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B"H
Reaching Infinity
Introduction
Life's like extracting sweet tasting fresh fruit from a walnut and partaking in a natural joy
of life. From the moment of birth, we face with the tribulation of loneliness and concomitant
yearning for graciousness and closeness that had encompassed us the nine-month journey into
this world. The cries of an infant are expressions of craving to return to the state in which
satisfaction was intrinsic to the rhythmic beating of our heart attuned to the surrounding
environment that's organic satisfaction. Thus, the entirety of life is seeking appreciation for
the individuality that beyond our control is dependent on finding pleasure in the eyes of the
forces with whom to be reconciled. This is true of our adaption and performance of tasks that
ensure our survival, and those that bring us into contact with other beings associated to our
species.
The same applies to trees; the leaves are dependent on the flow of nutrient and fluids
drawn against the force of gravity that are intrinsic to the soil and that are conducted in the
xylem and phloem to heights and a longevity beyond imagination. What is it that makes a
man more than his physical being, what to be valued more than talents he's developed to
establish his feelings of worth, express his importance, and make his mark on the world; to be
remembered. The funny thing about a person being remembered is that he'll never know if he
will be or not. Just the same, he goes through life imagining how people will cry when he's
gone, how they'll talk about him, and what’s even funnier; how he consoles himself to know
how he'll be missed. Through creative productivity such as writing literature to preserve one's
thought he thinks to achieve immortality; the reach beyond the physiological reality of death
sure to come. This idea is common in people's practice of religious and spiritual mannerisms -
- they can thereby attach themselves to eternity.
As I passed the hurdle of the golden years, I realized that freedom of expression is to be
treasured, no matter what else may be happening to me in life. As I learn to respect ideas that
differ with my own, I'm no longer influenced by espousals of a religious nature not in
accordance with my own beliefs, where I tolerate but not accept. My opinions don't have to be
correct anymore; I can be satisfied to discern forces that are distinguishable within presently
finite parameters, not portend to know will become of me in the future. I can spend my efforts
to communicate by writing and talking, and though may find it difficult to explain the
transformation of thought into spoken words, discover someone important who happens to be
myself. The main topic of my "era" of introspection is a concept I came to term "insane
jealousy," to wit, my repentance. I wring out the character of my past mishaps and hang them
to dry.
One reads a written text and hears the words, thinking the words are somehow audible in
his brain. This is because he or she mutters the words silently as the actions of his or her lips
stimulate the auditory levels of perception within his mind. We can never explain the
molecular structure of sound, though we know its essence is the force of percussion causing
an impact on the space in which it is articulated. When we clap our hands, the air is forced to
collide forcefully with its containing environment, and we hear a reverberation of air
molecules. What within the molecule of air produces a noise? Sound arriving to the brain is a
ramification of the memories we attach to the implication of words.
At the specific moment the physical world came into being, the percussion of the sound
that emanated must have been a form of energy. Prior to the first act of creation, there were no
particles with which to collide, so the sound it caused is a noise of nothingness beyond our
comprehension. Therefore, we can only apprehend reality by admission of our ignorance; the
conceptual structure of sound is as intangible as the infinite, and can be believed but not
perceived. All styles of communication such as the nod of one's head, movement of the hand,

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a smile, or the spoken word are expressed as energy in the realm within which it acquires
mentative significance. The mind contemplates meaning based on experience or knowledge
codified within our memories.
By a quick peek at the notion of creating something from nothing, creation ex nihilo, we
may endeavor to understand the preeminence of thought in the realm of human interactions.
According to basic and even sophisticated logic, there could have been no motion of air
currents waves producing sound waves prior to the universe, only ethereal waves; thought, as
we define it, something so intangible it has no physiological characteristics. We can only
conceive of creation if we accept that the act of creation (masculinity) and the receiving
(femininity) environment were formed simultaneously. Elsewhere, I have likened this to the
proton and electron of the hydrogen molecule.
Our presumption that the foremost and thus original force of energy emanated from a state
of silence, was an existence of motion such that its bearing created not only air and sound
waves, but yielded light (according to the speed at which energy travels), moisture, and form
as well. "Motion is the universal language until it all returns to the silence." Silence is noise of
nothingness, the receptacle of action; when the force of motion ceases, molecules of energy
no longer vibrate on the space of its containment. Regarding the various accounts about the
transformation of thought into a "big bang," or "spoken words:" Primary Motion, the
containment of its energy, and the entirety of the outcome shall be the heretofore referred to
as One; primary thought (the very first being in the realm of existence). One that its
quintessence originated from silence that we deign to perceive in terms of measurable
dimensions of time or space.
