. My dreams of road tripping in a motor home with Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, front and center, was certainly not going to happen any time soon.
Tuesday, September 26, 2017
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
HD Living
HD usually stands for "high definition", but in this case, it stands for "high density". It is a phrase I heard recently when it comes to describing apartment home living.
It describes, in two words, the stacked on top of each other, nestled right side by side, everything looks the same, row after row, mile after mile of apartment complexes. Major cities are surrounded by them.
Inside these communities, some the size of a small town, live peoples of all color and ethnicity. There are as many different languages spoken as there are styles of clothing.
Some of the occupants have lived in their apartment for years. They know their community and most of the people who live there. Then there are the ones who come and go. This has probably been the hardest thing for me to wrap my small town mentality around, or maybe I should refer to it as my Mid-West upbringing.
I grew up believing that everyone had a dining room table and many other pieces of useful furniture and they lived in the same place for.....well....for like, forever. I know better now. I know the young single mother who has not one piece of furniture in her apartment. I know the family that has possibly ten to twelve family members, all living together in a one bedroom unit. I've seen them come in the middle of the day, only to leave a month later in the middle of the night.
I feel for the children who do not know what it is like to have some sort of constant in their life. I miss the young Hispanic girl that I met at the end of the school year, while walking Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier. I have know idea when she left, or where she went. We never exchanged names, but she sure loved the dog.
I have seen apartments completely full of furniture, left behind. If there is no money for the rent, there is no money for a moving van. I wonder if they are living out of their car.
So, the moral of the story seems to be.....be thankful. Be thankful if you have clothes on your back and a whole closet full that haven't been worn in years. Be thankful if you only have but one chair to sit in. Be thankful if you have a job, even if it is not the job of your dreams. Be thankful if you have a mode of transportation that gets you from point A to point B, even if its a clunker. Be thankful if you have a roof over your head, that leaks during a summer rain storm. Be thankful for all the things in your life, good and bad. Most importantly, remember to pray for the ones who have it so much worse than you could ever imagine.
It describes, in two words, the stacked on top of each other, nestled right side by side, everything looks the same, row after row, mile after mile of apartment complexes. Major cities are surrounded by them.
Inside these communities, some the size of a small town, live peoples of all color and ethnicity. There are as many different languages spoken as there are styles of clothing.
Some of the occupants have lived in their apartment for years. They know their community and most of the people who live there. Then there are the ones who come and go. This has probably been the hardest thing for me to wrap my small town mentality around, or maybe I should refer to it as my Mid-West upbringing.
I grew up believing that everyone had a dining room table and many other pieces of useful furniture and they lived in the same place for.....well....for like, forever. I know better now. I know the young single mother who has not one piece of furniture in her apartment. I know the family that has possibly ten to twelve family members, all living together in a one bedroom unit. I've seen them come in the middle of the day, only to leave a month later in the middle of the night.
I feel for the children who do not know what it is like to have some sort of constant in their life. I miss the young Hispanic girl that I met at the end of the school year, while walking Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier. I have know idea when she left, or where she went. We never exchanged names, but she sure loved the dog.
I have seen apartments completely full of furniture, left behind. If there is no money for the rent, there is no money for a moving van. I wonder if they are living out of their car.
So, the moral of the story seems to be.....be thankful. Be thankful if you have clothes on your back and a whole closet full that haven't been worn in years. Be thankful if you only have but one chair to sit in. Be thankful if you have a job, even if it is not the job of your dreams. Be thankful if you have a mode of transportation that gets you from point A to point B, even if its a clunker. Be thankful if you have a roof over your head, that leaks during a summer rain storm. Be thankful for all the things in your life, good and bad. Most importantly, remember to pray for the ones who have it so much worse than you could ever imagine.
Tuesday, September 12, 2017
Remembering
Most of us will never forget. At least those of us old enough to remember. We will not forget where we were or what we were doing when the tragedy, that was and still is, happened on September 11, 2001. It has become the second 'where were you' in my lifetime. The first was the assassination of President Kennedy.
I had gone to town to pay a utility bill when, just as I was getting back in my car, the phone rang. "Mom", said my oldest daughter, "There's something going on in New York City."
