Humanities Banquet by Binding Ink

The Or's of Death

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Sun, 29 Dec 2024 15:41:00 +0000

Clock by Polish artist Pawel Kuczynski

To Be or Not to Be (Of Death, Dying, and Being Dead)
©by Michelle Culp (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp)
There is a lot or so little we may know or not know
Yet of all certainties, we can be certain death is immedicable and inevitable
We may not know if there be any suffering, whether long or short

Or whence the pendulum of when will swing its' final tick-tock, or where, nor how
Perhaps for some merely a minute, for others an hour, or a day or somewhere in-between aging and aged
But most assuredly, death does cometh for us all
So be knowledgeable of your ways and per chance or be it fate, you'll live to seize another day; be that a blessing or a curse.

The Death of Humanities

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Sun, 26 May 2024 17:28:00 +0000

Artist J.R. Slattum

AI has taken the dictionary and whipped it with a battered rolling pin and Olé, let us seize this day of stolen words conveyed, twisted in a Grammelot breaded knot. Should we say yea or nay, hippity hip hooray, here's a toast to your jam; well well we'll be damned. Take our bloody pens, take our rotten creativity, rob us of our words, death be but a flightless featherless bird; so let us eat crow, whence all art awaits upon death row.

©ndpthepoetress Michelle Culp (Founder of HumanitiesIDEAS )

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I Believe

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Mon, 25 Dec 2023 16:32:00 +0000

I believe above is reserved for the Sun, Clouds, and doves
Moon and Stars, planets like Mars
And if I could stretch beyond the blue, perhaps touch Gods’ hand too.

I believe below whence water flows with youthful woes
Of innocence gone as age has marched on
There transcends our Once Upon a Time Childhood Friends

Maybe where Sindbad the Sailor crossed or perhaps where City of Atlantis is lost
There Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs, Jack Frost, Frosty the Snowman are standing on wharfs
As The Gingerbread Man, Hansel and Gretel run to greet us as fast as they can
We see Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty each with their own fella
The Old Woman Who lived in a Shoe, Puss in Boots, The Elves and the Shoemaker have good news

The Billy Goats Gruff, the Three Pigs, Three Blind Mice, along with Goldilocks and the Three Bears want to prove they weren’t a bluff
The Ugly Duckling is inside Atlantis with The Phantom of the Opera, Beauty and the Beast - all chuckling
And the sweet Tooth Fairy still leaves coins as a treat.
United at last is The cow who jumped over the moon, The cat and the fiddle, and The dish who ran away with the spoon

Hickory dickory dock, that dang mouse won’t stop fiddling with the clocks
Jack be nimble Jack be quick and Little Jack Horner continue to do their tricks
While The Little Men dance with Little Red Riding Hood, swim with The Little Mermaid, and court The Little Women
The Goose That Laid the Golden Eggs and Humpty Dumpty play pegs
Dumbo and Pinocchio speak their own mumbo jumbo
The Princess and the Pea, Johnny Appleseed, and Jack with his Beanstalk are a glee

Things are a spinning as Rapunzel and Rumpelstiltskin are a grinning
Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, Tom Thumb, Thumbelina want us to join them soon as we can
Along with Alice, to sip tea with the Easter Bunny in the Atlantis Palace.

Of all this I do not doubt, so let me just point out
I believe in Santa Claus, Jesus too, and the best New Year for you!

© - Jeane Michelle Culp (#r3779xy1988CC€)

People Enter A Conscious Existence

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Fri, 25 Nov 2022 22:02:00 +0000

People Enter A Conscious Existence

by Michelle Culp

This is how Peace will come our way, for humanity will save the day:

Excuse me Sir, there's a plunge in the market on common sense, not nearly a cent

Uh-oh there goes the material, the criterial.

Down falls the castles made of golden fools and all their jewels.

Oops there goes the material

Uh-oh the Imperial, are back to eating cereal.

Breaker breaker 1/9, we can't get past this food line.

Oops there goes the material, everything's immaterial.

Commander, Commander no one can get guns, should we run?

Commander: without ordnance, all is of unimportance.

Uh-oh there goes the materials, the false profits of ministerials

We're without a wing and prayer, no one seems to care.

Oops it's back to common sense, wherefore we were there before the materialism, criterial-ism, Imperial-ism, ministerial-ism...

Hip hip hooray; back to the basics of humanity, before all this insanity.

©#34TR22OcVx

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Geronimo

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Wed, 23 Nov 2022 17:41:00 +0000

Geronimo

Oh how my bones rattle in the grave, when you call my name

Awww to know my life was not lived in vain 

Up above, the sounding whirl winds blow 
And with bated breath, one leap of faith; I hear the mighty shouts, Geronimo 

Oh upon such a day, whence you reach that veil between Heaven and Hell 

Thence as you slip into that vast abyss, not knowing which way you go 
I hope, with your final breath, you find the same strength to shout with glee, Geronimo 

I am free, I am free; let it be. 

©written by ~ndpthepoetress Michelle Culp, creator of Humanities IDEAS (Inclusion, Diversity, Equality, Acceptance, Solidarity for all Humanity)

©A777pc3zn412022

November is designated as National Native American Heritage Month.

Geronimo (1829-1909) was an Apache leader and medicineman.