Theocrats, and philosophers postulate ideas that are utilized to subjugate and exploit the
masses, but it's a misapprehension to claim that religion is the opiate of the masses. True
religion is intended to allay fear of the unknown, to instill man with what we call faith; that as
long as the universe retains its harmonious state of balance everything is copasetic. The tenets
of this faith are what prevent man from succumbing to his natural instincts. Ants go to their
death by the thousands when trampled underfoot. Is their species less fit for survival than
humankind? The obvious answer is that there are so many of them that the species' survival is
guaranteed by their nature to reproduce, inhabit, and remain intrinsic to the earth; to act
purposefully in accord to the design established as the premise for their existence.
When a person thinks poorly of him or herself, every time they'll finds themselves in a
tight situation they'll suspect the worst outcome is going to prevail. Of course, modern society
has endeavored to cause everybody to feel weak and incapable, dependent of the goodness of
those who control power. One therefore should delve in in the contemplation what is his or
her true purpose in life, to seek satisfaction in our being our most functionally best in our
living environment. Was humankind to abandon the basic premise of their role in the
maintenance of our universe the species would become extinct. Our survival is a vacillating
function dependent on our conduct.
This leads us to the issue of what our presence in the world is supposed to accomplish, in
whom we imbue the authority to decide that, and to what extent abuse of the physical world
must be restrained. We may ponder whether the cherished priority called freedom is a virtue
of the design preconceived by One (the Primary Motion) during the act of creation. My idea
of freedom includes sensitivity to every fiber and thread of creation that has been strung into
the makeup of life universal and eternal: birth, growth, interaction, and natural death (not
enjoying pleasure at the expense of the whole). There are laws urging people not to cut a leg
from an animal to satisfy their hunger, and just let it gimp around until they become hungry
again. This ethical premise goes beyond the issue of whether someone claims a right to
ownership of the beast he eats, it has to do with preservation of the whole universe as a
singular unity; certain acts cause an imbalance in nature and are prohibited. Freedom is
measured by limitation!

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The essence of freedom is so intricately wound in the existence of beings that one will
attain to lofty wisdom would that he becomes sensitive to his environment. Two leaves will
grow to the opposite sides of the stem, thus offering balance, support, and the security to
enhance development as an inclusive entity. One question troubling the author of this treatise
begs askance if one can extrapolate from an example of freedom intrinsic to the nature of
vegetation to the yearnings of one mentally imbalanced; whose instinct to flourish freely will
hamper the natural growth of other beings? As to divine concepts of creation, the whole
purpose behind them is to give license to the values beyond any comprehension of intellectual
espousal. The effort I am investing is this literary effort is intended to arrive at a personal and
independent appreciation of my particular place in the Unified Universe.
Stating my point of would be subject to a quasi-scientific method of eliminating untruths in
order to establish s concise verity. Let's compare the superiority of the Northern Hemisphere
Caucasian species of man, to that of insects within the arthropod phylum. The Northern
Caucasian have maintained a historical subjugation over indigenous populations throughout
Asia, Africa, South America, and Mesopotamia. He has denuded the female sex, perpetuates
crime and greed, social depravity; and propagates ungraciousness towards the needs of our
fellow creatures be they animal, vegetable, or mineral. With no arsenal, a Nile mosquito can
put a man down with a tiny bite. Was humankind to utilize the entire arsenal at our disposal
we would wreak gnarly destruction, but insects would continue to propagate, grow, and die
naturally. Disease, rebellion, war, pollution, depletion of resources, traumatic weather
changes, and social disorder seem adequate indication of grandiose and disastrous imbalances
in nature. We can conclude that humankind is faced with an inferiority complex from birth
until the time of death, and is therefore laden with obligations to assure his survival and
liberty, if not only prove our worth beyond that of insects!
