Meat of the animal must never be cooked in the mother’s milk. It bothers the mind. It does actually matter what we feed our Self.
The mind (the root/cone) understands how the system works, and it is exuberantly more complex than we imagined, even if the human does not.
The mind knows something is wrong and tries to wake the body/consciousness. You have to train the mind properly, this is possible under a canopy of Gods rules, but every one must agree, you don't nuance Gods measurements.
...
She took the blade of the long thin sharp knife and bore down gently into flesh of the perfect looking apple, hand chosen, with no blemish she could see. She removed the large chunk of the apple and bit down, chewed, and swallowed then looked and saw that under the perfect skin surrounded by perfect flesh there was rot where there should have been none. 'How does something rot from within', she thought, as she used her knife quizzically to discover within. The programer pondered the thought of messaging rot and how it would begin, 'with knowledge of motion and the heat within that once started starts to spin', she threw the whole apple in the bin. She thought again, 'with knowledge there is power but not over others, the understanding of the self, with the help of the mind and Gods Good path Guidance, our bodies are our minds temple for the root cone in our mind.'
It was the year 1905, hormone is the word used for (sign)alers / (chemical) messengers that do the minds bidding, what signals have been crossed here...multileveldimensional question.
...
The pirate walked her ship and saw the ashes from the woman’s circle had not all scattered to the wind, so she gathered them to line her eyes as she felt the cold breeze on her skin.
...
Death's office was a small room in the back of an unassuming red brick home that wanted to be painted white and a porch that was good to have a chairs to sit and rock.
She sat on the sofa that resembled lush earth in the back of the unassuming red brick home that wanted to be white, her black coat she wore for 'going out work' was draped over the arm, as her she wolf slept sweetly next to it, her head burrowed in the smell of the places she was not allowed to go, doing what Death did as she heard the foot steps of her father get louder. She was wearing fitted blue jeans, that stopped three inches above her ankles, black skin shoes lined with fur and a fitted long sleeve black shirt.
"Hey Dad, welcome to my office", she joked, as it was His house and she knew this quite well.
As she got up and greeted him on the other side of the river as is the way and she walked with him. There he saw waste that had piled and needed to be burned, her golden overalls recklessly strewn, and a miniature tree, brought back to life each new season, surrounded by rocks gathered on a stand.
"Is this the waiting room?"
"This is where I keep all the coats Dad." As Death opened the closet door.
His purpose this moment in time was to measure the left window, one side would be best, as he took out his Golden ruler and extended it in front of the duel pane windows Death enjoyed keeping clean so to view her Mothers Garden: year around fresh spring grass, cardinals and river trees, a maple weeping too. Her name plate on the other side of the window so those that could see in would know it was Her Garden, of even Stevens they were in.
...
With purpose she was caught, her birth hidden from the world at the rivers bend, under a canopy of trees as her marriage would be; and they whispered into her mind her name, whiTch she would become.
Krinein is Greek, it means to judge in a time of crisis and to tel so to study, and this is what has been.
Kriste, Xrist, it matters not the spelling but the root. In reality the X is silent except in emergencies and then you shout it as loud as you can, and then their is the rIst, the me, mySelf, and I here on earth until I am one, not God, God is not I, and then I direct it in.
...
There once was a woman heartbroken over all she had seen, the salt from her fallen tears had hit the ground three times too often and she called her mothers name on the bones of her fathers ashes, her heart broken once to often this time, it was time to go back to old stories of things that happen on mountain tops hidden from the below.
...
You can not let other *things* think for you, not chemical or mechanical. It is the best of times to keep the faith it is the worst of times to call it.
The Vulcan soared and left the Romulans behind.
and her Father said,
"That's all she wrote."
and she knew there would be more, it would just be different.
and she closed her apple computer
No comments:
Post a Comment