"Geronimo was the leader of the last American Indian fighting force formally to capitulate to the United States. Because he fought against such daunting odds and held out the longest, he became the most famous Apache of all."

art by Mimì, 'the artist behind MimiPrints. An anatomy painter and medical watercolor illustrator.'

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The Last Ides of March

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Sun, 10 Apr 2022 00:13:00 +0000

SPRING QUEEN, fully hand painted original by artist © witsend

Ides of March©ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp
It was almost a month of Sundays

When on this particular day

March was trying to hold onto winter, while embracing spring

By mid-morning, the sun was already busy nurturing the grounded seeds and partially budded plants

Then the sky began to weep and Old Man Winter blew his last cold-cold breath

Scattering tiny white pellets, like confetti; onto the emerald grassy green grass

When what to my wondering eyes did I see

A round breasted robin alit in a dirt mulched barren flower bed

Her thinly twigged legs unshaken by the wild wicked winds

Not a feather ruffled or appeared out of place, nor a single shiver

As she be-bopped to the rhythm of the erratic weather

Be-bopping ever so gracefully, back and forth, forth and back

Partaking of the tiny hailed pellets, quenching her thirst

Suddenly; it dawned on me, this is the very essence of life

No matter what life throws at us, no matter the need to cry, scream...

We can remain sturdy amidst the storms of life

By simply nib, nibbling on the mere morsels from the silver lining

And just keep bob, bobbin' along.

ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp, Founder and Admin of Humanities IDEAS

©#A8975Z Page 4

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Halloween Sympathy

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Sun, 31 Oct 2021 16:58:00 +0000

Halloween Sympathy

by Michelle Culp, ndpthepoetress of Humanities IDEAS

Welcome; one and all, to this one precious life given for free to thee

Step on up, don't be shy; oh there's so many questions of why

But don't you worry your pretty little head, we'll all some day be dead

So why not enjoy the ride, at least you can say you tried!

Give it your best, for perhaps it's all but a test

Oh but beware the pitfalls along life's way; they say these are full of ups and downs, smiles and frowns

The horrors we've seen of our fellow kind, fall and hit the wall; unable to get over the humps or around the bumps

So if you can, lend a helping hand, that would be grand

Let us all Step Right Up; welcome each other to the Greatest Show On Earth, where one-way tickets are given at birth.

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How To Tear Down Walls and Open Doors

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Sun, 19 Sep 2021 15:22:00 +0000

These are the foundations for tearing down any wall that surrounds you, and freeing yourself to endless possibilities in all aspects of your life: Be the constructor of your life, make a plan. Educate your mind with accredited self-help articles, books... Motivate yourself with positive quotes... Do not hesitate nor be afraid to ask for help-to accept help. Nurture your emotions, make time to rest and relax when you can. Give yourself time to heal like you would a broken bone, the flu... Reward, treat yourself, even if just once in awhile; but do it! Build confidence; look in the mirror daily and learn to truly love your reflection, love you; you are worth it. Do NOT judge time or any set backs. Simply enjoy your small progresses, the tiny cracks in your walls; for the door is on the other side of many doors you will and can, eventually; open in your life. Remember to remember, throughout life; your mind, your heart, your spirit, your mental wellbeing...every part of you is a muscle needing motivation, exercise, or knowledge. Go on now; build those muscles and start tearing those walls down and opening doors of opportunities in your life, for this is YOUR LIFE! ~ndpthepoetress, Michelle Culp of Humanities IDEAS

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What the Hell is Self-talk?

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Sun, 13 Jun 2021 17:42:00 +0000

What the Hell is Self-talk?

A short, comprehensive essay by Jeane Michelle Culp (ndpthepoetress)

And so I did, until I had to no more. ~ndpthepoetress

Self-talk, what the heck does that even mean. I can't just say, things will be okay; things will get better. Heck, my inner child knows better than that kind of talk; passive dismissive. Myself and I are joined at the hip, together toward a downward spiral, of rapidly losing all hope. 'Til one day; I heard my usual negative thoughts about myself, over and over; again and again. Then suddenly, like a long unanswered prayer; an unfamiliar self voice, from deep within the crevices of my mind, shouted; STOP, that is not me. I am not that way. I know how, who I am. I am a kind, caring, considerate,... person. It was at that moment, I truly understood what self-talk is. I had to stand up for me, myself, and I. Because; I had unwittingly, become my own worst critic. My thoughts were bullying me like my abusers had, and only I could save us from the bullies. And so my journey began; until the day I do not have to any more.

Like a scene out of ¹Shuffle, (though admittedly, I've only started watching 30 minutes of that movie.) I could see the various ages in my life, passing before my eyes. And with each tear, I could feel every time I was abused.

So today; I burn the echoes of quotes about 'what you see in others is a reflection of yourself'; and 'you are what you attract'. Rather the reflection and attraction are from a vicious cycle, that unbeknownst; I had been attracting and tolerating. The same behavior from my past abusers, was now being extended by other people, who knew exactly how to demean me, by using my vulnerability against me.

Perhaps attraction really does exist, however; I wouldn't go as far as the seemingly cultish, "The Law Of Attraction". But if you can attract; I was no longer going to hold up a mirror for vindictive, abusive people to continue the cycle of abuse. As if giving myself ammunition to confirm my abusers browbeating words of I am no good, I am worthless, I'll never amount to anything, I don't deserve any better... NO more. I want to attract people who see the good in me, the small part in me that I know truly still does exist, despite the understandably, to somewhat of a degree; bitter person I'd become over the years.

