Presents, a Life with a Plan. My name is Karen Anastasia Placek, I am the author of this Google Blog. This is the story of my journey, a quest to understanding more than myself. The title of this blog, "The Secret of the Universe is Choice!; know decision" will be the next global slogan. Placed on T-shirts, Jackets, Sweatshirts, it really doesn't matter, 'cause a picture with my slogan is worth more than a thousand words, it's worth??.......Know Conversation!!!
How perfect it is that during this season when we are taking stock of our harvest and practicing gratitude that we have as a mascot in our endeavor the humble turkey? The meaning of turkey spirit animal reflects service and sacrifice teaching us to balance receiving with giving. There are many aspects to the turkey’s life that we can relate to directly as we gather ’round with family and remember who we are in the group.
Turkeys are communal and social birds that travel in large flocks. They fly up into trees to perch and roost for the night, but they cannot take flight to travel long distances. This may indicate a need to stay grounded when in a group setting, and to know that you have an escape route nearby that will allow you the opportunity to see things from a higher vantage without having to leave the situation all together. This too can help you see things with a bit of detachment and be less angry or charged about what is going on. Turkeys are very mobile on the ground, running as fast as 25 mph. This speaks of an ability to navigate group settings and to travel with a group very easily. All of these aspects of turkey medicine relate to the family gatherings that happen around the holidays.
Turkeys look like primitive dinosaurs striding along the forest floor with long necks, legs, and tails. They are slender and from a distance, a plain brown. Their feathers do have a stunning bronze-green iridescence up close and at certain angles of light. They don’t have very good depth perception which explains why they tip their head from side to side when they walk. They are trying to determine how far away and big things are. Both the variable color of their feathers and their poor depth perception indicate a need to look carefully to decipher how big or small, drab or flashy, the situation in front of you might be and to not always make a snap judgement.
Turkey males, or toms, are vocal animals that are easily lured in my the call of another male. We all know the characteristic gobble, but they also make an amazing sound called a boom or “chump” which is a sound emitted from deep in their chest that causes the air to shudder. The sound is like a subtle sonic boom. This chump is followed by a hum that is either created by a rattling of their tail or an exhalation of air through their mouth. The mechanism for each vocalization is not fully understood. This reminds us to pay attention to how sounds affect our physical bodies. Which sounds repel or attract you? Turkey might be able to help teach you about how listen to your environment with your whole body rather than just your ears. It is also a reminder to be mindful of the vibration or energy we are putting out into the world from the core of who we are.
The males make overwhelming displays to not only impress females but to intimidate other males. They puff up to almost twice their usual size, fan their tails out behind them, and adopt an obvious strut. Their profile becomes round and compact. The images we are accustomed to seeing of turkeys during Thanksgiving are purely images of tom turkeys displaying. The color on the heads of toms varies. It is said that when they are excited their heads turn blue and when preparing for a fight, red. This is a bird that is not shy to state who they are and how they are feeling. Turkey spirit animal can come into our life to help us learn how to stand in our power, show our true colors, and boom our truth into the world.
Then there are the unassuming, sweet, and relatively quiet females who “purr” and make “soft calls”. When not in full display, the males look very much like the females. The living out loud posture of a strutting tom is the rarity rather than the norm in turkey culture and it is interesting how in our culture we exalt the boastful image of the turkey. Even Benjamin Franklin understood that the turkey could be “a little vain and silly.” [1] It is easy to get boastful in a world that is obsessed with selfies. The usual, humble nature of turkey is a reminder to not get caught up in booming who you are into the world.
The main keynote of the turkey spirit animal is SERVICE. There is a selflessness to turkey medicine for they are known for giving their lives to nourish the tribes of North America. Sacrificing for the sake of nourishing another is balanced turkey medicine. The person who gives to show how great of a person they are, is dancing with the prideful energy of a tom turkey.
Where do you have the chance in your life to give back? How can your acts show appreciation for the abundance in your own life? Are you able to give without any return, without any recognition whatsoever?
In modern American tradition, turkey is obviously associated with Thanksgiving holiday. This is when we gather as a family. Turkey flocks are made up of nuclear family groups that work together to find food and keep each other safe. Isn’t that a lovely parallel? If you are dreading the upcoming holiday season and a house full of pesky relatives, you can call on turkey to help you come into harmony with the flock. Finding ways to help each other and enjoy each other’s company is an important aspect of honoring what we’ve been given.