I raced home and turned on the television. The first plane had already hit the North Tower. I remember sitting there feeling so helpless, wondering what in the world was going on. I called my husband and tearfully told him what was happening. "They" had used our own planes to bomb us. I never gave a second thought to how quickly the news anchors knew who the culprits were behind this atrocity and how they did it.
As I watched the second plane fly into the South Tower, my mind went back to the year of 1974. I had just graduated from high school. My older sister had taken me to NYC for my graduation gift. I remember being so enthralled with the people, the traffic, the tall buildings as far as the eye could see. I remembered the dress. The dress I purchased in a small shop located on the ground floor of one of the World Trade Center towers.....it was purple with a paisley pattern.
As the memory of that dress began to fade back to the carnage on the screen, the first Tower started to collapse. I sat there watching, feeling like I was in a bad dream, when some weird thing went off somewhere in the back of my brain. The only time I had ever seen a building collapse like that was when it had be set up for demolition.
During President John F. Kennedy's administration there was an effort put forth under the name of Operation Northwoods. Its purpose was to create a false flag in order to go to war with Cuba. One of the ideas mentioned in this operation was flying planes into buildings...our buildings and blaming it on Cuba.
Shortly before his death, President Kennedy spoke of the underhandedness of secret societies. President Dwight Eisenhower, in his farewell speech, warned of the industrialized military complex.
It's been sixteen years. Let us never forget those who perished for no good reason.
I had gone to town to pay a utility bill when, just as I was getting back in my car, the phone rang. "Mom", said my oldest daughter, "There's something going on in New York City."
I raced home and turned on the television. The first plane had already hit the North Tower. I remember sitting there feeling so helpless, wondering what in the world was going on. I called my husband and tearfully told him what was happening. "They" had used our own planes to bomb us. I never gave a second thought to how quickly the news anchors knew who the culprits were behind this atrocity and how they did it.
As I watched the second plane fly into the South Tower, my mind went back to the year of 1974. I had just graduated from high school. My older sister had taken me to NYC for my graduation gift. I remember being so enthralled with the people, the traffic, the tall buildings as far as the eye could see. I remembered the dress. The dress I purchased in a small shop located on the ground floor of one of the World Trade Center towers.....it was purple with a paisley pattern.
As the memory of that dress began to fade back to the carnage on the screen, the first Tower started to collapse. I sat there watching, feeling like I was in a bad dream, when some weird thing went off somewhere in the back of my brain. The only time I had ever seen a building collapse like that was when it had be set up for demolition.
During President John F. Kennedy's administration there was an effort put forth under the name of Operation Northwoods. Its purpose was to create a false flag in order to go to war with Cuba. One of the ideas mentioned in this operation was flying planes into buildings...our buildings and blaming it on Cuba.
Shortly before his death, President Kennedy spoke of the underhandedness of secret societies. President Dwight Eisenhower, in his farewell speech, warned of the industrialized military complex.
It's been sixteen years. Let us never forget those who perished for no good reason.
Monday, September 4, 2017
Humorous Hummus
The Voice, that lives inside my head, was packing suitcases full of shoes. "Seriously?", I quizzed. The Voice did not answer and swept past me with the loaded luggage and waltzed out the door.
I watched it go down the steps towards a waiting cab and just before it reached the vehicle I yelled, "Good grief, it's only dip!"
I watched the taxi speed around the corner, shook my head and went back inside. Once there, I went to the kitchen and retrieved my small food processor. The recipe was for hummus. I'm never quite sure how to pronounce hummus. Is it hoo-mus or hyoo-mus? Either way, it is a delicious concoction with a main ingredient of chick peas.
I had made it before, although the last time I did not have one of the ingredients, tahini, and substituted something else that I thought would work. Not knowing exactly what tahini was or how it tasted, I had no idea if my batch of hummus was authentic, but I ate it anyway.