Today the real self-talk begins for the betterment. Today I no longer will 'let anyone walk through my mind with their dirty feet' and trample my soul.

And so; let your self-talk begin. Start with NO. No I am not this, no I am not that way, No I am not ____, No I am not ____,... NO more negativity.

Instead; say to yourself: I am ____, I am ____, I am ____... (accentuate the positive).

In the process; may you start attracting that which clears your cloudy eyes. May instead, you start seeing through stained glassed windows of positive possibilities, that reflect healing light upon your inner child. And may you continue upon this new journey of encouraging self-talk in your life, until you need not any more.

Don't wait for your life to flash before your eyes, go on and love yourself today. Break the cycle!

Break The Cycle

Written by ~ndpthepoetress (-Jeane Michelle Culp) of BindingInk.org

You Are Watt Matters

"This above all- to thine own self be true"
-Hamlet, Act I, Scene 3

Wizardry
Steven Michael

Misery loves company well not me though

Ya I'm good all alone I'd rather not manage your ego
All you do is complain and gossip about other people
Man I ain't judging but you ain't gone be doing that shit around me no no

That's not the vibe on this side we stay elevated

We smile through the pain overcome thank God and then we celebrate it
Our meditation our medication
Our peace of mind is something sacred
We empathize but don't have the patience
For negativity and hating

Ya it's all love and I'm saying

I'll send you my love while I'm praying
But right now I'm focused on me and my team and our goals
And these dues that we're paying

So dude stop playing and don't be confused

Your issues ain't what really makes you miserable

You can miss me with that misery

Words are magic and I'm dodging all the wizardry
All the pettiness I won't let it get to me
Ain't nobody walking through my mind with their dirty feet
You can miss me with that misery
It's all love but I'm protective of my energy
All the pettiness I won't let it get to me
Ain't nobody walking through my mind with their dirty feet

Don't get me wrong we all suffer

And while we're here we need to love one another
If you're in pain or in need I've got you covered
What I'm talking bout is all the toxic clutter

Used to be a head case

Had to get my head straight
I did the work it took some time but finally cleared my head space
Now my mind clean that's feng shui
Done paying mind to what some say
I'm dodging vibes I'm unfazed
I'm going up that's one way

No I do not have the time if your energy ain't matching mine

Me and the team a mastermind with blinders on we're on our grind
Ya we show love and improvement
We'd rather make moves than excuses
Misfortune isn't exclusive
We just decided to do it

So sorry not sorry I've got to be selfish

Won't let my thoughts be effected
By limiting views or another's perception
Your limitations are your misconceptions
I'm focused on light and selecting
To believe in my life not projections
That are rooted in fear I gotta stay clear til all of my truth manifested

You can miss me with that misery

¹Movie: Shuffle ("Desperate to solve the mystery behind his wife's death, Lovell Milo (TJ Thyne, from the T.V. Series "Bones") is trapped living his life out of order. He is forced to piece together clues while waking up every day at a different age, on a different day of his life." (Release date : ‎ August 21, 2012 Actors ‏ : ‎T.J. Thyne, Paula Rhodes, Tamara Taylor...)

Art from Tulsa Stained Glass

Tis The Season - Movie

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Thu, 26 Nov 2020 02:23:00 +0000

Christmas Movie, Tis The Season
When reformed convict Korey Carpenter is hired as head youth pastor, he has no idea how close his past is to catching up with him. With the camp deadline looming, can Korey and the kids come up with enough Christmas magic to make ends meet?

Filmed at the beautiful American Fork Community Presbyterian Church; 'where the 1984 movie Footloose, filmed most of the movie's church scenes'.
Director Bennie Parker
Featuring original songs written by Bennie Parker
Songs produced by Dirk Parker
Starring Seth Goldklang, Whitney Lang, Dylan Love, Henry Moyle...
Genres: Faith and Spirituality, Arts, Entertainment, and Culture, Music

🎬Available on Amazon Prime🎬

From Been Jammin' INC., Bennie Parker's heart to yours; enjoy! Mixed and mastered the official soundtrack for the motion picture by Dirk Parker! *Featuring original songs written by Bennie Parker! 💕🎶 Tis The Season - Movie (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) is OUT on ALL STREAMING PLATFORMS 🔥🎬 Please give it a listen and share with your friends and family! It’s full of great Christmas songs that will be sure to warm your heart! ❤️

Spotify

Amazon Prime

Tis The Season - Movi e

True Colors

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Fri, 19 Jun 2020 04:00:00 +0000

ndpthepoetress:My 'personal action' is to continue to promote the IDEAS®: Inclusion Diversity Equality Acceptance Solidarity for ALL by saving Humanities 1 Human at a Time, 1 Book, 1 Poem, 1 Quote, 1 Song... at a Time. Join us on Facebook STOP and: S.ee T.he O.ther P.eople.