Remarkable Beings
Perhaps humankind is too aware of itself as distinguished in the framework of the whole,
and being so ignorant of the balance in nature we have brought about a situation that could
make our lives on this planet unbearable. The theme of Women's Liberation is an example of
a perplexing contradistinction, especially in light of the Biblical account that depicts female
kind as the temptress who caused male kind to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. The ideas
represented serve as a clear warning that things we desire most are likely to bring about a
calamity if we disregard our propriety in relationship to the same. Heretofore, I shall put to
test my theory that the only perfect knowledge is ignorance. A man walking down the street,
told by a passerby to turn around and run the other way, will be faced with a conflict between
blind obedience and curiosity. Should he rebel against the warning and suffer non-fatal but
severe damages there is a possibility that he'll hold a grudge against the passerby for not
having warned him strongly enough. This compares only in slight measure for the disdain and
mutant disrespect male kind has demonstrated towards the dignity of womanhood. Her
individuality, nay, her humanity has become degraded by the disregard we dare not show
towards insects. The darling Eden family could have existed in the euphoria of a harmonious
paradise, only in so much as they would not partake in fruit from the Tree of Knowledge (not
to engage in pleasure for pleasure's sake).
Shall I not point to the following treatise as a preponderance of my role in the universe; the
primary characteristics of my life in the universe I inhabit? I was an "abuse-aholic," trapped in
the anger and arrogance characteristic of my insecurity complex; this book is my only
recourse to change the old wares for something human. Abusive behavior is inhuman, a
human being is humankind, and kind is human. I typically sought a sense of false security in
the "acceptance" of my body becoming appreciated as worthy in what we called lovemaking
relationships. Teenage male dominance over the prurient molestation of the female body was
a point of arrogant pride. The force of this distortion drives men to subject women to their
every whim, and the social amenities were adjusted to offer approval of this conduct.

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Returning to our example, the historical abuse an alpha male heaps upon his wife, sister,
daughter, and mother; we find womanhood portrayed in museums of trash and decadence. In
the decades of the middle twentieth century, there was a moral prohibition to portray the
nakedness of women, which made it, ipso facto, a manly achievement to acquire pornographic
publications. Nowadays, female kind appears in so many degrading postures: in many public
forums, in order to earn a buck, to advance their careers, to parade their beauty in tempestuous
drama, and allow themselves to become the object of banal pursuits. This subjection to male
kind's caprices is not women's liberation, and neither is sexual emancipation; i.e., the radiance
of freedom that is typical to nature, ergo growth, propagation, and natural death.
I would further suggest that the importance of limitation as it pertains to freedom is the
fundamental of religiosity, as not every desire is given to be satisfied. To obtain something
out of the routine and very expensive one may have to invest labor time to achieve the goal.
Stimulation, awareness, and excitement accompany the scrumptious pleasures we savor in our
five senses, but after a few seconds, the search must begin anew. People want to be thought
knowledgeable, and go to extremes in order to prove they're never mistaken. Social scientists
and archeologists are willing to assert that the Indians of South America migrated from Asia;
using a theory of shifting landmasses to explain how they got there. I debated this issue by
asking whether they can pinpoint the origins of the various species of birds, or trees, the
abundance of color, shape, activity, and location of so many millions of different creatures
that make up our world. Freedom can exist only insofar as balance between motion and
silence. When an individual is not steeped in the pursuit of comfort and luxury, he or she can
enjoy simple pleasures.
Chapter I -- Being Child Becoming Wild
I murmur these thoughts within my brain, convinced I'm lucky to have someone with
whom to discuss them. Prostrated two meters beneath Ground One (the face of the earth), I
make a quick scan of the hole I've affectionately come to name, "Rose Cavern." I've dug my
own grave behind my rose trellis on which grows voluptuous vines of jasmine; together they
emit the fragrance that will mask the stink of my rotting bones herein I be buried. Above,
alongside a peach tree, the cactus natural to my sweet home in the Negev desert sprouts new
oval-shaped leaves. The cactus has grown to the height of several meters, and at each different
level, the leaves sprout at specific angles so that leaves at every level will grow to their full
and heavy potential ne'er to collide with the leaves at level beyond. This pattern of liberty and
justice prevails throughout nature.
The philosophical preponderance as whether man is intrinsically good or evil is used to
explain the behavior of those habituated either one way or the other, but I have only to look at
myself to know that neither is true. I perpetuated sadistic manifestations to disrupt people's
inability to ignore me and ultimately developed into a social revolutionary. During my youth,
I fantasized about underground escapades; and culminate my arrival to old age; underground,
lying in my open burial plot. Actually, this should not be alarming at all since throughout
history people have made their homes in caverns. I accomplish much, entrenched here in my
darling "Rose Cavern," surrounded by flowers, spices, grape vines, and other fruit trees, that,
even in the desert grow to beautiful proportions.
These aforementioned sadistic manifestations were characteristic to one aspect of my
fractured personality. I was called Mickey (with reference to the cartoon character) and it hurt
my pride because I had big ears that stuck out, was named Marshall at birth, and though have
monkey ears in my old age am not bothered by them anymore since I'm referred to as Moshe.