This is a time of year when we’ve brought in the harvest of our labors, both literal and figurative. This is the season when we say “thank you” for what we’ve been given. By coming into relationship with turkey as a spirit animal, we are asked to study our relationship to what we have and what we give. Are you able to appreciate what others have sacrificed to make your life possible? What are you willing to sacrifice so that others may prosper? Now is a good time to let go like the trees have their leaves and stop checking your bank balance. This is the time of year when you have too many things to do and too many holiday party invitations. Stop weighing the value of one act over another, of one person over another, and be willing to step in what it is that the universe is offering you as abundance. Then, remember to give back to the deep well from which that abundance pours forth.
Their's was a bar that sang a Lude, in the flout an opera cube'd, up with the scarf to warmth of stay!!, how wonder Full the Electric Untouchable!! :)
As 'Once Upon eh Story' sands, the grains of Oats be Ghan'd, the sheep to Ram at bell owe Upped, hi Tech said what is that Felt??, the deer at back The Buck broke ant Lure, as this mountain found.
Reef 'Firs'??
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Won!!,
*http://hca.gilead.org.il/fir_tree.html
The Fir Tree
by
Hans Christian Andersen
(1845)
AR down in the forest, where the warm sun and the fresh air made a sweet resting-place, grew a pretty little fir-tree; and yet it was not happy, it wished so much to be tall like its companions— the pines and firs which grew around it. The sun shone, and the soft air fluttered its leaves, and the little peasant children passed by, prattling merrily, but the fir-tree heeded them not. Sometimes the children would bring a large basket of raspberries or strawberries, wreathed on a straw, and seat themselves near the fir-tree, and say, “Is it not a pretty little tree?” which made it feel more unhappy than before. And yet all this while the tree grew a notch or joint taller every year; for by the number of joints in the stem of a fir-tree we can discover its age. Still, as it grew, it complained, “Oh! how I wish I were as tall as the other trees, then I would spread out my branches on every side, and my top would over-look the wide world. I should have the birds building their nests on my boughs, and when the wind blew, I should bow with stately dignity like my tall companions.” The tree was so discontented, that it took no pleasure in the warm sunshine, the birds, or the rosy clouds that floated over it morning and evening. Sometimes, in winter, when the snow lay white and glittering on the ground, a hare would come springing along, and jump right over the little tree; and then how mortified it would feel! Two winters passed, and when the third arrived, the tree had grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run round it. Yet it remained unsatisfied, and would exclaim, “Oh, if I could but keep on growing tall and old! There is nothing else worth caring for in the world!” In the autumn, as usual, the wood-cutters came and cut down several of the tallest trees, and the young fir-tree, which was now grown to its full height, shuddered as the noble trees fell to the earth with a crash. After the branches were lopped off, the trunks looked so slender and bare, that they could scarcely be recognized. Then they were placed upon wagons, and drawn by horses out of the forest. “Where were they going? What would become of them?” The young fir-tree wished very much to know; so in the spring, when the swallows and the storks came, it asked, “Do you know where those trees were taken? Did you meet them?”
The swallows knew nothing, but the stork, after a little reflection, nodded his head, and said, “Yes, I think I do. I met several new ships when I flew from Egypt, and they had fine masts that smelt like fir. I think these must have been the trees; I assure you they were stately, very stately.”
“Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to go on the sea,” said the fir-tree. “What is the sea, and what does it look like?”
“It would take too much time to explain,” said the stork, flying quickly away.
“Rejoice in thy youth,” said the sunbeam; “rejoice in thy fresh growth, and the young life that is in thee.”
And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew watered it with tears; but the fir-tree regarded them not.
Christmas-time drew near, and many young trees were cut down, some even smaller and younger than the fir-tree who enjoyed neither rest nor peace with longing to leave its forest home. These young trees, which were chosen for their beauty, kept their branches, and were also laid on wagons and drawn by horses out of the forest.
“Where are they going?” asked the fir-tree. “They are not taller than I am: indeed, one is much less; and why are the branches not cut off? Where are they going?”
“We know, we know,” sang the sparrows; “we have looked in at the windows of the houses in the town, and we know what is done with them. They are dressed up in the most splendid manner. We have seen them standing in the middle of a warm room, and adorned with all sorts of beautiful things,—honey cakes, gilded apples, playthings, and many hundreds of wax tapers.”
“And then,” asked the fir-tree, trembling through all its branches, “and then what happens?”