In my opinion, whether because of ones health, accent, lifestyle, color of skin… whether rejected or ridiculed or some other means of communal castration, no matter how small or large any difference or the bullying or any consequence thereof be; the complete eradication of prejudice will remain a centuries old vicarious plague spurred from societal statistical stigmatic stigma, hysterically injected into the ill-reputed frail failing intellect of the majority who damningly dare to declare what differentiates from the norm. For example; I recently read about a son spurned by his own flesh and blood, “a vicious parent shaming still its child”¹. ‘^*Revolted by his father’s injustice’, the son left home at an all to early age, set upon a journey to prove or find his roots. Regrettably; during his mission, he was essentially met with a series of harsh condemnations. Ultimately; the son becomes consumed with self-delusion and an insatiable appetite for revenge to be inflicted upon those who once dared to flaunt their popularity, while others refused to embrace his uniqueness cloaked in natural flaws.

Fortunately "²the pen is mightier than the sword", so he merely immerses himself into his literary work. At last the world is his stage and he could not have chosen a better place. For whom among us has not been psychologically moved or entertained by words upon a page. Or our attention drawn to a character in a play, opera, movie, or a mere sit-com? And so with pen and paper the son makes his plight known for others to read then mourn, scorn, ponder, or wonder. Except to him, his anguish was the worse of anyone. Nonetheless; in due course the son grew into his own isolated culture rejected existence. After some time; a Woman professed, “^*Evidently God has made us for each another! I am like you…” Soon afterwards the son married her, asserting; “^*Blessed be the sorrows I have borne… Heaven was keeping such unhoped consolation in reserve! Until today I feared myself doomed to eternal singleness and to tell you the truth it was a heavy burden to bear”. Though; had he truly loved her for herself and not out of a seemingly Narcissist reflection of himself; then when her true colors came beautifully shining through, he would not have (for shame or other matters) discarded her much as he had been cast off by the population. Yet he did flee from her side; “^*to abandon the career of literature, to escape into the desert and if possible shun for ever after the sight of living creatures. To seek, indeed, like Alceste”. Oh but as fate or merely an ill-fated wind would have it; the son landed not far from where as a child he had begun his journey away from his parents home. I surmise that perhaps feeling like the odd man out, surrounded once again by the publicly accepted; here in this familiar place is where he may have learnt the greatest lesson of all, which is; nothing in life is ever as it seems.

Every part I read about the spurned son seemed a humanistic enough story plot, the emotional afflict of discrimination, a temporary successive solution, love, loss, lessons learnt… except this is a tale of the feather type. Written in 1842 by Alfred de Musset; whence combining a vast array of birds with a stylish flare, a story takes flight. Amid the author’s intertwined unraveling assemblage of vividly artistically painted printed words, emerges a subtle view about a struggle with the centuries old trials and tribulations of the societal injected statistical stigmatic stigma, known as prejudice. “^{^}How glorious it is and also how painful to be an exception”.

And so begins:

^*The Story of A White Blackbird by Alfred de Musset (Histoire d'un merle blanc)

1. George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans), O May I Join the Choir Invisible!
2. Edward Bulwer-Lytton, Richelieu Act II Scene II

Related Links:

Stop Bullying

Not In Our Town 'highlights communities working together to stop hate'.

Butterflies Upon the Will of Power

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Mon, 04 Nov 2019 22:48:00 +0000

I watched the movie, Shattered starring Pierce Brosnan, Maria Bello, and Gerard Butler. The movie is based around the quote, “Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel” found in the literary work of 1735, An Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot written by Alexander Pope. The excerpt has been drawn on by many People throughout the years. And different meanings of the expression have been included in music such as that by The Mission whom recorded a track titled Butterfly on a Wheel. Basically the phrase means, “putting massive effort into achieving something minor or unimportant”.

I think the quote “Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel” has a lot of significance to offer our World today and is a great thought for ..2020... To often criminals break a butterfly upon a wheel leaving innocent victims to suffer the consequences of another’s irreparable actions. To many Soldiers are sent to fight a War that has largely lost its’ main purpose. Leaving our Men and Women to flap their wings in a territory that seemingly lacks the ability to act – let alone react – as civilized human beings who have been given the opportunity to rise above their once dictated brainwashed sadistic antics. Meanwhile; our own Country continues to lack massive and important measures to securely prevent any future potential terrorism violence nationally. Global Warming is given verbal band aides of decorated hope while sufficient funds are disbursed into other wheels of less importance.

Environmentally speaking, the butterfly effect is a phrase that “refers to the idea that a butterfly's wings might create tiny changes in the atmosphere that ultimately cause a tornado to appear (or for that matter, prevent a tornado from appearing). The flapping wing represents a small change in the initial condition of the system, which causes a chain of events leading to large-scale phenomena.” Let us no longer wonder, “had the butterfly not flapped its wings, the trajectory of the system might have been vastly different." Perhaps instead; it is time that we take back the wheel and steer our own wings, promoting positive change throughout the World toward Peace. For even the smallest of efforts can make a difference collectively. Be this by beginning such in our own home, community, political stance, etc. Hence, let they “Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel”, know not their abuse of power but the willpower of Humankind.

Psyche of a Murderer

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Fri, 18 Oct 2019 02:26:00 +0000

ndpthepoetress: "The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe is about an evil eye, dismemberment, and the repercussions of guilt. What more could a reader ask for! A seemingly short tale with enthralling details, but with an abrupt ending. Still in-between the lines one can perhaps visualize how some people fixate on a person’s flaws instead of their overall significance as a human being. And so the story begins, such imperfection gradually converts into an obsession. The male perpetrator could have only taken that which disturbed him the most. His method of choice however contemplated primarily on the breath of life, possibly giving the readers a clue to the frame of this killer’s own psyche at the time. Hence; the subsequent anatomization, may have been more of a means to prove his own self bloody-right than the ascribed reason. However; he was about to learn that all human life does have value. For guilt has a way of eating into the brain. There truth echoes, beckoning to be heard. Such resonance then can impel a sane man mad while plummeting a supposedly mad man even further into the depths of insanity. And so it is with The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe":

TRUE! --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily --how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture --a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees --very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded --with what caution --with what foresight --with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it --oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly --very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously --cautiously (for the hinges creaked) --I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights --every night just at midnight --but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers --of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door, little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back --but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out --"Who's there?"