These distinctions lend credence to the saying there is much to be said about a name; the
distinction between who one is and what occupies that self is sometimes described with given
names, sometimes with nicknames. Many times people stick a name on someone that is laden
with character defamation, and in contradistinction call them an angel or the like. The
interesting thing about this is that the English language is structured to countenance the three-

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way split in a personality by application of the infinitive, "To Be" in every sentence that is
applicable to one's identity: I am Moshe! I am degraded! I am psychotic! Description and
reflection, inscription and essence, existence and derivation; engravings of the soul etched
into the physical presence that requires nominal description.
Sitting there with my back propped up on a dirt mound, posture-designed by scraping and
patting mud pies, I stare at the etchings scratched into walls tunneling beneath Rose Cavern. It
behooves me to explain that the idea for this tunnel developed over the years of my
enrollment in elementary school. I was subjugated to the oppressive cruelty of the "bigger"
kids who liked neither my ear span nor my adamancy to accept their premise of my right to
exist. Alas, in those days, my brother and I used to imagine a magic tunnel that would be
accessible to us on the way to school. We had to walk about a half mile from our home, up the
block, around the corner and the length of another whole block to where the school guard
would cross us over the busy intersection. It was from that point until the school doors and
waiting for the school doors to open that we used to have trouble with the bullies arriving
from other neighborhoods.
This then, was my training to traverse the difficult straits through an imaginary tunnel, the
idea being that no harm would befall me therein. Noteworthy to assert here that mental
configuration imbue the mind with a false confidence, and sometimes that's all it takes to
traverse the dangerous passageway that threaten to lay siege upon our well-being. These
memories are inscribed in belief that Rose Cavern can shelter me from the demise certain to
overtake me. Sunrays penetrate into the mouth of the tunnel, and are mystically deflected
through the passageways of the throat; illuminating the depths beyond. The shadows that
follow on the heels of sunshine are so forceful they cause an appearance of lines to arise from
the surface and seemingly emanate into thought passageways pulsing about my brain.
I had put them those lines there, scratching with various tools not the least of which was
my fingers, a tool most adapt to labors upon the earth's substances. It's remarkable what
fingers can do; shovel into the ground, chisel delicate lines, shapes, and figures, and polish
even the coarsest surface. Thereby the inner waves of thought within my brain are transmitted
thereby unto the hallowed walls of Rose Cavern. By the time the glare of the sun has receded,
with the day's passing, my lungs have filled with breath of these historical (perhaps hysterical)
impulses mapping the way to secret episodes hidden in the future. As such, I lay here
contemplating how to record all this information so you'll understand what I'm being.
The beams of light and the vibes emanating from my etchings, these exclusive of those and
those inclusive of these, are gallivanting through the opposing sides of my brain. The
engravings on the walls of Rose Cavern picture people pouring gold into underground
streams. Beside them, in the manner of hieroglyphs -- images of people sickened from
substances they ingested, and thereafter becoming well having consumed produce that
absorbed particles of gold. In the dissertation to follow, I shall record the experiences of how I
tunnel to a distant time where nobody is disrespectful to authority; an aberrant form of
harmony has replaced the human character of individuality. Here, now, now here -- nowhere
the Rose Cavern is but a pupil in the eye of my garden. Above an infant swing is clicking
back and forth as the leaves from the peach tree laugh in the rhythmic sweetness that only
succulent fruit can communicate. A radio controlled microphone and Web Camera transmit
my prescience to a computer so you the viewer may participate in the occurrence of my death.
What; me condescend to rot in a field with stinky carcasses stuck in the straight and narrow of
the neighboring pits alongside?
To some extent this research will focus on the cultural dereliction, which a part of me I so
abhor. Like a filmmaker, I capture vision from within my brain; filming a mirror image in
slow motion; I'll zoom and quick jerk hither and thither in order to depict the human situation
quite the opposite of what perceive it to be. We are not superior by virtue of intelligence; but
are dependent, destructive, and despised despite the grandiose achievements we accomplish
using our innate capacities of perception, articulation, and manipulation. This has been the

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focus of my progress deeper into the innards of Rose Cavern, at each conjecture leaving the
mark of my having passed this way. A nervous scratch; a furious flustering fingernail forcing
an impression, and these squiggly inscriptions unto gorged stony walls give evidence to the
appearance of unified essence in a universal dimension. Motion is the universal language until
it returns to the silence.
