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  • A Strange Story

    A Strange Story

    In the northern part of Austin there once dwelt an honest family by the name of Smothers. The family consisted of John Smothers, his wife, himself, their little daughter, five years of age, and her parents, making six people toward the population of the city when counted for a special write-up, but only three by actual count.

    One night after supper the little girl was seized with a severe colic, and John Smothers hurried down town to get some medicine.

    He never came back.

    The little girl recovered and in time grew up to womanhood.

    The mother grieved very much over her husband’s disappearance, and it was nearly three months before she married again, and moved to San Antonio.

    The little girl also married in time, and after a few years had rolled around, she also had a little girl five years of age.

    She still lived in the same house where they dwelt when her father had left and never returned.

    One night by a remarkable coincidence her little girl was taken with cramp colic on the anniversary of the disappearance of John Smothers, who would now have been her grandfather if he had been alive and had a steady job.

    “I will go downtown and get some medicine for her,” said John Smith (for it was none other than he whom she had married).

    “No, no, dear John,” cried his wife. “You, too, might disappear forever, and then forget to come back.”

    So John Smith did not go, and together they sat by the bedside of little Pansy (for that was Pansy’s name).

    After a little Pansy seemed to grow worse, and John Smith again attempted to go for medicine, but his wife would not let him.

    Suddenly the door opened, and an old man, stooped and bent, with long white hair, entered the room.

    “Hello, here is grandpa,” said Pansy. She had recognized him before any of the others.

    The old man drew a bottle of medicine from his pocket and gave Pansy a spoonful.

    She got well immediately.

    “I was a little late,” said John Smothers, “as I waited for a street car.”

  • The Disciple

    The Disciple

    When Narcissus died the pool of his pleasure changed from a cup of sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, and the Oreads came weeping through the woodland that they might sing to the pool and give it comfort.

    And when they saw that the pool had changed from a cup of sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, they loosened the green tresses of their hair and cried to the pool and said, `We do not wonder that you should mourn in this manner for Narcissus, so beautiful was he.’

    `But was Narcissus beautiful?’ said the pool.

    `Who should know that better than you?’ answered the Oreads. `Us did he ever pass by, but you he sought for, and would lie on your banks and look down at you, and in the mirror of your waters he would mirror his own beauty.’

    And the pool answered, `But I loved Narcissus because, as he lay on my banks and looked down at me, in the mirror of his eyes I saw ever my own beauty mirrored.’

  • Maine to the Rescue

    Maine to the Rescue

    “Oh, dear! oh, dear! It’s snowing!”

    “Hurrah! hurrah! It’s snowing!”

    Massachusetts looked up from her algebra. She was the head of the school. She was rosy and placid as the apple she was generally eating when not in class. Apples and algebra were the things she cared most about in school life.

    “Whence come these varying cries?” she said, taking her feet off the fender and trying to be interested, though her thoughts went on with “a 1/6 b =” etc.

    “Oh, Virginia is grumbling because it is snowing, and Maine is feeling happy over it, that’s all!” said Rhode Island, the smallest girl in Miss Wayland’s school.

    “Poor Virginia! It is rather hard on you to have snow in March, when you have just got your box of spring clothes from home.”

    “It is atrocious!” said Virginia, a tall, graceful, languishing girl. “How could they send me to such a place, where it is winter all the spring? Why, at home the violets are in blossom, the trees are coming out, the birds singing–”

    “And at home,” broke in Maine, who was a tall girl, too, but lithe and breezy as a young willow, with flyaway hair and dancing brown eyes, “at home all is winter–white, beautiful, glorious winter, with ice two or three feet thick on the rivers, and great fields and fields of snow, all sparkling in the sun, and the sky a vast sapphire overhead, without a speck. Oh, the glory of it, the splendor of it! And here–here it is neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red herring. A wretched, makeshift season, which they call winter because they don’t know what else to call it.”

    “Come! come!” said Old New York, who was seventeen years old and had her own ideas of dignity. “Let us alone, you two outsiders! We are neither Eskimos nor Hindoos, it is true, but the Empire State would not change climates with either of you.”

    “No, indeed!” chimed in Young New York, who always followed her leader in everything, from opinions down to hair-ribbons.

    “No, indeed!” repeated Virginia, with languid scorn. “Because you couldn’t get any one to change with you, my dear.”

    Young New York reddened. “You are so disagreeable, Virginia!” she said. “I am sure I am glad I don’t have to live with you all the year round–”

    “Personal remarks!” said Massachusetts, looking up calmly. “One cent, Young New York, for the missionary fund. Thank you! Let me give you each half an apple, and you will feel better.”

    She solemnly divided a large red apple, and gave the halves to the two scowling girls, who took them, laughing in spite of themselves, and went their separate ways.

    “Why didn’t you let them have it out, Massachusetts?” said Maine, laughing. “You never let any one have a good row.”

    “Slang!” said Massachusetts, looking up again. “One cent for the missionary fund. You will clothe the heathen at this rate, Maine. That is the fourth cent to-day.”

    “‘Row’ isn’t slang!” protested Maine, feeling, however, for her pocket-book.

    “Vulgar colloquial!” returned Massachusetts, quietly. “And perhaps you would go away now, Maine, or else be quiet. Have you learned–”

    “No, I haven’t!” said Maine. “I will do it very soon, dear Saint Apple. I must look at the snow a little more.”

    Maine went dancing off to her room, where she threw the window open and looked out with delight. The girl caught up a double handful and tossed it about, laughing for pure pleasure. Then she leaned out to feel the beating of the flakes on her face.

    “Really quite a respectable little snowstorm!” she said, nodding approval at the whirling white drift. “Go on, and you will be worth while, my dear.” She went singing to her algebra, which she could not have done if it had not been snowing.

    The snow went on increasing from hour to hour. By noon the wind began to rise; before night it was blowing a furious gale. Furious blasts clutched at the windows, and rattled them like castanets. The wind howled and shrieked and moaned, till it seemed as if the air were filled with angry demons fighting to possess the square white house.

    Many of the pupils of Miss Wayland’s school came to the tea-table with disturbed faces; but Massachusetts was as calm as usual, and Maine was jubilant.

    “Isn’t it a glorious storm?” she cried, exultingly. “I didn’t know there could be such a storm in this part of the country, Miss Wayland. Will you give me some milk, please?”

    “There is no milk, my dear,” said Miss Wayland, who looked rather troubled. “The milkman has not come, and probably will not come to-night. There has never been such a storm here in my lifetime!” she added. “Do you have such storms at home, my dear?”

    “Oh, yes, indeed!” Maine said, cheerfully. “I don’t know that we often have so much wind as this, but the snow is nothing out of the way. Why, on Palm Sunday last year our milkman dug through a drift twenty feet deep to get at his cows. He was the only milkman who ventured out, and he took me and the minister’s wife to church in his little red pung.