Tahini is an Arabic word for sesame seed paste and I had found a can of it at one of the grocery stores. The directions said that it might need to be stirred, once it was opened. When I removed the lid from the can I was instantly transported back to a time when I was a child. The lady I stayed with, while the folks were working, lived across the street from a church. Once a month she would go to the church and get some surplus food. The only things I remember her getting was cheese and peanut butter. The peanut butter was in a can and when it was first opened, it always had a layer of oil on the top. I would watch as she slowly stirred the oil back into the peanut butter. I remember thinking that was the best peanut butter in the whole world.
The tahini not only had a layer of oil on the top, but it was nearly half the entire contents of the can. Naturally, when I put a spoon in it, a bit of oil overflowed down the outside of the can. When the spoon hit the paste at the bottom, it was so compacted it felt like concrete. I put more pressure on the spoon, this action caused more oil to jump out of the can. So, I could neither make a dent in the tahini or hold onto the can at this point. I had the brilliant idea to get out my mixer and put just one beater in it. This did not work.
There was oil everywhere. Totally disgusted, I grabbed a large bowl and poured the oil into it. The paste in the bottom was so hard I literally had to pry it out with a knife. Then it had to be mushed into chunks that would actually go through the beaters.
By the time it was back to its creamy buttery state, I knew why The Voice had left. What a mess I had to clean up and all for a measly 1/4 cup of tahini.
The recipe for the hummus turned out to be good but, there is a grocery store just down the street that sells the best hummus and regardless of how it's pronounced, that is where I will get mine from now on. I sure hope The Voice sends me a postcard.
I watched it go down the steps towards a waiting cab and just before it reached the vehicle I yelled, "Good grief, it's only dip!"
I watched the taxi speed around the corner, shook my head and went back inside. Once there, I went to the kitchen and retrieved my small food processor. The recipe was for hummus. I'm never quite sure how to pronounce hummus. Is it hoo-mus or hyoo-mus? Either way, it is a delicious concoction with a main ingredient of chick peas.
I had made it before, although the last time I did not have one of the ingredients, tahini, and substituted something else that I thought would work. Not knowing exactly what tahini was or how it tasted, I had no idea if my batch of hummus was authentic, but I ate it anyway.
Tahini is an Arabic word for sesame seed paste and I had found a can of it at one of the grocery stores. The directions said that it might need to be stirred, once it was opened. When I removed the lid from the can I was instantly transported back to a time when I was a child. The lady I stayed with, while the folks were working, lived across the street from a church. Once a month she would go to the church and get some surplus food. The only things I remember her getting was cheese and peanut butter. The peanut butter was in a can and when it was first opened, it always had a layer of oil on the top. I would watch as she slowly stirred the oil back into the peanut butter. I remember thinking that was the best peanut butter in the whole world.
The tahini not only had a layer of oil on the top, but it was nearly half the entire contents of the can. Naturally, when I put a spoon in it, a bit of oil overflowed down the outside of the can. When the spoon hit the paste at the bottom, it was so compacted it felt like concrete. I put more pressure on the spoon, this action caused more oil to jump out of the can. So, I could neither make a dent in the tahini or hold onto the can at this point. I had the brilliant idea to get out my mixer and put just one beater in it. This did not work.
There was oil everywhere. Totally disgusted, I grabbed a large bowl and poured the oil into it. The paste in the bottom was so hard I literally had to pry it out with a knife. Then it had to be mushed into chunks that would actually go through the beaters.
By the time it was back to its creamy buttery state, I knew why The Voice had left. What a mess I had to clean up and all for a measly 1/4 cup of tahini.
The recipe for the hummus turned out to be good but, there is a grocery store just down the street that sells the best hummus and regardless of how it's pronounced, that is where I will get mine from now on. I sure hope The Voice sends me a postcard.
Tuesday, August 29, 2017
The Work Out
Years ago, one of my parents' favorite thing to do was to drive to the county seat, on a Friday night, park in front of the Ben Franklin store and watch the people walk by. People watching can be fun and I was able to do a lot of it when we recently attended an event that drew in thousands of people. One of the most fascinating things about watching other people is seeing someone who looks just like someone we already know.
Another thing about being in the proximity of that many people, at least in this neck of the woods, is seeing just how many of us are out of shape. I only saw one person, who was in my age group, who actually looked to be in pretty good shape. That made me decide that perhaps it was time to take some action to make some changes in my appearance.