“We did not see any more,” said the sparrows; “but this was enough for us.”
“I wonder whether anything so brilliant will ever happen to me,” thought the fir-tree. “It would be much better than crossing the sea. I long for it almost with pain. Oh! when will Christmas be here? I am now as tall and well grown as those which were taken away last year. Oh! that I were now laid on the wagon, or standing in the warm room, with all that brightness and splendor around me! Something better and more beautiful is to come after, or the trees would not be so decked out. Yes, what follows will be grander and more splendid. What can it be? I am weary with longing. I scarcely know how I feel.”
“Rejoice with us,” said the air and the sunlight. “Enjoy thine own bright life in the fresh air.”
But the tree would not rejoice, though it grew taller every day; and, winter and summer, its dark-green foliage might be seen in the forest, while passers by would say, “What a beautiful tree!”
A short time before Christmas, the discontented fir-tree was the first to fall. As the axe cut through the stem, and divided the pith, the tree fell with a groan to the earth, conscious of pain and faintness, and forgetting all its anticipations of happiness, in sorrow at leaving its home in the forest. It knew that it should never again see its dear old companions, the trees, nor the little bushes and many-colored flowers that had grown by its side; perhaps not even the birds. Neither was the journey at all pleasant. The tree first recovered itself while being unpacked in the courtyard of a house, with several other trees; and it heard a man say, “We only want one, and this is the prettiest.”
Then came two servants in grand livery, and carried the fir-tree into a large and beautiful apartment. On the walls hung pictures, and near the great stove stood great china vases, with lions on the lids. There were rocking chairs, silken sofas, large tables, covered with pictures, books, and playthings, worth a great deal of money,—at least, the children said so. Then the fir-tree was placed in a large tub, full of sand; but green baize hung all around it, so that no one could see it was a tub, and it stood on a very handsome carpet. How the fir-tree trembled! “What was going to happen to him now?” Some young ladies came, and the servants helped them to adorn the tree. On one branch they hung little bags cut out of colored paper, and each bag was filled with sweetmeats; from other branches hung gilded apples and walnuts, as if they had grown there; and above, and all round, were hundreds of red, blue, and white tapers, which were fastened on the branches. Dolls, exactly like real babies, were placed under the green leaves,—the tree had never seen such things before,—and at the very top was fastened a glittering star, made of tinsel. Oh, it was very beautiful!
“This evening,” they all exclaimed, “how bright it will be!” “Oh, that the evening were come,” thought the tree, “and the tapers lighted! then I shall know what else is going to happen. Will the trees of the forest come to see me? I wonder if the sparrows will peep in at the windows as they fly? shall I grow faster here, and keep on all these ornaments summer and winter?” But guessing was of very little use; it made his bark ache, and this pain is as bad for a slender fir-tree, as headache is for us. At last the tapers were lighted, and then what a glistening blaze of light the tree presented! It trembled so with joy in all its branches, that one of the candles fell among the green leaves and burnt some of them. “Help! help!” exclaimed the young ladies, but there was no danger, for they quickly extinguished the fire. After this, the tree tried not to tremble at all, though the fire frightened him; he was so anxious not to hurt any of the beautiful ornaments, even while their brilliancy dazzled him. And now the folding doors were thrown open, and a troop of children rushed in as if they intended to upset the tree; they were followed more silently by their elders. For a moment the little ones stood silent with astonishment, and then they shouted for joy, till the room rang, and they danced merrily round the tree, while one present after another was taken from it.
“What are they doing? What will happen next?” thought the fir. At last the candles burnt down to the branches and were put out. Then the children received permission to plunder the tree.
Oh, how they rushed upon it, till the branches cracked, and had it not been fastened with the glistening star to the ceiling, it must have been thrown down. The children then danced about with their pretty toys, and no one noticed the tree, except the children’s maid who came and peeped among the branches to see if an apple or a fig had been forgotten.
“A story, a story,” cried the children, pulling a little fat man towards the tree.
“Now we shall be in the green shade,” said the man, as he seated himself under it, “and the tree will have the pleasure of hearing also, but I shall only relate one story; what shall it be? Ivede-Avede, or Humpty Dumpty, who fell down stairs, but soon got up again, and at last married a princess.”