    “We were the only women in church, I remember. Miss Betsy Follansbee, who had not missed going to church in fifteen years, started on foot, after climbing out of her bedroom window to the shed roof and sliding down. All her doors were blocked up, and she lived alone, so there was no one to dig her out. But she got stuck in a drift about half-way, and had to stay there till one of the neighbors came by and pulled her out.”

    All the girls laughed at this, and even Miss Wayland smiled; but suddenly she looked grave again.

    “Hark!” she said, and listened. “Did you not hear something?”

    “We hear Boreas, Auster, Eurus, and Zephyrus,” answered Old New York. “Nothing else.”

    At that moment there was a lull in the screeching of the wind; all listened intently, and a faint sound was heard from without which was not that of the blast.

    “A child!” said Massachusetts, rising quickly. “It is a child’s voice. I will go, Miss Wayland.”

    “I cannot permit it, Alice!” cried Miss Wayland, in great distress. “I cannot allow you to think of it. You are just recovering from a severe cold, and I am responsible to your parents. What shall we do? It certainly sounds like a child crying out in the pitiless storm. Of course it may be a cat–”

    Maine had gone to the window at the first alarm, and now turned with shining eyes.

    “It is a child!” she said, quietly. “I have no cold, Miss Wayland. I am going, of course.”

    Passing by Massachusetts, who had started out of her usual calm and stood in some perplexity, she whispered, “If it were freezing, it wouldn’t cry. I shall be in time. Get a ball of stout twine.”

    She disappeared. In three minutes she returned, dressed in her blanket coat, reaching half-way below her knees, scarlet leggings and gaily wrought moccasins; on her head a fur cap, with a band of sea-otter fur projecting over her eyes. In her hand she held a pair of snow-shoes. She had had no opportunity to wear her snow-shoeing suit all winter, and she was quite delighted.

    “My child!” said Miss Wayland, faintly. “How can I let you go? My duty to your parents–what are those strange things, and what use are you going to make of them?”

    By way of answer Maine slipped her feet into the snow-shoes, and, with Massachusetts’ aid, quickly fastened the thongs.

    “The twine!” she said. “Yes, that will do; plenty of it. Tie it to the door-handle, square knot, so! I’m all right, dear; don’t worry.” Like a flash the girl was gone out into the howling night.

    Miss Wayland wrung her hands and wept, and most of the girls wept with her. Virginia, who was curled up in a corner, really sick with fright, beckoned to Massachusetts.

    “Is there any chance of her coming back alive?” she asked, in a whisper. “I wish I had made up with her. But we may all die in this awful storm.”

    “Nonsense!” said Massachusetts. “Try to have a little sense, Virginia! Maine is all right, and can take care of herself; and as for whimpering at the wind, when you have a good roof over your head, it is too absurd.”

    For the first time since she came to school Massachusetts forgot the study hour, as did every one else; and in spite of her brave efforts at cheerful conversation, it was a sad and an anxious group that sat about the fire in the pleasant parlor.

    Maine went out quickly, and closed the door behind her; then stood still a moment, listening for the direction of the cry. She did not hear it at first, but presently it broke out–a piteous little wail, sounding louder now in the open air. The girl bent her head to listen. Where was the child? The voice came from the right, surely! She would make her way down to the road, and then she could tell better.

    Grasping the ball of twine firmly, she stepped forward, planting the broad snow-shoes lightly in the soft, dry snow. As she turned the corner of the house an icy blast caught her, as if with furious hands, shook her like a leaf, and flung her roughly against the wall.

    Her forehead struck the corner, and for a moment she was stunned; but the blood trickling down her face quickly brought her to herself. She set her teeth, folded her arms tightly, and stooping forward, measured her strength once more with that of the gale.

    This time it seemed as if she were cleaving a wall of ice, which opened only to close behind her. On she struggled, unrolling her twine as she went.

    The child’s cry sounded louder, and she took fresh heart. Pausing, she clapped her hand to her mouth repeatedly, uttering a shrill, long call. It was the Indian whoop, which her father had taught her in their woodland rambles at home.

    The childish wail stopped; she repeated the cry louder and longer; then shouted, at the top of her lungs, “Hold on! Help is coming!”

    Again and again the wind buffeted her, and forced her backward a step or two; but she lowered her head, and wrapped her arms more tightly about her body, and plodded on.

    Once she fell, stumbling over a stump; twice she ran against a tree, for the white darkness was absolutely blinding, and she saw nothing, felt nothing but snow, snow. At last her snow-shoe struck something hard. She stretched out her hands–it was the stone wall. And now, as she crept along beside it, the child’s wail broke out again close at hand.

    “Mother! O mother! mother!”

    The girl’s heart beat fast.

    “Where are you?” she cried. At the same moment she stumbled against something soft. A mound of snow, was it? No! for it moved. It moved and cried, and little hands clutched her dress.

    She saw nothing, but put her hands down, and touched a little cold face. She dragged the child out of the snow, which had almost covered it, and set it on its feet.

    “Who are you?” she asked, putting her face down close, while by vigorous patting and rubbing she tried to give life to the benumbed, cowering little figure, which staggered along helplessly, clutching her with half-frozen fingers.

    “Benny Withers!” sobbed the child. “Mother sent me for the clothes, but I can’t get ’em!”

    “Benny Withers!” cried Maine. “Why, you live close by. Why didn’t you go home, child?”

    “I can’t!” cried the boy. “I can’t see nothing. I tried to get to the school, an’ I tried to get home, an’ I can’t get nowhere ‘cept against this wall. Let me stay here now! I want to rest me a little.”

    He would have sunk down again, but Maine caught him up in her strong, young arms.

    “Here, climb up on my back, Benny!” she said, cheerfully. “Hold on tight round my neck, and you shall rest while I take you home. So! That’s a brave boy! Upsy, now! there you are! Now put your head on my shoulder–close! and hold on!”

    Ah! how Maine blessed the heavy little brother at home, who would ride on his sister’s back, long after mamma said he was too big. How she blessed the carryings up and down stairs, the “horsey rides” through the garden and down the lane, which had made her shoulders strong!

    Benny Withers was eight years old, but he was small and slender, and no heavier than six-year-old Philip. No need of telling the child to hold on, once he was up out of the cruel snow bed. He clung desperately round the girl’s neck, and pressed his head close against the woollen stuff.

    Maine pulled her ball of twine from her pocket–fortunately it was a large one, and the twine, though strong, was fine, so that there seemed to be no end to it–and once more lowered her head, and set her teeth, and moved forward, keeping close to the wall, in the direction of Mrs. Withers’s cottage.

    For awhile she saw nothing, when she looked up under the fringe of otter fur, which, long and soft, kept the snow from blinding her; nothing but the white, whirling drift which beat with icy, stinging blows in her face. But at last her eyes caught a faint glimmer of light, and presently a brighter gleam showed her Mrs. Withers’s gray cottage, now white like the rest of the world.