I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening; --just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief --oh, no! --it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself --"It is nothing but the wind in the chimney --it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or "It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel --although he neither saw nor heard --to feel the presence of my head within the room.

When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little --a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it --you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily --until, at length a simple dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye.

It was open --wide, wide open --and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness --all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.

And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the sense? --now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eve. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! --do you mark me well I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me --the sound would be heard by a neighbor! The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once --once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eve would trouble me no more.

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.

I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye --not even his --could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out --no stain of any kind --no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all --ha! ha!

When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock --still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, --for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.

I smiled, --for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search --search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: --It continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness --until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.

No doubt I now grew very pale; --but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased --and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath --and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men --but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed --I raved --I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder --louder --louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now --again! --hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! --tear up the planks! here, here! --It is the beating of his hideous heart!

Part Two

The Tell-Tale Heart is a short story by Edgar Allan Poe, first published in 1843. It is included in The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, online at Project Gutenberg.

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

Treads of A Murder

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Thu, 03 Oct 2019 00:29:00 +0000

In the cloak of darkness the heart pounded detrimentally inside her chest, as if insistent on immediate release; while perspiration dripped from numerous sweat glands she never knew her flesh had. Suddenly, the body she was hauling tumbled to the ground and descended along a steep hill. Panicky, she ran toward the already rotting carcass. In the hurried course her high heels broke as she toppled onto the mossy wet leafed ground, tasting dirt from her moist glossy lips. Her nose was within a few inches of the cadaver, the stench reeked with a combination of dumpster garbage and human sewage waste. Sickeningly nauseated she some how managed to rise, brushing the earths remnants from herself with her now bloodily scratched hands. Then, as if without any forethought whatsoever; she grasped the stiff body and lugged it toward a nearby river bank. Briefly, as if to catch a breath; she sat on the moist ground surrounded by the night. Her fleeting thoughts interrupted abruptly to realize she had not brought a shovel. Frantically she looked around in the moonlight. Broken twigs were scattered amidst the thickening, as she hurriedly threw them aside to at last find a short broken, rigid tree limb. She began to dig furiously right there beneath her feet, until the depth was sufficient. By now the crack of dawn was awakening, worn out she clasped the foul body, dragging it inside the hole. Her bare, scuffed raw hands clumping dirt rapidly over the grave. Content with her undertaking, she staggered toward the river. Achingly she knelt down to fling the icy water onto herself, simultaneously seeming to cleanse some of the filth from her skin and mind. Exhausted, she began the journey toward the hill top where her car was parked. Finally she arrived; fumbling with keys until the door unlocked, she climbed inside. Idle, hands on the wheel; she reflected on the nights’ escapade. If only someone had driven a little slower, perhaps none of this would have happened. Or if someone merely attended to the matter themselves when the incident occurred, than maybe she would not had to taken care of the dreadful situation herself. Still trembling; she shifts her car into drive and pulls onto the blackened road. The muddy rear frame of her car had only one bumper sticker visible: God Bless the animals that cross to and fro, for they know not which way to go.

Written By ©ndpthepoetress (- Jeane Michelle Culp) {copyright #98s7750940}

My Pet

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Wed, 02 Oct 2019 03:21:00 +0000

I often believe that life has a way of presenting circumstances in our lives as a method of reminding us about lessons yet to be learnt or merely fragmentary reflections of current events. And so such began for me, my pet Gnat. Admittedly; there were several matters bugging me recently, ordeals seemingly beyond my control. And there, every time I came home – to greet me was The Gnat. Persistently pesky little bugger, reluctant to die. Never once did it try to flight upon my food, as if to contentedly fulfill its’ own needs. Instead, this Gnat would seemingly sneak from its’ hidden abode, explicitly when my eyes were fixated else where in deep thought; than zoom! Zoom, whoosh, whiz repeatedly; as I tried in accordance, only to unsuccessfully squish it with my hand or paper. Until at last this became liken a game between us of - dash, clasp, miss. Okay maybe I am taking this a wee far by my next train of thought, however; I swear this ruthless pest would accompany me at work in the good olde days. In the building at my place of employment, we seldom get pestered by the ‘real insects'. It’s not like we have flyswatter decors hanging about in all confined cubicles. No! Yet there ‘it’ was, The Gnat! And so Whoosh, slap, miss! Like a fool whom never learns from mistakes; I continued to take the hurtle bait, only to constantly get the same results - missed! Blasted rascal! Ok, if this pest was not the same from my home, than please explain how one day the annoyer was in my car, when I got off work! The Gnat – there to greet me in my auto, as if waiting for a free ride home from ‘its’ weary day of play. Ok I hear you. Gnats are massively every where! I have finally lost it. I am bugging out! This Gnat has ultimately succeeded - if only to drive me batty! Well today, or maybe it has been a few days now, anyhow; I am sadden to say, I lost my Pesky pet. No, I did not kill The Gnat. I recon ‘it’ has gone to pester someone else or has died of starvation – somewhere between my home and the open road. Or at worse, has become someones’ windshield muck. Just, I’m certain The Gnat did not leave of its own accord; as there are still plenty of recent tribulations tugging at my heart strings and playing intensely on my mind. Yet, sadly gone is The Gnat. Now I can’t help but wonder if I had ever succeeded in squishing ‘it’, would I have felt relieved or remorse. Perhaps we all need such a Pest, I mean Pet in our lives at times. Something tiny, requiring minimal upkeep; just something small enough to keep the mind occupied on other things, if but for a minute - so that the raw obvious doesn’t continuously eat us alive from the inside out, like an introverted vulture. Therefore; here’s wishing Gnats in your life! May you go batty as bed bugs, if but for a fleeting moment! Zoom, whoosh, whiz!