“Ivede-Avede,” cried some. “Humpty Dumpty,” cried others, and there was a fine shouting and crying out. But the fir-tree remained quite still, and thought to himself, “Shall I have anything to do with all this?” but he had already amused them as much as they wished. Then the old man told them the story of Humpty Dumpty, how he fell down stairs, and was raised up again, and married a princess. And the children clapped their hands and cried, “Tell another, tell another,” for they wanted to hear the story of “Ivede-Avede;” but they only had “Humpty Dumpty.” After this the fir-tree became quite silent and thoughtful; never had the birds in the forest told such tales as “Humpty Dumpty,” who fell down stairs, and yet married a princess.
“Ah! yes, so it happens in the world,” thought the fir-tree; he believed it all, because it was related by such a nice man. “Ah! well,” he thought, “who knows? perhaps I may fall down too, and marry a princess;” and he looked forward joyfully to the next evening, expecting to be again decked out with lights and playthings, gold and fruit. “To-morrow I will not tremble,” thought he; “I will enjoy all my splendor, and I shall hear the story of Humpty Dumpty again, and perhaps Ivede-Avede.” And the tree remained quiet and thoughtful all night. In the morning the servants and the housemaid came in. “Now,” thought the fir, “all my splendor is going to begin again.” But they dragged him out of the room and up stairs to the garret, and threw him on the floor, in a dark corner, where no daylight shone, and there they left him. “What does this mean?” thought the tree, “what am I to do here? I can hear nothing in a place like this,” and he had time enough to think, for days and nights passed and no one came near him, and when at last somebody did come, it was only to put away large boxes in a corner. So the tree was completely hidden from sight as if it had never existed. “It is winter now,” thought the tree, “the ground is hard and covered with snow, so that people cannot plant me. I shall be sheltered here, I dare say, until spring comes. How thoughtful and kind everybody is to me! Still I wish this place were not so dark, as well as lonely, with not even a little hare to look at. How pleasant it was out in the forest while the snow lay on the ground, when the hare would run by, yes, and jump over me too, although I did not like it then. Oh! it is terrible lonely here.”
“Squeak, squeak,” said a little mouse, creeping cautiously towards the tree; then came another; and they both sniffed at the fir-tree and crept between the branches.
“Oh, it is very cold,” said the little mouse, “or else we should be so comfortable here, shouldn’t we, you old fir-tree?”
“I am not old,” said the fir-tree, “there are many who are older than I am.”
“Where do you come from? and what do you know?” asked the mice, who were full of curiosity. “Have you seen the most beautiful places in the world, and can you tell us all about them? and have you been in the storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelf, and hams hang from the ceiling? One can run about on tallow candles there, and go in thin and come out fat.”
“I know nothing of that place,” said the fir-tree, “but I know the wood where the sun shines and the birds sing.” And then the tree told the little mice all about its youth. They had never heard such an account in their lives; and after they had listened to it attentively, they said, “What a number of things you have seen? you must have been very happy.”
“Happy!” exclaimed the fir-tree, and then as he reflected upon what he had been telling them, he said, “Ah, yes! after all those were happy days.” But when he went on and related all about Christmas-eve, and how he had been dressed up with cakes and lights, the mice said, “How happy you must have been, you old fir-tree.”
“I am not old at all,” replied the tree, “I only came from the forest this winter, I am now checked in my growth.”
“What splendid stories you can relate,” said the little mice. And the next night four other mice came with them to hear what the tree had to tell. The more he talked the more he remembered, and then he thought to himself, “Those were happy days, but they may come again. Humpty Dumpty fell down stairs, and yet he married the princess; perhaps I may marry a princess too.” And the fir-tree thought of the pretty little birch-tree that grew in the forest, which was to him a real beautiful princess.
“Who is Humpty Dumpty?” asked the little mice. And then the tree related the whole story; he could remember every single word, and the little mice was so delighted with it, that they were ready to jump to the top of the tree. The next night a great many more mice made their appearance, and on Sunday two rats came with them; but they said, it was not a pretty story at all, and the little mice were very sorry, for it made them also think less of it.
“Do you know only one story?” asked the rats.
“Only one,” replied the fir-tree; “I heard it on the happiest evening of my life; but I did not know I was so happy at the time.”
“We think it is a very miserable story,” said the rats. “Don’t you know any story about bacon, or tallow in the storeroom.”
“No,” replied the tree.
“Many thanks to you then,” replied the rats, and they marched off.