    Bursting open the cottage door, she almost threw the child into the arms of his mother.

    The woman, who had been weeping wildly, could hardly believe her eyes. She caught the little boy and smothered him with kisses, chafing his cold hands, and crying over him.

    “I didn’t know!” she said. “I didn’t know till he was gone. I told him at noon he was to go, never thinking ‘twould be like this. I was sure he was lost and dead, but I couldn’t leave my sick baby. Bless you, whoever you are, man or woman! But stay and get warm, and rest ye! You’re never going out again in this awful storm!”

    But Maine was gone.

    In Miss Wayland’s parlor the suspense was fast becoming unendurable. They had heard Maine’s Indian whoop, and some of them, Miss Wayland herself among the number, thought it was a cry of distress; but Massachusetts rightly interpreted the call, and assured them that it was a call of encouragement to the bewildered child.

    Then came silence within the house, and a prolonged clamor–a sort of witches’ chorus, with wailing and shrieking without. Once a heavy branch was torn from one of the great elms, and came thundering down on the roof. This proved the finishing touch for poor Virginia. She went into violent hysterics, and was carried off to bed by Miss Way land and Old New York.

    Massachusetts presently ventured to explore a little. She hastened through the hall to the front door, opened it a few inches, and put her hand on the twine which was fastened to the handle. What was her horror to find that it hung loose, swinging idly in the wind! Sick at heart, she shut the door, and pressing her hands over her eyes, tried to think.

    Maine must be lost in the howling storm! She must find her; but where and how?

    Oh! if Miss Wayland had only let her go at first! She was older; it would not have mattered so much.

    But now, quick! she would wrap herself warmly, and slip out without any one knowing.

    The girl was turning to fly up-stairs, when suddenly something fell heavily against the door outside. There was a fumbling for the handle; the next moment it flew open, and something white stumbled into the hall, shut the door, and sat down heavily on the floor.

    “Personal–rudeness!” gasped Maine, struggling for breath. “You shut the door in my face! One cent for the missionary fund.”

    The great storm was over. The sun came up, and looked down on a strange, white world. No fences, no walls; only a smooth ridge where one of these had been. Trees which the day before had been quite tall now looked like dwarfs, spreading their broad arms not far from the snow carpet beneath them. Road there was none; all was smooth, save where some huge drift nodded its crest like a billow curling for its downward rush.

    Maine, spite of her scarred face, which showed as many patches as that of a court lady in King George’s times, was jubilant. Tired! not a bit of it! A little stiff, just enough to need “limbering out,” as they said at home.

    “There is no butter!” she announced at breakfast. “There is no milk, no meat for dinner. Therefore, I go a-snow-shoeing. Dear Miss Wayland, let me go! I have learned my algebra, and I shall be discovering unknown quantities at every step, which will be just as instructive.”

    Miss Wayland could refuse nothing to the heroine of last night’s adventure. Behold Maine, therefore, triumphant, sallying forth, clad once more in her blanket suit, and dragging her sled behind her.

    There was no struggling now–no hand-to-hand wrestling with storm-demons. The sun laughed from a sky as blue and deep as her own sky of Maine, and the girl laughed with him as she walked along, the powdery snow flying in a cloud from her snow-shoes at every step.

    Such a sight had never been seen in Mentor village before. The people came running to their upper windows–their lower ones were for the most part buried in snow–and stared with all their eyes at the strange apparition.

    In the street, life was beginning to stir. People had found, somewhat to their own surprise, that they were alive and well after the blizzard; and knots of men were clustered here and there, discussing the storm, while some were already at work tunnelling through the drifts.

    Mr. Perkins, the butcher, had just got his door open, and great was his amazement when Maine hailed him from the top of a great drift, and demanded a quarter of mutton with some soup meat.

    “Yes, miss!” he stammered, open-mouthed with astonishment. “I–I’ve got the meat; but I wasn’t–my team isn’t out this morning. I don’t know about sending it.”

    “I have a ‘team’ here!” said Maine, quietly, pulling her sled alongside. “Give me the mutton, Mr. Perkins; you may charge it to Miss Wayland, please, and I will take it home.”

    The butter-man and the grocer were visited in the same way, and Maine, rather embarrassed by the concentrated observation of the whole village, turned to pull her laden sled back, when suddenly a window was thrown open, and a voice exclaimed:

    “Young woman! I will give you ten dollars for the use of those snow-shoes for an hour!”

    Maine looked up in amazement, and laughed merrily when she saw the well-known countenance of the village doctor.

    “What! You, my dear young lady?” cried the good man. “This is ‘Maine to the Rescue,’ indeed! I might have known it was you. But I repeat my offer. Make it anything you please, only let me have the snow-shoes. I cannot get a horse out, and have two patients dangerously ill. What is your price for the magic shoes?”

    “My price, doctor?” repeated Maine, looking up with dancing eyes. “My price is–one cent. For the Missionary Fund! The snow-shoes are yours, and I will get home somehow with my sled and the mutton.”

    So she did, and Doctor Fowler made his calls with the snow-shoes, and saved a life, and brought cheer and comfort to many. But it was ten dollars, and not one cent, which he gave to the Missionary Fund.

  • Wit Inspirations Of The “Two-Year-Olds”

    Wit Inspirations Of The “Two-Year-Olds”

    All infants appear to have an impertinent and disagreeable fashion nowadays of saying “smart” things on most occasions that offer, and especially on occasions when they ought not to be saying anything at all. Judging by the average published specimens of smart sayings, the rising generation of children are little better than idiots. And the parents must surely be but little better than the children, for in most cases they are the publishers of the sunbursts of infantile imbecility which dazzle us from the pages of our periodicals. I may seem to speak with some heat, not to say a suspicion of personal spite; and I do admit that it nettles me to hear about so many gifted infants in these days, and remember that I seldom said anything smart when I was a child. I tried it once or twice, but it was not popular. The family were not expecting brilliant remarks from me, and so they snubbed me sometimes and spanked me the rest. But it makes my flesh creep and my blood run cold to think what might have happened to me if I had dared to utter some of the smart things of this generation’s “four-year-olds” where my father could hear me. To have simply skinned me alive and considered his duty at an end would have seemed to him criminal leniency toward one so sinning. He was a stern, unsmiling man, and hated all forms of precocity. If I had said some of the things I have referred to, and said them in his hearing, he would have destroyed me. He would, indeed. He would, provided the opportunity remained with him. But it would not, for I would have had judgment enough to take some strychnine first and say my smart thing afterward. The fair record of my life has been tarnished by just one pun. My father overheard that, and he hunted me over four or five townships seeking to take my life. If I had been full-grown, of course he would have been right; but, child as I was, I could not know how wicked a thing I had done.