I once scratched and splotched the intricacies of lines representing the blossoms of my
peach tree unto the walls of Rose Cavern, and miraculously sensed the motion of forces
digging from the inter-sensual realm of Native dwellers-ancestors who had immigrated to
these lands with pockets, buckets, and every type of container filled with sprout and seed.
Should one take this book literally, you're invited to join me for a glass of my homemade
wine and delve into abysmal depths absolutely disconnected from anything that could be
described as intelligence. I can dig this; my body lay still, resting against the upper soft palate
that welcomes one into Rose Cavern, ergo my burial plot. The sorry truth about life is that we
are persecuted from the moment of birth, and I'm not talking about the proverbial spanking
the obstetrician gives the newborn. Think about what goes into the occidental obsession with
making the birthing process sterile, as though to optimize healthful circumstances for mother
and child.
The thing is; is that formation of early brain cells leads to communicative functions of
language acquisition, the only assurance to our intellectual development as human beings.
Where non-academic language prevails in nature, we find aggressive behavior: presumptuous,
impatient, and greedy conduct amongst children who sometimes never grow out of it. By the
age of two, a child learns to apply motor and reflex actions such as facial expressions and
voice control and at seven conceives of fantasies, but not yet concepts of time. Until puberty,
the brain cells continue their development into specialized functions; such as depicted by the
five senses combined with reasoning power. When toddlers undergo trauma, these cells
develop into a defective mechanism, to the extent they are irreparable, and for an adult to
achieve a minimal normalcy is an endeavor that makes him dependent on the nurturing
society.
The issue here is not to counsel mothers how to cuddle the newborn and allow him or her
to adjust to the sounds and sights that'll invade his sensations, before cutting the umbilical
cord. Somewhere in my mind, I'm trying to figure out why my life has been so hectic, what
have been the influence of traumas that make humanity feel lonely and insecure and
concomitantly dependent on those who seek to oppress us. The reality that for each of us,
"me" is not what I really am; it's a concoction devised to control people, abuse them, and
usurp their strength and talents. Each of my distinct identifications (Mickey, Marshall, and
Moshe) have been systematic attempts to adjust to circumstances that prevailed at various
points in my life. I can sketch my first six years of life in my memory and the next ten sets of
approximately six years apiece, and what I see is exactly the same characteristics of
personality that predominated during my youth. The perception mechanisms of the sixty-year-
old were established at the time of my birth and formed by the environment in which I grew
until maturation. Vast networks and repressive machinations enslave our bodies and minds.
From the moment Mary took her lamb to school, she was to be deprived of love and
warmth; she was going to have to produce! A child can neither remember nor sense what he
has no real reason to perceive. The ability acquired for storing and drawing upon memory is
proportional to spans of time. When we cannot express thoughts and react to the lack of
human warmth dementia will overtake the rational processes. A child needs to keep close
proximity to something soft in order to preserve the security it knew in the womb. I can
remember being called a crybaby, and even from infancy, my mom got uptight when I cried. I
was shaken around, twisted upside down, and thrown high above the pull of gravity. I
flashback to Anna Mae, a woman hired to babysit; whose calm breathing and humming while
holding me, securely, was the only comfort I needed. Suffice to say the only calm I might

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have known as a toddler was shot, blasted, shattered, crushed, and devastated by the time I
reached kindergarten.
The general scheme of human nature is clearly indicative of other systems of collectivity
whereby each species acclimates to those of like genealogy; ants an ant society as do lions
roam with their own kind; and so it is with people whom live amongst those whose external
and internal characteristics are similar to their own. Most nations and cities have legitimate or
implicit class differentiations: racial, socio-economic, and religious. I grew up in the Jewish
neighborhood in the Northwest section of Detroit. The city was divided into industrial and
residential sectors, with a thriving downtown along the Detroit River, a geographical marker
that separates Canada and the United States. The Northern Caucasian people decimated
reddish skin-colored people, and took deep-brown colored skin people from their native
African habitats as slaves to fuel the economic vehicles and mass-production furnaces.
Believe you me, the day approaches when steel and oil will be scarce (we shall overcome).
Woodward Avenue is the main drag from the river all the way north; along which Jewish
people migrated en route to suburbs where they'd escape to reestablish their communities,
with the exception being areas where it was forbidden by law because of anti-Semitism.