The youngest of our brood is into all things healthy and loves to do body building workouts, so I asked her for some advice as to how to get me started. She said she would love to help and sent me a text message with my first set of exercises. It consisted of 20 sit-ups, 15 squats and 10 push-ups and I was to do as many rounds of these as possible, in a twenty minute time span. Since I am already walking two miles a day, I thought an extra 20 minutes would be a piece of cake.
I set a timer for 20 minutes and tucked the tips of my shoes under the edge of the couch when I started the sit-ups. It had been quite awhile since I had done any and I finally got through the first 20. Then I was off to do the squats and that wasn't too bad either. When I got to the push-ups I remembered she had told me that if I couldn't do an entire body push-up, I could do them from the knees up. The first full body push-up looked like a roll up, so I opted for the knee position.
Satisfied with completing a full round of the exercises, I set out for round two. The sit-ups took a bit longer to do and Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, was there to drop a toy behind my back for each one. When I had to take a breather, he licked me in the face and thoroughly enjoyed me being down on his turf. I managed to get through the second round and thought surely the 20 minutes were almost over. I looked at the timer, ten minutes had passed.
I started on the next round. By the time I got to the last sit-up it looked something akin to a fish that had been carelessly tossed up on the bank and its tail ever so gently quivered, as it gasped for its last breath of air. I struggled through the squats and when I got to the last push-up, I face-planted in the carpet for several seconds. When I finally got up off the floor and looked at the timer, 16 minutes had passed. It was the longest 16 minutes of my life.
From that point I'd had enough and made myself some breakfast. When I was done, I shuffled down the hall to the bathroom to get cleaned up. I walked in, turned on the light and looked in the mirror. Even though I had ran the vacuum cleaner the day before, my forehead was covered in white dog hair. Luckily my breakfast consisted of an egg white omelet so if any of the dog hair fell in it, I was none the wiser.
I'm not sure what the next set of exercises will be, but I do know one thing. If anyone ever tells you a Jack Russell Terrier does not shed, they be lyin'.
Another thing about being in the proximity of that many people, at least in this neck of the woods, is seeing just how many of us are out of shape. I only saw one person, who was in my age group, who actually looked to be in pretty good shape. That made me decide that perhaps it was time to take some action to make some changes in my appearance.
The youngest of our brood is into all things healthy and loves to do body building workouts, so I asked her for some advice as to how to get me started. She said she would love to help and sent me a text message with my first set of exercises. It consisted of 20 sit-ups, 15 squats and 10 push-ups and I was to do as many rounds of these as possible, in a twenty minute time span. Since I am already walking two miles a day, I thought an extra 20 minutes would be a piece of cake.
I set a timer for 20 minutes and tucked the tips of my shoes under the edge of the couch when I started the sit-ups. It had been quite awhile since I had done any and I finally got through the first 20. Then I was off to do the squats and that wasn't too bad either. When I got to the push-ups I remembered she had told me that if I couldn't do an entire body push-up, I could do them from the knees up. The first full body push-up looked like a roll up, so I opted for the knee position.
Satisfied with completing a full round of the exercises, I set out for round two. The sit-ups took a bit longer to do and Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, was there to drop a toy behind my back for each one. When I had to take a breather, he licked me in the face and thoroughly enjoyed me being down on his turf. I managed to get through the second round and thought surely the 20 minutes were almost over. I looked at the timer, ten minutes had passed.
I started on the next round. By the time I got to the last sit-up it looked something akin to a fish that had been carelessly tossed up on the bank and its tail ever so gently quivered, as it gasped for its last breath of air. I struggled through the squats and when I got to the last push-up, I face-planted in the carpet for several seconds. When I finally got up off the floor and looked at the timer, 16 minutes had passed. It was the longest 16 minutes of my life.
From that point I'd had enough and made myself some breakfast. When I was done, I shuffled down the hall to the bathroom to get cleaned up. I walked in, turned on the light and looked in the mirror. Even though I had ran the vacuum cleaner the day before, my forehead was covered in white dog hair. Luckily my breakfast consisted of an egg white omelet so if any of the dog hair fell in it, I was none the wiser.