    I made one of those remarks ordinarily called “smart things” before that, but it was not a pun. Still, it came near causing a serious rupture between my father and myself. My father and mother, my uncle Ephraim and his wife, and one or two others were present, and the conversation turned on a name for me. I was lying there trying some India-rubber rings of various patterns, and endeavoring to make a selection, for I was tired of trying to cut my teeth on people’s fingers, and wanted to get hold of something that would enable me to hurry the thing through and get something else. Did you ever notice what a nuisance it was cutting your teeth on your nurse’s finger, or how back-breaking and tiresome it was trying to cut them on your big toe? And did you never get out of patience and wish your teeth were in Jerico long before you got them half cut? To me it seems as if these things happened yesterday. And they did, to some children. But I digress. I was lying there trying the India-rubber rings. I remember looking at the clock and noticing that in an hour and twenty-five minutes I would be two weeks old, and thinking how little I had done to merit the blessings that were so unsparingly lavished upon me. My father said:

    “Abraham is a good name. My grandfather was named Abraham.”

    My mother said:

    “Abraham is a good name. Very well. Let us have Abraham for one of his names.”

    I said:

    “Abraham suits the subscriber.”

    My father frowned, my mother looked pleased; my aunt said:

    “What a little darling it is!”

    My father said:

    “Isaac is a good name, and Jacob is a good name.”

    My mother assented, and said:

    “No names are better. Let us add Isaac and Jacob to his names.”

    I said:

    “All right. Isaac and Jacob are good enough for yours truly. Pass me that rattle, if you please. I can’t chew India-rubber rings all day.”

    Not a soul made a memorandum of these sayings of mine, for publication. I saw that, and did it myself, else they would have been utterly lost. So far from meeting with a generous encouragement like other children when developing intellectually, I was now furiously scowled upon by my father; my mother looked grieved and anxious, and even my aunt had about her an expression of seeming to think that maybe I had gone too far. I took a vicious bite out of an India-rubber ring, and covertly broke the rattle over the kitten’s head, but said nothing. Presently my father said:

    “Samuel is a very excellent name.”

    I saw that trouble was coming. Nothing could prevent it. I laid down my rattle; over the side of the cradle I dropped my uncle’s silver watch, the clothes-brush, the toy dog, my tin soldier, the nutmeg-grater, and other matters which I was accustomed to examine, and meditate upon and make pleasant noises with, and bang and batter and break when I needed wholesome entertainment. Then I put on my little frock and my little bonnet, and took my pygmy shoes in one hand and my licorice in the other, and climbed out on the floor. I said to myself, Now, if the worse comes to worst, I am ready. Then I said aloud, in a firm voice:

    “Father, I cannot, cannot wear the name of Samuel.”

    “My son!”

    “Father, I mean it. I cannot.”

    “Why?”

    “Father, I have an invincible antipathy to that name.”

    “My son, this is unreasonable. Many great and good men have been named Samuel.”

    “Sir, I have yet to hear of the first instance.”

    “What! There was Samuel the prophet. Was not he great and good?”

    “Not so very.”

    “My son! With His own voice the Lord called him.”

    “Yes, sir, and had to call him a couple times before he could come!”

    And then I sallied forth, and that stern old man sallied forth after me. He overtook me at noon the following day, and when the interview was over I had acquired the name of Samuel, and a thrashing, and other useful information; and by means of this compromise my father’s wrath was appeased and a misunderstanding bridged over which might have become a permanent rupture if I had chosen to be unreasonable. But just judging by this episode, what would my father have done to me if I had ever uttered in his hearing one of the flat, sickly things these “two-years-olds” say in print nowadays? In my opinion there would have been a case of infanticide in our family.

  • The Eyes Have It

    The Eyes Have It

    It was quite by accident I discovered this incredible invasion of Earth by lifeforms from another planet. As yet, I haven’t done anything about it; I can’t think of anything to do. I wrote to the Government, and they sent back a pamphlet on the repair and maintenance of frame houses. Anyhow, the whole thing is known; I’m not the first to discover it. Maybe it’s even under control.

    I was sitting in my easy-chair, idly turning the pages of a paperbacked book someone had left on the bus, when I came across the reference that first put me on the trail. For a moment I didn’t respond. It took some time for the full import to sink in. After I’d comprehended, it seemed odd I hadn’t noticed it right away.

    The reference was clearly to a nonhuman species of incredible properties, not indigenous to Earth. A species, I hasten to point out, customarily masquerading as ordinary human beings. Their disguise, however, became transparent in the face of the following observations by the author. It was at once obvious the author knew everything. Knew everything–and was taking it in his stride. The line (and I tremble remembering it even now) read:

    …his eyes slowly roved about the room.

    Vague chills assailed me. I tried to picture the eyes. Did they roll like dimes? The passage indicated not; they seemed to move through the air, not over the surface. Rather rapidly, apparently. No one in the story was surprised. That’s what tipped me off. No sign of amazement at such an outrageous thing. Later the matter was amplified.

    …his eyes moved from person to person.

    There it was in a nutshell. The eyes had clearly come apart from the rest of him and were on their own. My heart pounded and my breath choked in my windpipe. I had stumbled on an accidental mention of a totally unfamiliar race. Obviously non-Terrestrial. Yet, to the characters in the book, it was perfectly natural–which suggested they belonged to the same species.

    And the author? A slow suspicion burned in my mind. The author was taking it rather too easily in his stride. Evidently, he felt this was quite a usual thing. He made absolutely no attempt to conceal this knowledge. The story continued:

    …presently his eyes fastened on Julia.

    Julia, being a lady, had at least the breeding to feel indignant. She is described as blushing and knitting her brows angrily. At this, I sighed with relief. They weren’t all non-Terrestrials. The narrative continues:

    …slowly, calmly, his eyes examined every inch of her.

    Great Scott! But here the girl turned and stomped off and the matter ended. I lay back in my chair gasping with horror. My wife and family regarded me in wonder.

    “What’s wrong, dear?” my wife asked.

    I couldn’t tell her. Knowledge like this was too much for the ordinary run-of-the-mill person. I had to keep it to myself. “Nothing,” I gasped. I leaped up, snatched the book, and hurried out of the room.

    * * * * *

    In the garage, I continued reading. There was more. Trembling, I read the next revealing passage:

    …he put his arm around Julia. Presently she asked him if he would remove his arm. He immediately did so, with a smile.

    It’s not said what was done with the arm after the fellow had removed it. Maybe it was left standing upright in the corner. Maybe it was thrown away. I don’t care. In any case, the full meaning was there, staring me right in the face.

    Here was a race of creatures capable of removing portions of their anatomy at will. Eyes, arms–and maybe more. Without batting an eyelash. My knowledge of biology came in handy, at this point. Obviously they were simple beings, uni-cellular, some sort of primitive single-celled things. Beings no more developed than starfish. Starfish can do the same thing, you know.

