Age of Ages: part 1

Age of Ages

Part 1

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by Thadd Presley

John spoke slowly into the microphone, but his confidence soared. “We survived the Y2K bug and the end of the Aztec calender. Not to mention, the multiple other dates of destruction that have come and gone taking with them the so-called prophets who wrongly spread fear in our hearts and spirits. And I suspect we will continue onwards and upwards into the coming Age of Aquarius where the majority of the people will begin to understand that we are all part of a single cosmic experience and just how important we are to each other. Everyone will begin to see that we are all the same, but different. This is what I have come to understand as enlightenment and what my book is about. Knowing that we are all the same, but different will cause us to ask why we are different and what our true role as a human might be.

“After all, what is the point of life? Does anyone have an idea?”

John knew most people thought they had an idea of what life was about. John expected answers like: Love, finding God, helping others, even punishment for past sins. But, No one in the audience raised their hand.

“To understand that each action, even the slightest thought, affects each and every other action and thought becomes the experience we all share as reality. This is called a collective consciousness and we are all responsible for it and subject to it.”

John stood and the small audience clapped. Three people in the front row stood, which caused the others to stand. It was the beginning of his book tour. He was only fifty miles from his house, but everyone seemed to get into and enjoy the things he told them. This made him feel good.

Even better than drugs, he thought. But that wasn’t hard to do because pills had pretty much stopped working for his pain and barely helped at all. So, this was a nice surprise. A standing ovation helped his pain more than anything he’d ever experienced. Actually, it felt good just to say these things out loud to anyone. The ideas had been in his head for so long he was beginning to think he would never find a publisher or a decent distributor.

As his head continued tingling with energy. It felt as if he was having an out of body experience and, even though there were only thirty-two people in the audience, he knew this was a sign of things to come. A good sign, he told himself.

Still Alive

My dad told my mother that it was not the right time in his life; that everything was happening too fast and he wanted to wait a few more years. So, when she started crying, he knew he had her convinced. They went together.

The small office was in a house on South Laughter Street, right downtown next to the municipal swimming pool.

Outside. a few feet from the road was a sign, sticking out of the lawn like a cheap campaign slogan. Written in an old English font and beginning to fade in the sun.

“Cash only, discretion is our only priority.
S. Laughter Street Clinic.”

Mother cried when she read it.

Inside a man took them into a surgical theatre and asked my mother to relax and lay on the table.  My father didn’t want to stay in the room, but the doctor ordered him to.

“Murder is not easy, Mr. Frente.” He put on plastic gloves. “Your wife  will need you to take some of the blame once she realizes what she’s done. To stand at the morning mirror tomorrow, alone and before God, will not be like it was this morning. I hope you understand that.”

My mother started crying again.

“Why do you cry?” The doctor asked perplexed.

She said nothing, sobbing.

“Why is she crying?” He asked my father.

My father looked at my mother. “She doesn’t want to be a murderess.”

“Do you blame her?”

“No, but we can’t have a child now. We’re not ready. There’s too much at stake. My job, the money. There’s just to much to do before…”

The doctor nodded his head and went to his cabinet where he brought back a bible. Inside he had a page marked. “will you please read from the highlighted area before we begin?”

Pushing the bible away from him, he yelled. “What’s this?”

“Just read the last rights. At least you can do that much.”

“No. I will not. Now, you have the money. So, do your job, will you?”

“I’m afraid you don’t understand. sir. I’m not going to do it. I’m going to explain the instruments to you and you are going to do it. Anyone can do it once they are shown how.”

“What?” He couldn’t stand it anymore. “I paid you to do it. What do you think? I’m no doctor.”

“You don’t need a doctor. Doctors are for healing people. You need a clean room, clean instruments, and secret place to commit murder, which I have provided for you. You need me to stay quiet once you are finished killing this child and, since you have paid me very well to do so, I will. But I am not a murderer. No amount of money could persuade me to kill an innocent child.”