The little mice also kept away after this, and the tree sighed, and said, “It was very pleasant when the merry little mice sat round me and listened while I talked. Now that is all passed too. However, I shall consider myself happy when some one comes to take me out of this place.” But would this ever happen? Yes; one morning people came to clear out the garret, the boxes were packed away, and the tree was pulled out of the corner, and thrown roughly on the garret floor; then the servant dragged it out upon the staircase where the daylight shone. “Now life is beginning again,” said the tree, rejoicing in the sunshine and fresh air. Then it was carried down stairs and taken into the courtyard so quickly, that it forgot to think of itself, and could only look about, there was so much to be seen. The court was close to a garden, where everything looked blooming. Fresh and fragrant roses hung over the little palings. The linden-trees were in blossom; while the swallows flew here and there, crying, “Twit, twit, twit, my mate is coming,”—but it was not the fir-tree they meant. “Now I shall live,” cried the tree, joyfully spreading out its branches; but alas! they were all withered and yellow, and it lay in a corner amongst weeds and nettles. The star of gold paper still stuck in the top of the tree and glittered in the sunshine. In the same courtyard two of the merry children were playing who had danced round the tree at Christmas, and had been so happy. The youngest saw the gilded star, and ran and pulled it off the tree. “Look what is sticking to the ugly old fir-tree,” said the child, treading on the branches till they crackled under his boots. And the tree saw all the fresh bright flowers in the garden, and then looked at itself, and wished it had remained in the dark corner of the garret. It thought of its fresh youth in the forest, of the merry Christmas evening, and of the little mice who had listened to the story of “Humpty Dumpty.” “Past! past!” said the old tree; “Oh, had I but enjoyed myself while I could have done so! but now it is too late.” Then a lad came and chopped the tree into small pieces, till a large bundle lay in a heap on the ground. The pieces were placed in a fire under the copper, and they quickly blazed up brightly, while the tree sighed so deeply that each sigh was like a pistol-shot. Then the children, who were at play, came and seated themselves in front of the fire, and looked at it and cried, “Pop, pop.” But at each “pop,” which was a deep sigh, the tree was thinking of a summer day in the forest; and of Christmas evening, and of “Humpty Dumpty,” the only story it had ever heard or knew how to relate, till at last it was consumed. The boys still played in the garden, and the youngest wore the golden star on his breast, with which the tree had been adorned during the happiest evening of its existence. Now all was past; the tree’s life was past, and the story also,—for all stories must come to an end at last.
Ruaidhrà Dall Ó Catháin (Rory Dall O'Cahan; possibly born c. 1580 Co. Antrim - possibly died 1653 at Eglinton Castle; fl. late 16th/early 17th century) was an Irish harper and composer.
As with many medieval and early modern Irish musicians, Ruaidhrà was blind (hence his nickname, Ruaidhrà Dall = blind Rory). Captain Francis O'Neill exhibits some uncertainty concerning his lifetime, stating he was born in the time f 1570 to 1650 All that can be said is that he was alive during the first half of the 17th century..
Unlike the vast number of travelling musicians, he was a gentleman by birth, his family being hereditary allies of the O'Neill dynasty. Their territory was Keenaght (barony), now part of County Londonderry in Northern Ireland. Reflecting his origins, Ó Catháin "traveled into Scotland attended by the retinue of a gentle man of large property, and when in Scotland, according to the accounts preserved there also, he seemed to have traveled in the company of noble persons."
His famous composition is Tabhair dom do Lámh/Give Me Your Hand. In the late 20th century, it was wedded to Raggle Taggle Gypsy in a version by Planxty and has since enjoyed a huge resurgence. He wrote a series of songs with "Port" in the title such as: Port Atholl and Port Gordon
"Proud and spirited, he resented anything in the nature of trespass on his dignity. Among his visits to the houses of Scottish nobility, he is said to have called at Eglinton Castle, Ayrshire. Knowing he was a harper, but being unaware of his rank, Lady Eglinton commanded him to play a tune. Taking offence at her peremptory manner, Ó Catháin refused and left the castle. When she found out who her guest was her ladyship sought and effected a speedy reconciliation. This incident furnished a theme for one of the harper's best compositions. Tabhair Damh do Lámh (or Give Me Your Hand). The name has been Latinized into Da Mihi Manum. The fame of the composition and the occasion which gave birth to it reaching the ear of King James the Sixth, induced him to send for the composer. Ó Catháin accordingly attended at the Scottish court and created a sensation."