    I read on. And came to this incredible revelation, tossed off coolly by the author without the faintest tremor:

    …outside the movie theater we split up. Part of us went inside, part over to the cafe for dinner.

    Binary fission, obviously. Splitting in half and forming two entities. Probably each lower half went to the cafe, it being farther, and the upper halves to the movies. I read on, hands shaking. I had really stumbled onto something here. My mind reeled as I made out this passage:

    …I’m afraid there’s no doubt about it. Poor Bibney has lost his head again.

    Which was followed by:

    …and Bob says he has utterly no guts.

    Yet Bibney got around as well as the next person. The next person, however, was just as strange. He was soon described as:

    …totally lacking in brains.

    * * * * *

    There was no doubt of the thing in the next passage. Julia, whom I had thought to be the one normal person, reveals herself as also being an alien life form, similar to the rest:

    …quite deliberately, Julia had given her heart to the young man.

    It didn’t relate what the final disposition of the organ was, but I didn’t really care. It was evident Julia had gone right on living in her usual manner, like all the others in the book. Without heart, arms, eyes, brains, viscera, dividing up in two when the occasion demanded. Without a qualm.

    …thereupon she gave him her hand.

    I sickened. The rascal now had her hand, as well as her heart. I shudder to think what he’s done with them, by this time.

    …he took her arm.

    Not content to wait, he had to start dismantling her on his own. Flushing crimson, I slammed the book shut and leaped to my feet. But not in time to escape one last reference to those carefree bits of anatomy whose travels had originally thrown me on the track:

    …her eyes followed him all the way down the road and across the meadow.

    I rushed from the garage and back inside the warm house, as if the accursed things were following me. My wife and children were playing Monopoly in the kitchen. I joined them and played with frantic fervor, brow feverish, teeth chattering.

    I had had enough of the thing. I want to hear no more about it. Let them come on. Let them invade Earth. I don’t want to get mixed up in it.

    I have absolutely no stomach for it.

  • 10 Of The Best Documentaries About The Internet And The Cyberculture

    10 Of The Best Documentaries About The Internet And The Cyberculture

    10 Of The Best Documentaries About The Internet And The Cyberculture

    Over the last few decades, the Internet has grown to an essential communication tool that it became practically impossible to stay away from. Over 500 million tweets are sent in a day, Facebook has almost 940 million daily active users and Google currently processes over 40,000 searches a second! In a world like this, it was inevitable for a unique culture to occur online with its own ethical dilemmas and financial complexities. Documentary filmmakers are one of those who started long ago to think of all of these through in a critical way. We’ve collected 10 of the best documentary movies which explore the world of the Internet and the cyberculture!

    1. The Internet’s Own Boy: The Story of Aaron Swartz (2014)

    The story of programming prodigy and information activist Aaron Swartz. From Swartz’s help in the development of the basic internet protocol RSS to his co-founding of Reddit, his fingerprints are all over the internet. But it was Swartz’s groundbreaking work in social justice and political organizing combined with his aggressive approach to information access that ensnared him in a two-year legal nightmare. It was a battle that ended with the taking of his own life at the age of 26. Aaron’s story touched a nerve with people far beyond the online communities in which he was a celebrity. This film is a personal story about what we lose when we are tone deaf about technology and its relationship to our civil liberties.

    2. We Are Legion: The Story of the Hacktivists (2012)

    The Story of the __Hacktivists, takes us inside the complex culture and history of Anonymous. The film explores early hacktivist groups like Cult of the Dead Cow and Electronic Disturbance Theater and then moves to Anonymous’ own raucous and unruly beginnings on the website 4Chan. Through interviews with current members – some recently returned from prison, others still awaiting trial – as well as writers, academics and major players in various “raids,” WE ARE LEGION traces the collective’s breathtaking evolution from merry pranksters to a full-blown, global movement, one armed with new weapons of civil disobedience for an online world.

    3. TPB AFK: The Pirate Bay Away from Keyboard (2013)

    An intellectual freedoms documentary based around the interpersonal triumphs, and defeats of the three main characters against the largest industry in the known universe. The media industry.

    4. Catfish (2010)

    In late 2007, filmmakers Ariel Schulman and Henry Joost sensed a story unfolding as they began to film the life of Ariel’s brother, Nev. They had no idea that their project would lead to the most exhilarating and unsettling months of their lives. A reality thriller that is a shocking product of our times, Catfish is a riveting story of love, deception, and grace within a labyrinth of online intrigue.

    5. Citizenfour (2014)

    In January 2013, Laura Poitras started receiving anonymous encrypted e-mails from CITIZENFOUR, who claimed to have evidence of illegal covert surveillance programs run by the NSA in collaboration with other intelligence agencies worldwide. Five months later, she and reporters Glenn Greenwald and Ewen MacAskill flew to Hong Kong for the first of many meetings with the man who turned out to be Edward Snowden. She brought her camera with her. The resulting film is history unfolding before our eyes.

    6. The Rise and Rise of Bitcoin (2014)

    Dan is a 35-year-old computer programmer from Pittsburgh who lives a busy life. Along with balancing work, his marriage, and raising his three boys, Dan spends much of his time actively involved in all things Bitcoin. After discovering Bitcoin in 2011, his love and obsession for the crypto-currency was born, revealing an uncharted world of new possibilities for him to explore. Join us as we take a journey through the rapidly growing world of Bitcoin. Along the way, we’ll follow the stories of entrepreneurs and startups that are helping shape the new financial frontier. We’ll look at the competitive mining market and the various subcultures within the Bitcoin community. You’ll encounter a variety of characters and opinions as we examine the social and political impact of an open-source digital currency. Will the rise of Bitcoin bring a monetary paradigm shift that will forever change the world?

    7. Deep Web (2015)

    A feature documentary that explores the rise of a new Internet; decentralized, encrypted, dangerous and beyond the law.

    8. Life 2.0 (2010)

    This feature-length documentary follows a group of people whose lives are dramatically transformed by a virtual world — reshaping relationships, identities, and ultimately the very notion of reality.

    9. Startup.com (2001)

    Kaleil Isaza Tuzman and Tom Herman have had a dream since they became friends at age fifteen: get rich by developing their own dot com company, in some aspect of computer technology interface. Now in their late twenties, they have now come up with the idea they believe will make their riches, namely as Tom refers to it, “parking tickets”: the company will be the on-line revenue collection interface for municipal governments. GovWorks.com came into existence in May 1999 with only an idea. The process of building the business focuses on obtaining venture capital based solely on the idea, with the actual mechanics of the website seemingly almost an afterthought, or at least one left primarily to the hired help. Regardless of the strength of the idea itself in raising this capital, another initial problem they face is what they see as non-commitment by a third partner, Kaleil’s friend Chieh Cheung…

    10. We Steal Secrets: The Story of WikiLeaks (2013)

    A documentary that details the creation of Julian Assange’s controversial website, which facilitated the largest security breach in U.S. history.