My mother was off the table and through the door before my father could reply. She did not return to the car, but instead called a taxi and only left the S. Laughter Street Clinic when it arrived.

She divorced my father and has never seen him again.

The first entry in my journal is this: my mother was convinced to have an abortion, but in the end it didn’t matter. I was still born.

 

The Perfect Day

 

Sometimes, someone has a bad day. No, that’s not right at all.  Everyone of us have bad days. But, we find numerous ways to deal with it. Each of us something different. There are those who find clever ways to ignore the bad happening. These people can be said to only see the good things that happen. Then, there are those who have a habit of dwelling on the bad happening and allow it to affect the rest of the day. These two approaches are pretty much the limit of dealing with a bad day.

But, there are a growing number of people who recreate the bad day over and over again. Examples of this are: couples who argue over the same issues every morning, employees who take the same route to work and find themselves upset, rude and flustered, many who repeat the same day expecting a different tomorrow.

The fear of Scarcity and Victimization makes up 99% of human thinking. The idea that there is not enough keep most of us from taking chances. Everything that happened yesterday becomes an excuse of why today is the way it is, why someone is the way they are, why someone does not have what they want to have.

There are so many creative people in the world, I can fairly say that one is reading this now. Are you a creative person? Do you have a creative soul? Do you want to change your life? I have an idea that might make a difference in your day. First, let’s think about your day and how you want it to start and end.

Then, plan your perfect day.

Write it hour by hour like a film script. Be as detailed as you want to be. Who are the characters? What is the goal of the play (the day)?  Since you are the protagonist, who or what is the antagonist? Be specific and really look at your day as if you have control over how it is going to play out.

This is one thing that needs to be done because at some point you have to take responsibility for the day you create. You are the reason your day is the way it is. You created it with your mind, with your actions, and with your fear based intention.

Write your perfect day and begin to make it a reality. Do not write it from scarcity or fear. But, instead, write the day as if there is no bounds, nothing off limits, and you can be exactly the person you are.

Thanks for reading and have a great day.

 

Creative People And their Muse

Breaking down poetic boundaries and looking inside

 

Have you ever met someone very interesting and wanted to get to know them?

If you have, and most of us have, you will better understand what it feels like for a writer to have a new idea. The ideas do not appear as words interacting with other words. The characters are people, who live in towns and cities, and have lives and hopes and dreams of their own. Connections are built between the characters that lead to dynamic interactions and have lasting consequences for the story.

While writing the story, feelings develop for the characters because the writer knows how they feel. It’s with these emotions, the ones that exist in the writer’s mind that create characters so real and interesting, that the reader becomes involved and develops emotional attachment.

Ideas sometimes grow into forbidden orchards and conversations sometimes bloom into beautiful gardens.

It might seem strange to you that a writer creates a killer who carries a knife with a short, dull blade because he likes to watch the light’s in his victims eyes flicker out right after they die. And how about the writer who talks about a character as if the person is really alive? It might seem strange when a writer models a victim or love interest after someone they know in real life. But, writing is a very strange thing indeed. It’s strange to have people talking in your head, strange to imagine murdering someone and how to get away with it. Writing is strange in a million ways.

Time and time again, creative people collect poison water from a shallow spring and carefully filter it until it is clear and sparkling.

Writers enjoy creating people and stories. It’s part of their lives. The Muse gives her stories and takes them away. Life is good when the Muse dances. Life is miserable when she hides herself away. It becomes like a drug. It’s their way of life. The Muse is an important part of any creative person’s mental and emotional support group.

 

So the next time the creative person in your life is talking about their story as if it is real or you recognize features of a character in the checkout line at the neighborhood grocery store, just be happy that the creative person is being creative.

Five Minutes Will Change Everything

It was hell on Earth and many didn’t make it out alive. Yet, hope prevailed and those who survived mark it as a defining time in their life. Because many don’t have such moments to look back on, they don’t consider the amazing blessings they have before them; and so, things such as depression and anxiety grip the masses and keep them from enjoying life, erasing the possibilities of their pursuit and replace it with loneliness and fear.