"His performance so delighted the royal circle that King James I familiarly laid his royal hand on the harper's shoulder. When asked by one of the courtiers if he realized the honour thus conferred on him, to their consternation Rory replied: 'A greater than King James has laid his hand on my shoulder.' Who was that man?' cried the King. 'O’Neill, Sire,' proudly answered Rory standing up."
Bruce Armstrong attributed the following pieces to Ó Catháin:
Lude's Supperprinted
The Terror of Death
The Fiddler's Content
Rorie Dall's Sister's Lament
O'Neill thought that Port Athol, Port Gordon, and Port Lennox, were all Ruaidhrà Dall's.
"Seabhac Bheal Atha Seanaigh", celebrating the wedding of Charles O'Donnell, son of Manus of Rosturk Mulranny Co Mayo to a Miss More, composed to a tune by Rory Dall O'Cathan printed in Bunting 1840.p13.
"It is a curious coincidence that after spending many years with McLeod, of Dunvegan, in the Isle of Skye, O'Cahan should die at Eglinton Castle about the year 1653. In some inaccountable way during his long sojourn in Scotland he became known as Rory Dall Morrison, and this has so clouded his origin and identity as to involve his very nationality in question."
O'Neill was, however, mistaken as their lives didn't even overlap, Morrison being born on the Isle of Lewis around 1656 while Ó Catháin was born in Antrim in the 1580's. Rory Dall Morrison is buried in Dunvegan on the Isle of Skye while Ruaidri Dáll Ó Catháin is buried in Sleat, also on Skye, having spent most of his life in the Scottish Highlands. Maybe this is what confused O'Neill.
This tune is often claimed for either Ruaidhrà Dall Ó Catháin or Rory Dall Morrison. On the other hand, various authors including John Purser and David ...http://clarsach.scot/tag/rory-dall
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PEOCEEDINGS
SOCIETY OF ANTIQDAEIES OF SCOTLAND.
BBC Future reviews some of the simple tricks you can use to assert your influence on your unwitting friends and colleagues.
By William Park
11 September 2015
Human behaviours are governed by superstition, repetition and cliches, which makes us easy targets for mind tricks. If you know the secrets, you could use them to your advantage. For example, we recently told you that the best way to detect a liar is to trick them into giving away too much information, rather than focus on their body language.
There are other ways to keep ahead of the curve. Here are some more surprising facts about reading human behaviours and influencing people’s decisions, plucked from the BBC Future archive and elsewhere:
1. Simply tapping someone on the shoulder, and looking him or her in the eye, means they are far more open to suggestion. Read more: “The hidden tricks of powerful persuasion”
2. Pupil dilation is linked to the degree of uncertainty during decision-making: if somebody is less sure about their decision, they feel heightened arousal, which causes the pupils to dilate. Read more: “How the eyes betray your thoughts”
3. A trick used by pickpockets on drunken targets is to start gently rocking from side to side as they talk to them. The drunk person thinks that they are rocking and so will try to compensate, but will be unbalanced and fall over. As they’re helped up by their assailant, they have their possessions taken. Read more: “How pickpockets trick your mind”
4. People with higher levels of testosterone tend to be wider-faced with bigger cheekbones, and they are also more likely to have more assertive, and sometimes aggressive, personalities. Read more:“What the face betrays about you”
5. Associating the colour red with dominance and aggression is hard-wired into our brains. For example, boxers assigned red kits were about 5% more likely to win their bout than the blues. Read more: “How the colour red warps our mind”
6. In Rock, Paper, Scissors, men are most likely to throw the more “macho” choice of a rock – while scissors are least popular with both men and women. For these reasons, you are safest choosing paper – you’ll either win or draw. Another cunning trick is to say your choice out loud; your opponent will think you are bluffing and therefore choose a less wise option. Read more: “How to win at almost anything”
7. Salesmen have mastered the art of controlling our thoughts. A classic trick used in showrooms is to overprice one product among a series of other very similar products. For example, if four similar espresso machine were on a shelf next to each other, but three were priced at $200 and one at $400, the overpriced one makes the other three look good value for money. The reality is, this shows how little we know about how much an espresso machine should cost. Read more: “The subtle science of selling”
8. Laughter is a “social emotion” that brings us together and helps us to bond, whether or not something is actually funny. When you laugh with people, you show them that you like them, you agree with them, or that you are in same group as them. Studies have found that it also makes them more candid about their secrets later on. So if you want to suck up to someone and get them to tell you what they’re thinking, laughing at their bad jokes is a sure fire way of doing it. Read more: “Why do we laugh inappropriately?”