  • The 11 Types of Lightworkers – Which One Are You?

    The 11 Types of Lightworkers – Which One Are You?

    The 11 Types of Lightworkers – Which One Are You?

    When it comes to Lightworkers and identifying which one you are, know that it’s highly likely that you’ll embody many of these traits. Pay attention to your inner guidance. Trust your intuition about how you can be of service.

    Because service is so essential for Lightworkers, I’ve categorized the many ways lightworkers serve into 11 different areas.

    1. Gridworkers and Gatekeepers

    These are Lightworkers who are working with the grids on Gaia. This could be the human heart grid that connects the hearts of all awakened humans. It could be the actual grids on the earth that connect sacred sites through lay lines. It could also be higher energetic grids like the crystalline grid.

    There is clearing work, Gatekeeping is a more advanced form of grid work in which you work with your team to open interdimensional gates to allow higher levels of light and love in.

    2. Divine Lightkeepers

    These are Lightworkers whose core mission (or a huge part of their mission) is to embody the light. They are here to retain a higher vibrational frequency and presence despite whatever is happening in the external.

    During tumultuous times and chaotic events, these Lightkeepers are consciously focusing on embodying the light and expanding it out beyond them in order to neutralize challenges and density. They uplift humanity and support us all in the unfolding awakening process.

    3. Transmuters

    Transmuters dive into the negativity in order to transmute it and release it into the light. This returns the negativity to divine neutrality; returning it to presence and balance. Transmuters may be working on behalf of the collective consciousness and all humanity by transmuting past karma.

    There are also a lot of Lightworkers who are transmuting along their ancestral lines. You may have chosen to be born into an ancestral line that has a lot of negative karma, so that you can release, dissolve, heal, and help your entire ancestral line to vibrationally level up. Which in turn helps all of humanity.

    4. Healers

    Healers serve humanity, the earth, animals, all souls, and all beings. Healing can take so many different forms. It can be mental, emotional, physical, or spiritual. There are so many different modalities.

    If you are a Healer, listen to your internal guidance about the modalities, techniques, and ways that you can be of service through your gift. The work of healing as a Lightworker also includes yourself. You’re raising your vibration and filling yourself up with light so you can then heal, support, serve, love and guide others.

    5. Seers, Psychics, Clairvoyants

    These are Lightworkers who have opened their third eye or their psychic sight to see beyond the physical; beyond the veil of illusion. This gift can take many forms.

    You can provide readings or services to inspire, empower, and help guide others. You can also look for areas where healing, transmutation, or release are needed and focus your energy there. This is where your light, power, and presence can most make a difference.

    6. Divine Blueprint Holders

    All of us have a unique divine blueprint; a template for your fully awakened self. All Lightworkers have this template, but the Divine Blueprint Holders are actively tuning into it and retrieving the codes of awakening that are unique to them.

    This way, they embody their codes and send them forth through the crystalline grid, the human heart grid, through service, or love in any form.

    The Divine Blueprint Holders are tuning in to their fully awakened being and shining this forth. This gift also includes the divine blueprint for the awakened earth and humanity. Tune into this awakened template and call it forth to bring ascension into the present moment that is right here and now.

    7. Dreamers

    Dreaming, transmuting through dreams, interdimensional travel, going into the dream space all allow you to access alternate dimensions of experience. Dreamtime is real, so pay attention!

    What are the symbols in your dreams? Write them down. Meditate on them. Every time you remember a dream, take time to ponder it and take some truth away.

    What could the higher dimensional manifestation of that dream be? If you dream that you are going to school, the higher dimensional correlation means that you are, in your dreamtime, studying and leveling up. You’re taking on new skills and gifts as a soul so that you can be of more service.

    There is so much light work that happens during dreamtime. Before you go to sleep, set the intention to do light work and connect with your higher self. Ask your Angels to reveal to you what you most need to know and then pay attention! Dreaming is an incredible opportunity to grow and learn.

    8. Messengers

    A Lightworker who is receiving guidance and messages from the Divine, Angels, Ascended Masters, Galactics, and your higher self is a Messenger.

    Share these messages through videos, blogging, teaching, or writing. Whatever the media, whatever the form, Messengers receive guidance from Spirit and pass it on in order to serve humanity and the awakening process.

    9. Divine Blueprint Creators and Manifestors

    These are the Lightworkers who are actively involved in weaving light in order to manifest positive changes on the earth. This could come in the form of intending and manifesting positive timelines.

    It could come in the form of manifesting positive events or creating the template for greater love, greater light, or harmonious co-creation. Divine Blueprint Creators manifest not only for self interest and self gain, but also for the highest interest of all beings, Gaia, animals, and all of humanity.

    This is manifestation in its highest form. These Lightworkers manifests collectively for the highest interest of all. This is powerful.

    10. Ascension Guides

    These are people who are ascending. They are stepping into greater levels of light and sharing what they’re learning about the ascension process.

    They show us how to overcome some of the pitfalls and how to tune into the blessings in order to help everyone who has the opportunity to ascend.

    11. Wayshowers

    Wayshowers are Lightworkers who are walking their walk. They are showing the way! Perhaps they aren’t consciously teaching as Ascension Guides are, but rather embodying the ascension process, and living in their highest authenticity.

    They live awakened, inspired lives, keeping the highest interest of all beings in mind.

  • Top 10 Real Life Alien Encounters Stories

    Top 10 Real Life Alien Encounters Stories

    Top 10 Real Life Alien Encounters Stories

    An encounter with the aleins from other planets is something that doesn’t happen too frequently with earthlings. However, out of whatever little count of such alien encounters are reported, some of the encounters are really hair-raising and would bring anyone to the edge of their seats. Here are such top 10 real life alien encounters collected from firsthand accounts of the abductees themselves.

    No. 10 – Disappearing of Sonia

    A British woman called Sonia had the feeling that she was abducted. As she also feared that the aliens would return to take her back with them, her husband had installed CCTV cameras in the room. One night, the camera captured her vanishing on her bed, just to return back after 13 minutes the exact same way as she had disappeared.

    No. 9 – The Stanford abduction story

    Mona Stafford, Elaine Thomas and Louise Smith, three friends got abducted by an alien spaceship on 6thJanuary, 1976 while they were returning from Lancaster to their hometown in Liberty, Kentucky. The alien spaceship was a massive, metallic, disc shaped object with ring of red lights around the midsection and a dome at the top. The ladies were later subjected to lie detector tests which they passed with flying colors.

    No. 8 – Kirsan Llyumzhinov’s alien encounter story

    Russian politician Kirsan Llyumzhinov had an encounter with aliens on 17th September when he was being abducted by yellow suited aliens. After being taken aboard a transparent spaceship, Llyumzhinov was initially facing issues understanding the speech of the aliens, which later on became easy as telepathic communication began to happen between the earthling and the alien

    No. 7 – Buff Ledge abduction story

    While working in a summer camp at Buff Ledge in 1968, two teenagers claimed to have been abducted by aliens whom they had spotted earlier in a UFO. The aliens, as per the abductees, did not have lips or ears and had webbed fingers and slits for noses. Various samples were taken from the abductees before they were returned back. People who were not aware of the abductions in the camp and nearby sights had also reported sighting of strange lights the same night.