Drugs help and counseling has it’s place, but nothing is as affective as living everyday to it’s fullest degree. Good days and bad days, even hell on Earth, manipulate the equation of life and change the outcome of each and every moment; so much so, that the memory of a once hellish moment factors into the present and changes what one feels about then and now.

If you are depressed, if you are lonely, if you are anxious go outside. I urge you to take a step in a new direction. Just for five minutes do the thing that you so badly want to try, do the thing you think you can’t, press yourself to reach farther than you did yesterday, and for those five minutes you will be a super human because you are doing what you thought was impossible. Sp, you truly became a Super You.

No matter the life, no matter the station, no matter the family you were born into, you can be the person you want to be. Whether you want to be an artist, a musician, a writer, or maybe you’ve been dreading the crowd at the local store, you can do it. All of it.

You are capable of amazing things because you are an amazing person. You are a unique person and all your dreams are  front and center, waiting for you to believe in yourself enough to claim them. The only thing that stopped you from being the person you’ve always wanted to be is the fact that you’ve not thought it possible. Something, or possibly someone, made you believe that you weren’t worthy of the dreams you have, that whether or not you will achieved your goals depended on someone else. Well, you are worthy and whether or not you reach your dreams depends on you.

Five minutes, right now, will change your life forever. Write that story, draw that picture, play that song, face that crowd, become that person you want to be.  Being a Super You will get easier five minutes at a time.

Automatic Writing, Channeling, or Dowsing Fiction

Dowsing Fiction: Part 1
“Getting in Touch with Yourself”

by thadd presley

 

There are many ways to get into the flow of writing. But, lately the usual hasn’t been working for me. Things like music, background noises, even sounds from the forest right outside my house have been distracting enough to interrupt my train of thought. And if you are a writer or happen to live with a writer, possibly even if you know a writer, you know all there is to know about not breaking their focus. It’s brutal for you and them. Trust me, a writer’s frustration towards anyone who interrupts them is worse than the painters, musicians, and maniacs put together. But, through this dark mass of frustration, I have found a new device I’m willing to try. One which I would like to share with you.

It’s a method called automatic writing, but you must be warned that some believe it to be dangerous. Their fear is somewhat justified by numerous accounts throughout history. The danger, they say, comes from the idea that automatic writing is a form of spirit possession. The same way a medium channels the dead, an automatic writer is allowing someone besides themselves to control their body. By doing so they are opening a doorway, much like an Ouija board, which could create a connection with something other than intended.

My own belief about the dangers of automatic writing is this: Thereis always a chance of being influenced by a spirit, or the entire spirit world, just as we are being influenced by demons or helped by angels every moment of everyday of our life. I believe completely in the invisible world. So, my warning, is to become smarter everyday by researching things before you attempt them.

We know many of many instances, places, things, and even people that open us up to the influences from the spirit world, so it’s nothing we haven’t experienced before. We’ve all been to church, temple, or mosque and felt a higher force guiding us, and we’ve all heard a song and been transported to another time and place by the music, we all been in a group and heard a convincing speaker, or read something that made us emotional, and we’ve all been subjected to ideas and thoughts not our own. Automatic writing is no different. However, a little caution and a little research goes a long way on the first day of any project.

On this first day, anyone wanting to attempt automatic writing should not focus on the writing coming from anywhere but inside of themselves. Trying to understand the story inside of yourself should be the point of this exercise. To divine your own purpose, your own story, and access your higher self, or your subconscious mind as as some might put it, will unlock a treasure of knowledge that has been suppressed throughout your life.

The step by step guide on how to begin automatic writing will be in the next part.  For now, I urge anyone interested in this method to research meditation and choose a style to practice. Also read about an Egyptian named Thoth and allow the knew knowledge to guide you.

 

 

 

SCP Foundation

If you’re ever looking for a new idea to write about or just something to read about that will lead you deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole of creativity and what-ifs in our universe,  I urge you to look into the SCP files on the link below.