I'm not sure what the next set of exercises will be, but I do know one thing. If anyone ever tells you a Jack Russell Terrier does not shed, they be lyin'.
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
Let's Go Racing
It had been over 30 years since I had attended. It was not one of my favorite things to do. That honor goes to my husband. It is his thing. My honor has been to be able to walk past the television set, every so often, glance at the action and then waltz on. But, there I was. In Bristol, Tennessee at a NASCAR race.
The last time I had been to a race, we sat on the inside of the track, right by turn four. For those of you unfamiliar with race car terminology, turn four is the last turn before the start/finish line. The cars went by so fast, that it made me dizzy trying to keep up with them. When it was over, I figured that was my first and last car race.
The track in Bristol, TN is inside of what is referred to as the world's last great Colosseum and once inside, it was easy to see the why. The structure completely surrounds the race track with seating and can house 162,000 people. The half mile track sits at the bottom of this giant soup bowl and its sides are so steep I was sure one of the track maintenance trucks would surely tip over as it went slowly along the upper edge of the track, sweeping up any debris that may have found its way to the surface. This race track has also been dubbed to be one of the loudest.
When it was time for the race to start, we took the time to get our ear safety gear in place. We took no chances as we poked little foam plugs into our ears and topped them with sound proof headphones. When the green flag was dropped to start the race, I sat mesmerized as 40 cars pulled together to form what honestly looked like a "living" thing and crossed the starting line and they were back at that line in 14 seconds. From there, it took me over 125 laps to figure out who was in the lead and how to keep track of them.
The opening ceremonies that NASCAR puts on are worth the price of admission, and if I were to ever go again, I would go simply for that experience. They opened with the Pledge of Allegiance and followed that with a prayer. They played that great song, "God Bless the USA" by Lee Greenwood and standing with over 100,000 people, all singing, made the hair stand up on the back of one's neck. Then they had the children of all the NASCAR associates sing the National Anthem and once again, all the voices joined in. As the "home of the brave" words were being sung, two fighter jets screamed over the top of the last great Colosseum and I felt privileged to have been a part of it.
The people who attended this race came from all walks of life and ethnicity. There were vendors selling everything from shaved ice to Confederate flags. There were preachers dressed in black suits, white shirts and red ties, shouting the Gospel on loud speakers to all who passed by. There were no protesters nor was there any racial tension to be seen. All though it is still not one of my most favorite things to do, perhaps it needs to be a prerequisite for everyone to attend a NASCAR race at least once in their life.
The last time I had been to a race, we sat on the inside of the track, right by turn four. For those of you unfamiliar with race car terminology, turn four is the last turn before the start/finish line. The cars went by so fast, that it made me dizzy trying to keep up with them. When it was over, I figured that was my first and last car race.
The track in Bristol, TN is inside of what is referred to as the world's last great Colosseum and once inside, it was easy to see the why. The structure completely surrounds the race track with seating and can house 162,000 people. The half mile track sits at the bottom of this giant soup bowl and its sides are so steep I was sure one of the track maintenance trucks would surely tip over as it went slowly along the upper edge of the track, sweeping up any debris that may have found its way to the surface. This race track has also been dubbed to be one of the loudest.
When it was time for the race to start, we took the time to get our ear safety gear in place. We took no chances as we poked little foam plugs into our ears and topped them with sound proof headphones. When the green flag was dropped to start the race, I sat mesmerized as 40 cars pulled together to form what honestly looked like a "living" thing and crossed the starting line and they were back at that line in 14 seconds. From there, it took me over 125 laps to figure out who was in the lead and how to keep track of them.
The opening ceremonies that NASCAR puts on are worth the price of admission, and if I were to ever go again, I would go simply for that experience. They opened with the Pledge of Allegiance and followed that with a prayer. They played that great song, "God Bless the USA" by Lee Greenwood and standing with over 100,000 people, all singing, made the hair stand up on the back of one's neck. Then they had the children of all the NASCAR associates sing the National Anthem and once again, all the voices joined in. As the "home of the brave" words were being sung, two fighter jets screamed over the top of the last great Colosseum and I felt privileged to have been a part of it.