Dragonball Z - Eating Me Away

SKILLET

"Eating Me Away"

It's eating me away
I said to God
It's rotting in my mind
It's like a cancer
Is there anything, anything at all to numb the nothingness
I need a reason to breathe
It's eating me away

Yeah, yeah....

It's eating me away
It nibbles at my brain
The question of my existence
And the matter of pain
I shake my fist, I shake my fist
At the cosmos and my insignificance
I need a reason to breathe
It's eating me away

[CHORUS:]
Save me from my rage
And my humanity
I'm more nothing than being
Is this my legacy
Feel it eating me away
Yeah, yeah.....

All that I am, all that I want, all that I lack
Come on and save me
All that I am, all that I want, all that I lack
Come on and save me

[CHORUS]

All that I am, all that I want, all that I lack
Come on and save me
All that I am, all that I want, all that I lack
Come on and save me

It's eating me away

[CHORUS]

143°

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Mon, 16 Sep 2019 01:00:00 +0000

143°

Love is like a cloudy day

The rain will come or the rain may stay

The wind could blow, shift, or brew a tornado or two

Maybe change course, stir anew; as if a hurricane is coming by or bye

But just as sure as the rain will come, surely the sun will too

And those whose hearts are built to last, together they'll repair any damage

Going on to love forevermore, with a forecast of less cloudy days ahead

So if you're going to up and fall in love

Be sure to carry an umbrella and lots of humble pie too.

Poem by author, poet ndpthepoetress Michelle Culp

facebook.com/seetheotherpeople/

And you thought you were having a bad day!

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Sat, 24 Aug 2019 16:36:00 +0000

Lo and behold; what hath I done to thee Universe to deserve such treacheries! I go to do laundry, courtesy of my Sister. I see an empty large Arm & Hammer laundry detergent jug, so I grab the smaller container in front of it; same brand Arm & Hammer. Began my laundry, then later noticed on the shelf is a full jug of laundry detergent. Perplexed; I read the smaller container, only to realize I am washing my clothes in RUG cleaner! Arm & Hammer plus Oxi Clean Stain Remover! With visions of my clothes being eaten by this strong stuff or chemically spotted, I calculated the repercussions of my actions in having to replace my clothes! Nothing I could do but wait.

Whilst fretting; I proceeded to vacuum my car, only to notice the hose was leaving black streaks on my car seats and my hands. Omgosh, I was using their outdoor grill vacuum cleaner! Now I really need the Carpet cleaner!

Meanwhile; the moment of truth has arrived, the washer is silent; as if pausing in a moment of prayer with me. I slowly open the washer lid...slowly....Yay; all is well and good; until while spraying Febreze, I realized in actuality and I kid you not, I went from praying to 's'praying freakin' Windex on my clothes!

Now my clothes are as clean as a rug, shiny as glass, and I can slither into my car seats!

Oh wait....my day just got better, NOT! Speaking of slithering, there is a flippin' swirling noise in my room JUST NOW; oh guess what it is! A lizard.....with a frantic crazy looking, suddenly an instant Ninja woman scrambling to open the door to set it free....run Lizzy the Lizard....'run as fast as you can'....away from ME! Success! Lizard🦎is free OUTDOORS! And BREATHEeeee...

All this before 🕙10a.m. today does not include the other day's, escapade! I was at work, parked in my usual spot waiting to go into work. Heard a thump; I thought on my car roof, thought it was squirrels, but got out and omGGGGG over 50 caterpillar looking things, BIG; were all around my car on the pavement. I looked and on my front engine top were splotches of grayish red globs; like something from the tree dropped, a nest of 'what the heck were these creepy-crawlies'! They were hard as with a stick, I removed some from my car than quickly ran to park elsewhere; in fear of some or more having already gotten in my car....creepy!!!!!

Yes, I only got one picture to prove this because there was NO way I was going to stand amidst the eerie army to capture the full effect! The sound in the below video, if it works; is scary enough! Sounds like, 'Let's kill her'!

And you thought you were having a bad day!😱

Black Sheep of the Family

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Fri, 24 May 2019 00:29:00 +0000

"The so-called 'Black Sheep' of the family are, in fact, seekers of liberation roads for the family tree. Those members of the tree who do not adapt to the rules or traditions of the family system, those who were constantly seeking to revolutionize beliefs, going in contrast to roads marked by family traditions, those criticized, tried and even rejected, those, by General, they are called to release the tree of repetitive stories that frustrate entire generations.