9. The perceived attractiveness of a woman’s voice varies during their menstrual cycle. Their voice reaches peak attractiveness as the chances of conception increases. This shows how our underlying biology reveals itself in subtle behavioural differences. Browse the data: “Women's voice attractiveness varies across the menstrual cycle”
Read more at:http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20150911-how-to-read-emotions-and-influence-people
Another day in the insane asylum called home. I was given the opportunity to live yet one more day, hooray. I had been playing in my room when I had to go number two, do you remember when we used refer to going to the bathroom that way? We were still living at 815 Balboa Street in San Francisco, California and the man who is meant to be my father but apparently is not was still living there too. He is actually a very cruel kind of guy. He never passed up an opportunity to do what he considered to be "oh so funny" to him. It is as if he had a sick radar working overtime in his brain. He thinks that he is so clever that no one ever gets the inside joke that he is constantly playing on everyone all of the time. Sadly, some of us in life were deemed to never miss that lane of traffic with him. I seemed to actually be the inside joke.
I had just gone into the small room that only has a toilet in it, later to be called the "water closet." I got myself up onto the pot and began what most of us usually do, started pushing with all my might. I had to have been around the age of three because this was still quiet the feat for me and he was still living in the house. Going to the bathroom at this point was just like trying to open the refrigerator downstairs. No matter how hard I tried to open it to get something to eat, I couldn't. I would pull and pull, the door just wouldn't budge.
Anyhow, I was upstairs and you here this, "Karen, Karen come quickly its Santa Claus." I was so excited, I pushed and pushed and I was not getting even close to being done. He (The Father guy) says, "Ho, Ho, Ho, How are you, Mr. Placek, have you been a good boy this year?", all in a Santa voice of course and very believable to a girl my age. He answered in his regular voice and then proceeded to tell him (Santa Claus) that there was a little girl upstairs that would love to see him. The exchange went back and forth at the front door and the conversation went as you probably can imagine it did. I was so convinced that it was Santa and so excited because I was going to finally get to meet him, just like I had been promised.
I finally finished up on the toilet and once I got myself all cleaned up, panties pulled up tight, I ran down stairs as fast as I could. Just as I made the corner of the stairs the front door was closing and then "thunk" went the final slam. I said, "I'm here, I'm here," my father turned and said to me "Oh, I'm sorry but Santa is very busy and he had to go, but we talked and talked forever, he is everything you imagined. Why didn't you come down (he knew I was on the pot) you should have come sooner, you missed the entire thing. He is never coming back." I was devastated for a fraction of a second then ... I just stared at this man that was meant to be father and the hate I felt for him as he laughed about me missing Santa Claus because I was on the pot, boiled me over top. I stared even harder and said to myself, "This man is not my Dad. I don't have a Dad." I have never looked at much of anything the same since that day. So much came to me so quickly it was an over load. It was almost like concrete as it began to set-up in my brain. The laughter was the concrete still in the concrete bag, the words were the water you add to make the mix. The body language was the shovel that you stir it all up in the wheel barrel with and the flagrant disregard for human life was the pour that you make a sidewalk with that lead to the next dissappointment you would experience with this man. He just finished for the last time the torture of my life by making me remember something dreadful, cruel and extremely damaging to my mind on that day. It was all how he drove off from a National Park in Marin County leaving me all alone as night began to fall. He had his head thrown back, his hands on the wheel, sitting in the drivers seat, and he was laughing so loudly it could be heard very clearly, almost echoing through this empty, abandoned parking lot. Just as the station wagon pulled up the hill and was turning towards the left he gave a big huge laugh that could be heard oh so clearly, as the window was rolled down and his elbow was resting on the door itself. He had driven away from the parking spot that I had just make it back too. I was running as fast as I could so that I would not be left again. I sobbed in the silence of myself, devastated, it was my birthday that day and I said so quietly, "Please don't leave me behind." He did it anyway thinking that it was so funny to do to me, all just to see what I would do.
It is happening again, he is doing this to me again, it's him, I know that it's him....
I was stopped on the staircase staring at him thinking, "He is lying to me." Santa never came to the front door. Its not even Christmas anymore. I thought for a moment more and as he turned away from me laughing, he threw his head back yet again and this very loud, audible chortle rose from his belly and erupted out of his mouth. I stood and watched in horror.
It's him, it's him doing this to me..........he's...