Secure, Contain, Protect

Here you will find creatures, objects, and people along with their back stories that will either excite your own creativity or scare you senseless.

I’ve often wondered if some of the articles on the site are fake, I mean … real…  And I find myself thinking of them at night when the lights are off.  Take a look for yourself.  It will change the way you think of our world, of your stories, and the way fictional universes begin.  And possibly explain how the universe we live in began.

 

 

Don’t Plan For Worst Case Scenarios

“Worst Case Scenarios and Why You Should Never Plan For Them”

 

Someone just told me they plan for the worst case scenario, just in case it happens. I believe they think they are doing the right thing by planning for the worst outcome, but I say: planning for the worst outcome is the absolute worst thing anyone could ever do to their future.

Here is why:

Exactly where do you think the future comes from? Do you think it will be an accident when it gets here? Do you think it’s planned out before hand, as if we are on a roller coaster ride with no control of how it’s going to turn out? Do you think there is force in the universe that takes our desires and weighs it against what we deserve and decides what we should get one way or another?

I’ve heard it said in many different ways, but it always comes down to the same principal. When we think about the worst thing that could happen to us, we are creating the possibility for that exact outcome. And our thoughts affect our future and, not only that, they affect the futures of those around us. For example, in one case alone, our thoughts affects the outcome of our desires and our dreams and the very things that we spent my time and energy to create, but there’s more than just us depending on the outcome of our future. Family, co-workers, friends, teammates, lovers, and everyone else who wants to see you be a happy and successful person.

Instead of thinking of the worst that could happen to us, we should spend our valuable time in a much wiser way: such as, thinking about all the great things that are going to happen because we achieved the goal we had in mind. Again I point out: We think of the good things that will happen because we succeeded and even out-did our wildest expectations.

Our thoughts are not on winning or losing. They’re about the wonderful things that will happen because we won the day. Will we become rich or famous or travel the world or a combination or all three at once.

But, I can hear you say: I think of all that stuff, too. I’m just planning on the worst in case scenario just in case something happens.

Well, like what? What might happen?
And I warn you to be careful because you’re thoughts have unmeasurable, an possibly unlimited power. So, only do this if you are sure your thoughts do not affect the future and, even then, only do it for a second. But, what type of plan do you have and for what worst outcome are you preparing? How many “worst happenings” do you plan for? Does it go as far as death and do you have your life insurance paid up?

Well, that’s exactly what I mean.
So, let’s face the facts. You either believe that we can create our version of reality and get to experience the things we want or you don’t. You believe that we are either in control of our life or we’re not. You believe that God either wants you to be a prosperous person overflowing with all your desires or he doesn’t.

You either believe that our thoughts have some power beyond the pictures and sounds they make in our head or you don’t. You either believe we are an important part of the universe or we are just something in the universe?

So which is it? Are we a part of it or are we just something in it?

I want you to know that your thoughts do affect the universe because they are part of the universe, and not just some part of the universe, you are an important part, a creating part, a thinking part, a deciding part. You are alive and your thoughts are alive. Act like it. You are not a victim of what happens to you, you are a creator of what happens to you and to the universe.

Poetry: MESSIAH

 

M.E.S.S.I.A.H.

by Thadd Presley

Miracles mirror the Maker’s material
Even established events of entertainment are ethereal
So that such a show of Self, so shamelessly spiritual,
Should somehow shatter the signal of the subliminal
Image of the Immaculate Individual
And allow an Appreciation of anything abysmal
However Hellbound the Heretic’s Hypocritical Hymnal

Reverse Image (part 3)

Reverse Image
part 3
by Thadd Presley

What Delilah saw at that moment frightened her. The top half of her mother’s face changed. First, her pupils dilated, but not together. Each one on its own grew to the maximum size and then shrunk back down again. Her nose flared much like a horse’s would in the spring. Delilah stood and stepped away from the table. Her mother had become someone else.