The 'Black Sheep', those who do not adapt, those who scream rebel, repair, detoxify and create a new and blooming branch... countless unfulfilled desires, unfulfilled dreams, frustrated talents of our ancestors manifest themselves in their rebellion looking to take place.

The family tree, by inertia, will want to continue to maintain the castrating and toxic course of its trunk, which makes its task difficult and conflicting... that no one makes you doubt, take care of your 'rarity' as the most precious flower of Your Tree. You are the dream of all your ancestors "
- Bert Hellinger

Art by Jeremy Enecio

Shared on Facebook by ShamanTube

I P.E.N. Thee: Wake Up Atom (Adam)

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Fri, 17 May 2019 22:10:00 +0000

Cosmic Artist By Alex Grey

♪ Row, row, row your atoms
Gently down the stream of consciousness
Merrily merrily, merrily, merrily
Life is but a dream ♪

Out of the skull of illusions comes the brain; and once that is gone, there is nothing; a mere void, a trifling pretense of something that was once there, something that occupied space and time and preoccupied time and space; but now neither exist except for then. Then when there was once a skull filled with a brain utilized in this thing called life that now no longer exist; but was once existent then; then whence attached to a body. And oh of the body, 'what was that'; a thing clothed in skin, wrapping the bones that encased the skull and trapped the heart in a cage. And what is this of the heart, given literary significance of painful sorrow and joy, when but the heart is just a organ, it beats neither for you nor me. Simply an instrument beating to the rhythm of the lungs. And what is it of lungs but repetitive cycles of filtered pollutants; perhaps even recycled atoms of once upon a 'what was that'. Oh but air, without such there'd be nothing; no gamma waves, no beats, nor sighs; just layers of lifeless flesh, once upon a body. Now a corpse slowly decomposing, awaiting for the dust to settle or burnt remnants of shattered ashes to clear the air. Merely, practical particles; atoms degeneratively converging toward another and yet another form, in a endless loop of looking back wondering,'what was that'; of the skull, of the thing the skull encased, of the flesh, of the caged heart, of the polluted lungs, of the circulating air. Until at long last; thought itself becomes but a thing once thought; unaware that any of this, 'what was that'; convoluted conversation perhaps once existed. Oblivious, forevermore; evaporated into the abyss of never ending nothingness. Having ever so

Creation of Atom by Natalie Doud

briefly emerged from a once upon a time; whence a pendulum jiggled beyond the realms of possibility, creating the greatest optical illusion ever.

Author: Jeane Michelle Culp (ndpthepoetress)
© #922-3-z6-118710-4

Rest In Peace

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Tue, 07 May 2019 15:04:00 +0000

There is a Graveyard on my way to and from work. It is plotted along a winding and twisting road, much like life. Across the road there is a ditch. Given any windy day, you will see the ditch filled with flowers,💐 wreathes... from the graveyard⛼. I understand that's how the gushing gusty winds blow. However; I can't help wonder if it could be ghosts,👻 spirits throwing the flowers....as if to say,🖐️Hey you didn't bring me flowers🌹 when I was alive, so don't bring me flowers now🥀 😢. So please, 'Don't wait until your loved ones are dead to give them flowers', shower people now with flowers.🌹 , kindness, affection, hugs🤗.....❤️ And if you can't afford flowers; there are plenty of free discarded flowers, in a ditch across from the graveyard near me.

*I would have liked to have shown the sad picture of this elongated flowery filled ditch, however; I didn't want to risk life and limb on this winding dangerous road and become another permanent resident⚰️ in that graveyard!😛 ~ndpthepoetress of BindingInk.org

Art by Gypsie Raleigh

The Art of Healing

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Fri, 04 Jan 2019 18:34:00 +0000

*Music: Waiting Arms (2017) by..

This is the art of healing. Drawings by Tina Walker. Her continued journey out of the past and into the present. She is more than a survivor of bullying and other emotional scars; she is a successful woman, a champion of weight loss... She is a nurturer of her faith upon which she is building a foundation for the todays and her future. May you find some comfort in her art; knowing whatever you are going through, you are not alone. There is healing with time, faith, hope, and a lot of work. Find your constructive outlet; express yourself, let the healing begin!

#art #healing #journey #survivor #bullying #emotionalScars #emotions #weightloss #faith #YouAreNotAlone #YouGotThis #expressYourself

My Grown up Christmas List

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Fri, 17 Nov 2017 18:26:00 +0000

♪♫♬ Just a little taste of the new Christmas album :) - Everywhere December 1st! ♪♫♬

The Power of One

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Mon, 11 Sep 2017 04:30:00 +0000

One
by Cheryl Sawyer

As the soot and dirt and ash rained down,
We became one color.
As we carried each other down the stairs of the burning building
We became one class.
As we lit candles of waiting and hope
We became one generation.
As the firefighters and police officers fought their way into the inferno
We became one gender.
As we fell to our knees in prayer for strength,
We became one faith.
As we whispered or shouted words of encouragement,
We spoke one language.
As we gave our blood in lines a mile long,
We became one body.
As we mourned together the great loss
We became one family.
As we cried tears of grief and loss
We became one soul.
As we retell with pride of the sacrifice of heros
We become one people.