    No. 6 – Pascagoula abduction story

    Co-workers Calvin Parker and Charles Hickson had reported of being abducted by aliens in October 1973 when they were out fishing on the west back of the Pascagoula River in Mississippi. The men, after being abducted were subjected to a series of examinations which they could not resist as they were temporarily paralyzed, although they were fully conscious. The aliens were three in number.

    No. 5 – Travis Walton’s alien abduction story

    While returning from work on 5th November 1975, Travis Walton and his friends spotted a bright orb in the woods. When Travis got down to investigate, he was shot by a wide beam of bright light and was taken aboard the spaceship. He was found after five days and he could not recall anything that happened in between. After many days, Walton could slowly recollect about his encounter with the aliens.

    No. 4 – Hair of the alien

    In July 1992, Australia based Lebanese Peter Khoury had an encounter with two aliens who looked like women but one of them had a pretty long face with protruding chin. This woman, who was more than 6 feet tall, pressed Khoury’s head in her breasts and in a desperate attempt to free him, when Khoury bit a part of the nipples to tear off a part of it, it did not bleed, neither did the woman show any signs of pain. Later, Khoury discovered some blonde hair wrapped tightly under his foreskin. This was second encounter of Khoury with aliens, the first one happening in July 1988.

    No. 3 – Allagash Waterway abduction story

    Four artists who were out on a trekking trip in the wilderness of Maine in 1976 were being abducted by an alien spaceship. The event had occurred in the Allagash waterway which is why the abduction case is known better as the Allagash abduction case. After being abducted these men were carried on to a spaceship where they were subjected to a number of examinations by the aliens. Like many other abduction cases, the men do not remember anything about this and could only recall when they underwent hypnosis sessions.

    No. 2 – Betty and Barney Hill incident

    While returning from a vacation trip in 1961, US postal clerk Barney Hill and his wife Betty had an encounter with aliens. They were being abducted by the extraterrestrials and were being taken into an alien spaceship where all sorts of medical examinations were being carried out on them.

    No. 1 – Dr. Herbert Hopkins incident

    Dr. Herbert Hopkins, an eminent doctor and hypnotist got a phone call from a man who claimed to be calling from a UFO organization and wanted to discuss matters about an UFO sighting investigation that Hopkins was carrying out then. The man was at his doors at the very next instant after the doctor hung up his call and the appearance of the man was strange too. He was a complete bald guy with no eyelids and was dressed completely in black. His speech was a complete monotonous one and he asked the doctor to destroy all evidences that he had gathered during his investigation. After some discussions, the ‘man’ suddenly commented that he is running low on battery and needed to push off.

  • The 7 Layers Of The Aura

    The 7 Layers Of The Aura

    The 7 Layers Of The Aura The human aura is described as a hazy bubble of light that surrounds a human being from head to toe. An aura has multiple layers that interact and relay information between the body through its seven chakra energy centers, and the immediate external environment.

    Each layer of the aura relates to the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual conditions of an individual. Energetic vibrations of a person’s thoughts, feelings, state of health, awareness, and past experiences are stored in the different aura layers.

    Aura layers are also referred to as “auric layers” or “subtle bodies”. There are seven auric layers that are commonly witnessed. The outermost layer of an aura’s energy field extends anywhere from five to seven feet from the physical body, with the range of its extension dependent upon the overall health and well-being of an individual.

    For those unable to see auras, when one aura field is interacting with another, it can be intuitively described as having a clear feeling that someone is in the proximity of their “personal space”.The seven layers of the aura are listed and described as follows, and can be referenced in the illustration on the left.

    1. The Etheric Layer or Etheric Body

    The etheric layer is the first layer of the aura and spans ½ inch to 2 inches from the surface of the skin, outlining the body. This field of energy connects primarily with the first chakra, our organs, glands and meridians, and relates to the condition and health of the physical body.

    2. The Emotional Layer or Emotional Body

    The second aura layer is called the Emotional Layer and extends two to four inches away from the physical body encircling it in the shape of an oval. This layer is primarily connected to the second chakra, feelings, emotions and experience. It is constantly in a state of change, reflective of our current mood. This layer also stores unsettled emotions such as fear, resentment, and loneliness.

    The energies present in the second aura layer will communicate with the first layer, and then process this information into the physical body. Physical tension, muscle cramps and upset stomach could be a result of the etheric (first) layer being bombarded by emotional pain residing in the second aura layer.

    3. The Mental Layer or Mental Body

    The third aura layer is the Mental Layer. Its extension is four to eight inches from the physical body. This layer is connected to the third chakra, our consciousness, ideas, logical processes, belief systems and intellect. In this layer, thoughts and ideas are rationalized and validated. Mental health and mental issues present themselves in this aura layer.

    4. The Astral Bridge Layer, Astal Body, or Bridge Layer

    The fourth layer of the aura is referred to in short as either the Astral Layer or Bridge Layer. It is eight to twelve inches away from the physical body and connects to the fourth chakra, our sense of love, well-being, expansion and life-balance.

    Where the first three layers of the aura reflect our physical nature and presence, the fourth layer is the window to our spiritual nature, separating the first three layers from the outer three aura layers.

    5. The Etheric Template Layer

    The fifth aura layer is the Etheric Template Layer. It is one to two feet away from the physical body. It connects with the fifth chakra, sound, vibration, communication and creativity. Primarily this layer of the aura serves as a carbon copy of the physical body on the spiritual plane.

    The etheric template layer is the seat of our higher consciousness and higher will. Vibrations from the physical plane and the spiritual plane communicate here, thus manifesting thoughts into substance, and creating paths for all possibilities.

    6. The Celestial Layer or Celestial Body

    The sixth aura layer is called the Celestial Layer. It extends two to three feet away from the body and reflects our subconscious mind. It is where the physical mind comes to connection with the spiritual mind through meditation and devotional practices.

    It is connected with the sixth chakra, memories, dreams, spiritual awareness, intuitive knowledge, trust, honesty, and unconditional love. The Celestial Layer holds our experiences of having a connection to something greater than ourselves.

    7. The Ketheric Template Layer or Causal Layer

    The seventh aura layer is known as the Ketheric Template Layer or Causal Layer. It is connected to the seventh chakra, all knowledge and all possibilities. This layer protects and holds all other aura layers together, and contains the blueprint of our spiritual path, reflecting all of the soul’s experiences and events through time.

    The Ketheric Layer is the link to “God”, “Creator”, “Source”, or “All That Is” within each individual, and extends three to five feet away from the physical body, depending on our spiritual state.