The people who attended this race came from all walks of life and ethnicity. There were vendors selling everything from shaved ice to Confederate flags. There were preachers dressed in black suits, white shirts and red ties, shouting the Gospel on loud speakers to all who passed by. There were no protesters nor was there any racial tension to be seen. All though it is still not one of my most favorite things to do, perhaps it needs to be a prerequisite for everyone to attend a NASCAR race at least once in their life.
Tuesday, August 15, 2017
Feeding The Beast
"Living your life solely on one's emotions can certainly be interesting. There will be lots of ups and downs and twists and turns. But, just like a roller coaster, it will always bring you right back to where you started." R.E. Reeves
Emotions fall into many categories, but a basic definition of what emotions are would be, a state of feeling. We can feel happy, joyful, sad, guilty and be filled with intense anger and most everyone has experienced these feelings.
Usually, along the course of one's lifetime, people learn how to control some of these feelings. For instance, it is never a good idea to break into a fit of hysterical laughter during a funeral, unless you hail from my family and there may be a story like that somewhere down the lineage. Wailing out of the top of one's head during a happy celebration is usually frowned upon too.
Making decisions during an emotional crisis can lead to disastrous results. There have been many bonds broken by words spoken during times when anger has been at an all time high and that can lead to years of guilt and sadness.
Regardless of religious beliefs or lack there of, most people will agree that there is evil in the world and the remote control is only one click away from proving its existence. I believe this evil, or darkness, is an actual living thing or entity. If my opinion of evil is true, then just like every living thing in the universe, it needs something. It needs to eat. In order for it to eat, it needs to be fed and I believe the food it eats is made of the energy that comes from emotions.
I do not visualize evil standing at the edge of a happy birthday celebration, sucking up the high frequency energy because evil vibrates at a much lower level. It needs dark energy, like the kind that comes from mobs of people filled with anger and they do not even know why. It feeds off of any energy thought of greed or causing harm or mayhem. It likes to hang around with people who can whip the masses into states of hate filled frenzy. Then it can become gluttonous and just like living cells, divide to make more evil that needs more food.
If people of planet Earth do not learn to control their emotions and figure out how to use some logic to come to peaceful solutions, then we will continue to feed the beast. Feeding the beast and becoming complacent to its existence could be compared to that young man who lived with the grizzly bears. That did not work out so well.
Emotions fall into many categories, but a basic definition of what emotions are would be, a state of feeling. We can feel happy, joyful, sad, guilty and be filled with intense anger and most everyone has experienced these feelings.
Usually, along the course of one's lifetime, people learn how to control some of these feelings. For instance, it is never a good idea to break into a fit of hysterical laughter during a funeral, unless you hail from my family and there may be a story like that somewhere down the lineage. Wailing out of the top of one's head during a happy celebration is usually frowned upon too.
Making decisions during an emotional crisis can lead to disastrous results. There have been many bonds broken by words spoken during times when anger has been at an all time high and that can lead to years of guilt and sadness.
Regardless of religious beliefs or lack there of, most people will agree that there is evil in the world and the remote control is only one click away from proving its existence. I believe this evil, or darkness, is an actual living thing or entity. If my opinion of evil is true, then just like every living thing in the universe, it needs something. It needs to eat. In order for it to eat, it needs to be fed and I believe the food it eats is made of the energy that comes from emotions.
I do not visualize evil standing at the edge of a happy birthday celebration, sucking up the high frequency energy because evil vibrates at a much lower level. It needs dark energy, like the kind that comes from mobs of people filled with anger and they do not even know why. It feeds off of any energy thought of greed or causing harm or mayhem. It likes to hang around with people who can whip the masses into states of hate filled frenzy. Then it can become gluttonous and just like living cells, divide to make more evil that needs more food.
If people of planet Earth do not learn to control their emotions and figure out how to use some logic to come to peaceful solutions, then we will continue to feed the beast. Feeding the beast and becoming complacent to its existence could be compared to that young man who lived with the grizzly bears. That did not work out so well.
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