I realized for the very first time, just as the puzzle pieces were all falling into place in my mind.
It's him, I know its him doing this to me.
"He is the one that is putting the pillow over my face at night when I take a nap during the day under my bed."
Wait! He's doing this when I am in my bed, trying to sleep. He is suffocating me just like my brother does at night. I quaked within my little girl self, thinking that's why I can't see him coming, I hear the laughter but I never see the person until its to late to move out of the way. To get under my bed and hide, so it looks like I'm not there because he doesn't see either. He is just heading for bed where my head is meant to be. Thats why sometimes I can get away and other times I can't. He is doing this to me with the pillow up in front of his face the entire time, he is blind and doesn't know where I have gone and when he abruptly puts that pillow down where my head was he misses me, that's when he gets angry. And it struck right then and there, he is bringing a pillow from somewhere else, holding in front of his face as he enters my room and moves towards me. I am either just opening my eyes because of that chortle I hear or I don't even have a chance because the pillow now has me flattened on the bed. I struggle and kick and scream and kick and then it all stops again. I'm standing at the door of my room, looking back at my bed and there am again, just lying there with a pillow over my head. This a nightmare, this is my life, this is my family. Why?
Oh my god, this is what has been happening to me this entire time, I have finally figured it out. No wonder I am terrified all the time. Oh my God! It's really them, they really did try and try to eliminate my life. Oh my god, its happened upstairs too. I couldn't figure that out. How was down in the basement and up in my room. Those bastards ended up making my nightmare everywhere.
It's him, it is in the laugh I have never forgotten. A victim? A victim of what? Who? A victim of Infanticide, what's that? I asked.
Wait, Stop!! Oh my god, I'm the victim. I wrote this poem back in 2009, it makes more sense today. It may explain a little better than me just saying O.M.G.,
Victim
I am a victim of extreme violence.
I am a victim of sexual abuse.
I am a victim of manipulation.
I am a victim of spiritual abuse.
I am a victim of my birth,
I was Two, the first full time threw.
How old were You?
I am a good person.
I am a conscientious human being.
I am a vibrant woman.
I have freedom to choose.
I can remember who is who.
Do You?
Conviction of Mind will often find,
memories spare the simple kind.
Stood up too and walked onto,
A Bridge of Life,
with you.
He held me up, when I fell in,
a pity trip! It won't begin.
I am a victim.
That's just it.
6/2009
If you are a victim, then how are you a survivor? It almost seems contridictory to one another. I am so frustrated that I belong to this family. They have been so cruel, I'm a victim of that too.
AR down in the forest, where the warm sun and the fresh air made a sweet resting-place, grew a pretty little fir-tree; and yet it was not happy, it wished so much to be tall like its companions— the pines and firs which grew around it. The sun shone, and the soft air fluttered its leaves, and the little peasant children passed by, prattling merrily, but the fir-tree heeded them not. Sometimes the children would bring a large basket of raspberries or strawberries, wreathed on a straw, and seat themselves near the fir-tree, and say, “Is it not a pretty little tree?” which made it feel more unhappy than before. And yet all this while the tree grew a notch or joint taller every year; for by the number of joints in the stem of a fir-tree we can discover its age. Still, as it grew, it complained, “Oh! how I wish I were as tall as the other trees, then I would spread out my branches on every side, and my top would over-look the wide world. I should have the birds building their nests on my boughs, and when the wind blew, I should bow with stately dignity like my tall companions.” The tree was so discontented, that it took no pleasure in the warm sunshine, the birds, or the rosy clouds that floated over it morning and evening. Sometimes, in winter, when the snow lay white and glittering on the ground, a hare would come springing along, and jump right over the little tree; and then how mortified it would feel! Two winters passed, and when the third arrived, the tree had grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run round it. Yet it remained unsatisfied, and would exclaim, “Oh, if I could but keep on growing tall and old! There is nothing else worth caring for in the world!” In the autumn, as usual, the wood-cutters came and cut down several of the tallest trees, and the young fir-tree, which was now grown to its full height, shuddered as the noble trees fell to the earth with a crash. After the branches were lopped off, the trunks looked so slender and bare, that they could scarcely be recognized. Then they were placed upon wagons, and drawn by horses out of the forest. “Where were they going? What would become of them?” The young fir-tree wished very much to know; so in the spring, when the swallows and the storks came, it asked, “Do you know where those trees were taken? Did you meet them?”
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