We are
One color
One class
One generation
One gender
One faith
One language
One body
One family
One soul
One people

We are The Power of One.
We are United.
We are America.
---------

Cheryl Sawyer is a professor at UH Clear Lake in the counseling department.

*Permission to post poem One granted to BindingInk.org by Dr. Cheryl Sawyer School of Education University of Houston – Clear Lake

Down The Rabbit Hole

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Wed, 09 Aug 2017 13:40:00 +0000

The concept of combining quantum theory and spirituality was originally introduced in a 2004 movie entitled What the Bleep Do We Know!? has now been expanded upon in an extended version of the same film released August 1, 2006, What the Bleep - DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE QUANTUM EDITION.

¹The BLEEP – Quantum Edition explores the latest scientific discoveries that explain the mind-body connection – making them understandable for the everyday, ordinary person. In addition it puts forward revolutionary experimental evidence that we, and our world are not separate, but connected.

²Part story, part documentary, and part elaborate and inspiring visual effects and animations, this extended version features a new opening ³following the journey of divorced professional photographer Amanda (played by Academy Award winning actress, Marlee Matlin) as she comes to understand the sources of her depression and slowly changes her life. During the process Amanda ^2afinds herself in a fantastic Alice in Wonderland experience when her daily, uninspired life literally begins to unravel, revealing the uncertain world of the quantum field hidden behind what we consider to be our normal, waking reality.

The movie's documentary inserts include the world’s top 14 scientist in the field of physicists, neurologists, anesthesiologists & physicians, molecular biology, and spiritual teachers, mystics and scholars who ^3aexplore the links between quantum mechanics, neurobiology, human consciousness and day-to-day reality and talk about the consciousness, psi research, physics, biology, emotion and addictions.

There are 400 visual effects shots and animations in this Quantum Edition. One of my favorite animations is when ⁴Amanda peers through her camera at the wedding reception. She sees into the guests’ bodies and watches Cells running rampant with their molecules of emotion. But this rabbit hole soon turns inside out as the Cells find their way out onto the dance floor to cajole, coerce, and excite the partiers into their favorite brand of emotion. Animations similar to this help us ⁵examine how the brain captures and processes information, and how that influences thoughts and actions. Making the case that humans can become addicted to certain emotions - love, rage, humiliation - just like a drug, and it takes willpower to break the cycle.

The fourth new character in this version is the animated Dr. Quantum by the pioneering physicist Fred Alan Wolf. Dr. Quantum leads viewers through an exploration of quantum physics including the Double-Slit Experiment and Entanglement. My favorite is Dr. Quantum - The Flatland.

I found the most intriguing part of this movie to be the Water Crystals by Dr. Masaru Emotos. He proves that ⁶thoughts and feelings affect physical reality. By producing different focused intentions through written and spoken words and music and literally presenting it to the same water samples, the water appears to "change its expression". ⁷From Mr. Emoto's work we are provided with factual evidence, that human vibrational energy, thoughts, words, ideas and music, affect the molecular structure of water, the very same water that comprises over seventy percent of a mature human body and covers the same amount of our planet.

Also beautifully detailed in his book “The Hidden Messages in Water”:

“Imagine if water could absorb feelings and emotions or be transformed by thoughts. Imagine if we could photograph the structure of water at the moment of freezing and from the image "read" a message about the water that is relevant to our own health and well-being on the planet. Imagine if we could show the direct consequences of destructive thoughts or, alternately, the thoughts of love and appreciation. The Hidden Messages in Water introduces readers to the revolutionary work of Japanese scientist Masaru Emoto, who discovered that molecules of water are affected by thoughts, words, and feelings. Dr. Emoto shares his realizations from his years of research and explains the profound implications on the healing of water, mankind, and earth.” Beyond Words

Thank You Love

As C. Norman Shealy, M.D., Ph.D stated, “^6aHalf of the earth is water; our body is three-quarters water. Water represents the interface between the 4th dimension in which we live and the 5th dimensional sphere of our soul.”

In conclusion; ‘What the Bleep - DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE’ is more than entertaining, it is education. All that remains is the one enduring question "How Far Down The Rabbit Hole” are you willing to go?" Cause the deeper you go down the ‘Rabbit Hole’ the more you learn, the more you discover, the more you understand, the more you see that ‘we are not separate, but connected’.

“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?” Lewis Carroll (Alice in Wonderland)

1. Synopsis
2. Water Crystals

^Wikipedia:Double-Slit Experiment and Entanglement

Related Posts: To Curse, To Ponder, To Wonder or Not

Permission to use photo #'27. Animation characters' from the Press Room, High Resolution Stills from What The Bleep Do We Know!? granted to Binding Ink.org by Webmaster.

July 4th To Our Military

noreply@blogger.com (ndpthepoetress Jean Michelle Culp) — Sun, 02 Jul 2017 18:38:00 +0000

Amidst the fireworks, hamburgers, hotdogs, Family, Friends, picnics, outings, the greatest is our Military.

For those in the Military are the ones whom continue to keep America the "land of the free" and they are proof that America truly is "the home of the brave"

Thank You Troops!:

(The Sign of Thanks) Happy Fourth of July!

July 4th is our 1st and oldest military holiday.

The Meaning of July Fourth for the African Americans by Frederick Douglass (A speech given at Rochester, New York, July 5, 1852)

Independence Day on the Net - Did You Know: 4th of July