She didn’t know why this was happening, but she thought it might be a stroke. Her mother was still young. Thirty-eight was young for anyone to die.

Clare saw a color of red that she never knew existed. It filled her vision and then doubled over on itself. She saw the walls of her world deepen and drown in the color. It was the color of murder, of hatred and sex and violence. God didn’t create this color to be seen and talked about. I was the last color anyone was ever to see. She knew deep in her heart that she was dying and it was a good thing.

“Mom. God.” Delilah screamed and ran to the breakfast counter where her cell phone laid. “911,” she screamed. “911.”
A woman had answered the emergency line before Clare knew what to say. “What’s your emergency?”

“My mom. My..she’s having a heart attack.”

“OK. Calm down. What’s your address.”

Delilah took a deep breath and answered all the questions.

Finally, there were sirens in the air.

The siren grew louder and closer. Too close for them to be for anyone but herself.

Clare opened her eyes. Red still covered everything and she still certain she would die. No one saw that and lived, she kept telling herself. No one could see that and live.

“Mom. Mom.”

The voice of her daughter was there in the red somewhere and that was somehow the worst part of it all. Why did she have to be involved?

The sirens stopped and doors slammed. The red was growing. It was outside now. Even the sky would be covered in red.
“Ma’am? Can you hear me?”

No, Clare thought. If I hear you then the red will get you.

“Look at her eyes, Cap. What do you think happened?”

“Looks to be a serious case of subconjunctival hemorrhage.”

Delilah screamed. The next thing she saw was the kitchen floor.

“She’s coming around, Cap. You alright sweetheart?”

“My mom. She had a hemorrhage. Her brain.”

The paramedic sat down beside her and smiled. “Let’s sit up.” He helped her. “There now. Your mom is fine. It was scary for her and for you, but that’s all. Nothing serious.”

“What happened?”

“Well, we don’t know why but she became extremely stressed and it busted a blood vessel in her eye. Both of them actually. She’s going to the hospital.”

“She’s OK?”

“Yes. Very OK.”

“I want to go with her.”

“That’s fine. You want to go ahead and stand up?”

Together, they managed to walk to the ambulance.

A moment of panic shot through Delilah’s chest when she saw her mother’s eyes. They were both filled with blood. Her mother looked like a zombie. Quickly, she snapped a picture and smiled.

“I got your good side that time.”

“You’re not funny. I don’t know how you can laugh at me. After what you’ve done. Being pregnant is hard enough on a family, but…”

“Pregnant? Mom!” For a moment, Delilah didn’t think she heard her right. “Mom, I’m not pregnant. Who told you that?”
“Don’t lie to me. You already…”

“I’m not pregnant. You must have hit your head or something when you fell.” She looked at the paramedic who wishing he was invisible. “I’m not, I swear.”

Clare was visibly upset.

“We can settle this once we get to the hospital,” he told them. “There is a planned parenthood clinic there that offers free pregnancy tests. You can go from there. How’s that?”

“O.K.” Delilah quickly assented.

Clare didn’t say anything but nodded her head.

“Let’s get this rig on the road, Cap!”

Slowly, the ambulance made it’s way onto the street and ten minutes later they pulled in at Methodist Medical Center.
An hour later, mother and daughter sat together in the E.R. A negative pregnancy test sat in a paper cup, wrapped in a paper towel.

“But, I don’t understand why you thought I was pregnant in the first place?”

“You said you found out something this morning and I thought you meant…”

“Mom, jeez. I learned something from Youtube that’s all. Really, I should have realized it a long time ago.” She smiled. Her mother’s blood red eyes looked back at her. “Oh, I’m sorry. I love you, mom. Thank you for worrying about me.”

“Well, child, that my job. It’s not this hard most of the time. What can I say? You’re a good kid.”

Ryan was escorted into the room by a nurse who was telling him that everything was going to be fine. “Clare is in no danger,” she said. “She just had a scare and fainted.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s been one heck of a morning for all of us.”