  • Escaping the Matrix: 10 Ways to Deprogram Yourself

    Escaping the Matrix: 10 Ways to Deprogram Yourself

    Escaping the Matrix: 10 Ways to Deprogram Yourself

    Think of the way most people live: they force themselves to wake up in the morning, dress up, drive straight to work, drive back home about 8 hours later, watch TV, and sleep, only to repeat the same routine next day for almost their entire lives.

    We consider this kind of living as normal and even healthy, but if you stop and think about it, it’s not healthy at all. Life is so precious and beautiful, and instead of making the most out of it, we choose to waste it just because we have been programmed to do so.

    Habits, tradition and belief systems have turned us into mindless automatons who don’t enjoy life and just follow a predetermined path that was handed to us by society. This programming, however, can be broken, if we realize that the way we live is preventing us from squeezing the juice out of life, and gather the courage to transform how we think and act. Then, life can be turned into a beautiful celebration filled with laughter, play, and love.

    How to Deprogram Yourself

    Below are 10 tips that will help you to deprogram yourself and escape the matrix you’ve been trapped into since the day you were born:

    1. Break free from the shackles of organized religion

    Dogmatic, organized religion imposes on people what to think and what not to, what is good and what is bad, what is right and what is wrong.

    Thus, organized religion prevents people from using their critical thinking, seeking the truth, and reaching to their own conclusions. On the contrary, it teaches them to blindly follow a set of morals and rules. The result? Emotional suppression and suffering.

    If you want to reclaim your individuality, honestly express yourself and walk on the path of understanding, be sure to break the chains of organized religion and start your own quest for the truth from scratch.

    2. Stop giving your power away to authority

    From a very young age, most of us were taught to doubt ourselves and do only what authority commands us to, even if we don’t feel like doing so. Now, as adults, we don’t trust ourselves, and so we choose to let others have power over our lives.

    We vote for politicians who do nothing but lie to us in order to satisfy their inner hunger, being under the illusion that by voting we are granted the power to choose our future, when in reality the choices we are presented with are very limited and almost exactly the same. So we allow a small group of people to manipulate us for their own personal gain, foolishly believing that they want to contribute to the betterment of society.

    If we truly want to start creating a positive change in the world, we need to stop giving power to a few others and hold them responsible for our lives, and instead start taking responsibility in our own hands so that we can become the creators of our destiny.

    3. Question the current economic system

    Money, in essence, is created out of debt, thus creating the illusion of scarcity of resources, which compels people to compete in the market, who have to waste most of their life working as wage slaves. This inevitably results in the tremendous suffering and social conflict that prevails all around the world.

    In addition, our economic system requires people to consume without end so that money can keep on circulating in the economy, thus urging us to continuously buy things we don’t need and which are going to end up in landfills, poisoning the very environment that we depend on and sustains us.

    If you don’t like this kind of living and would like to create a positive change in your life and the world, I’d highly recommend you to research further into the immensely negative consequences of our economy, and educate yourself on alternative, more technically efficient and environmentally sustainable economic systems.

    4. Detach yourself from materialism

    Being brought up in a consumer culture, we believe that money can buy everything we need and will bring happiness into our lives. So we choose to buy more and more things without end, but we always end up feeling dissatisfied and hungry for more stuff.

    The truth is that money can only provide us with substitutes for what we truly need, but not the real deal. What we need is neither possessions nor services, but things such as love, friendship, and creativity. So don’t be concerned about which is the next best thing you can buy, and instead invest your time and efforts in achieving heart-opening and mind-expanding experiences that money can’t buy.

    5. Be mindful of what you put into your body

    Is what you’re eating contributing to your health or is it poisoning your physical organism? Is what you’re eating environmentally sustainable, or is it negatively impacting the natural world? These are some important questions that all people should ask themselves.

    Most people choose to eat foods which are filled with sugar, preservatives, and which are empty of nutrients or contain animal-derived products, unaware that their food choices are detrimental to their health, contribute to the suffering and death of tens of billions of animals, and have a tremendously negative impact on the environment.

    From now on, be sure to choose carefully what you choose to put into your mouth, and I assure you that this is one of the best things you can do for yourself and the world.

    6. Choose your news sources wisely

    Knowledge is power, but we are drowning in an ocean of information.

    Corporate media presents us all the time with biased information, fooling us into believing the lies they tell in order to manipulate us exactly the way they want.

    A true seeker of knowledge does not accept anything on belief, but seeks out for facts and tries to develop a spherical understanding of the matter he/she is looking into.

    If you don’t like being mislead, and desire to better understand what’s going on in the world, do your best to collect information from as many sources as possible and use critical thinkingin order to reach to your own conclusions about what’s true or not.

    7. Read eye-opening, mind-empowering books

    There have been plenty of wise individuals who’ve written books in which they share their thoughts on life’s problems and how they can be overcome. Many of them criticized the workings of society and offer their insights on how we can help create a more beautiful world.

    Books, therefore, could be immensely helpful in opening our eyes and improving the quality of our lives, yet the sad truth is that not a lot of people spend much of their time reading books — or they just choose to read for entertainment reasons alone.

    To get the most out of reading books, be sure to not just pick any book and read it — read those ones that touch your mind and heart and provide you with new perspectives that help you to better understand yourself and the world.

    8. Escape the herd mentality

    Just as every person alive, you are a unique individual with unique talents and gifts to offer to the world.

    Unfortunately, society has suppressed our individuality since the day we were born. We’ve been programmed to doubt ourselves and conform to what is considered as normal. This, however, prevents us from embracing ourselves and creating our own path in life, which is causing us immense emotional pain.

    From today, distance yourself from the herd mentality and start paying attention to your inner voice — doing so will allow you to follow your calling and live the way you truly want to live.

    9. Creatively express yourself

    A great way to deprogram yourself from the normalcy of modern life is to focus your attention on creativity.

    We’re all born creative, but slowly slowly our creativity has been suppressed so much that we’ve almost forgotten that we’re creative beings.

    To be creative means to think outside the box and see life from different perspectives. Most importantly, to be creative means to find out new ways of living and realize that you have the power to manifest the kind of life you desire.

    10. Develop mindfulness

    Lastly, learning how to live in the present moment is a great way to break free from your conditioning.

    By being mindful of the here and now, you’ll be able to respond to whatever happens each and every moment spontaneously, without being a victim of your past.

    There are many meditation techniques out there that can help you to become mindful, so find the ones that you like most and stick to them until you see positive results in your life.

    “The Matrix is a system, Neo. That system is our enemy. But when you’re inside, you look around, what do you see? Businessmen, teachers, lawyers, carpenters. The very minds of the people we are trying to save. But until we do, these people are still a part of that system and that makes them our enemy. You have to understand, most of these people are not ready to be unplugged. And many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on the system, that they will fight to protect it.” ~Morpheus,The Matrix