On the topic of Judaic liberty
I feel compelled here to explain a tiny verity that being every word I compile is done with
motivation that requires endeavor to face up to characteristics of my personality that often
bring me to wish I was dead. Albeit, I live in a state of deprivation to wit have stripped myself
of pleasure I was wont to pursue a raison d'être, though not bereft of comfort, neigh luxury -
that typifies the Occidental lifestyle. Hand in hand, I encounter those facets of my personality
niched within the shadowy reaches of a materialism bred in America; fried in the grease of its
death economy, and anybody who dared to oppose was degraded as a misfit. You can't sell
guns and tanks if there is no enemy; Russia incited Arabs to war with Israel and America sold
them arms. While we're on the subject, and since I've read this entire book I feel it's my duty
to discuss the Israeli Arab conflict. The Israelis, similar to the Americans and the Russians,
fuel the world's war economy, whereas by means of conflict resolution these peoples finding
themselves along the pathway of peace and justice would be paving eternal bliss on the road
into universal freedom.
There are unjust wars fought for colonial gains, and those that arise out of natural or
inevitable circumstances. Every animal and creature in nature is imbued with the instinct for
freedom, to guarantee its survival, if necessary to expand their communities, and to defend
their life and property. People, however, conquer lands, form allies, perpetuate wanton
destruction, and produce miscreants out of the female members of their family, and human
community. Israel is driven to exert military supremacy in a world where even if they killed
everyone they could still be conquered by national insecurity. One may assume the
government in is cahoots with the imperialist weapon's industry. Having been in the heat of
the flame I can tell the reader, I am one well-baked potato. Deep within the pits of oblivion, I
perceive the Judaic tradition a livable tenet.
To elaborate on the Israeli mentality might take the better part of a lifetime and since I've
invested in the effort to do it, so here we go. Firstly, there was the pride of the gentiles that
Christianity and its stepbrother, Islam would act upon a wishful thinking they would
ultimately wipe out any trace of Judaism in the world. In 1973, the ghost of the Jewish Nation
Israel had come to conquer the world, at least insofar as resuming the national characteristics
of a demographic reality. It was a joke against modernity and I became the laughing stock,
hated in the world abroad because I was a Jewish male, and hated in Israel because I was an
American male. This time warp landed me here now- now here, nowhere. I spend a lot of time
now-here.
Couldn't they see from my (hippy) appearance that I had rebelled all those years when the
U.S. waged the war in Viet Nam? Yes, in the 1970's the citizenry of Israel wanted to be

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dissociated from the appalling lack of rectitude concomitant with the image of cruel
militarism, though convinced that banishment of Arab populations would bring peace to
modern Israel. What had I not gone through to get here? My mission, on the micro level was
to restore the family ties shattered by the years of revolutionary reaction to all the benefits of
my nurturing society. I realized this could not be achieved without finishing university and
perhaps associating to my heritage. Applying the double whammy I enrolled at the university,
I had attended in Michigan decades earlier, to do an "independent study," arranged a
scholarship, and flew to Israel. The accounts of the six months I spent here, shall they not be
recorded in my memoir anal?
I needed only an additional four-credit course to matriculate my Bachelor's degree at MSU,
so I also enrolled in a course on Anthropology at Tel Aviv University, making my fete
accompli a quadruple whammy. To elucidate, I had rebelled against the militaristic premise of
research in the college environment, and revolted against the "establishment" such that it
became an issue of accountability not to graduate. Little did I know how pleased established
society would be to know that I'd go through life without a college degree. When I tendered
the credits earned at TAU the registrar flipped-a-wig! Knowing how to "doctor" a theses and
dissertations was an academic skill in which I was trained. Before the end of the school year, I
went to the Western Wailing Wall and concocted an anthropological study consisting of
statistical evidence regarding the way people place their feet in different positions when we
pray. When MSU finally processed credit from the courses, they awarded me a BS in
psychology.
I had spent a few months on a kibbutz where I harvested grapefruit and almonds, and
wanting to get some religion into me, had started to attend religious services on the Shabbat.
This infracted work ethic of the kibbutz anti-Judaists' policy since they thought the modern
Israel had to shed its religious traditions. They ejected me and somehow I managed to be
accepted as a volunteer worker on a religious farming community in the south of Israel. There
my good memories have remained; ah yes, many leaves withstand the winters and never
wither. During those six months, I succeeded to nurture warm and friendly relationships with
people whose expectations from life were moderated by the simplicity of common cause.
Fields being muddy in spring bogged me down and I had considered myself above the
dictums of planting melon seed in muck to the height of my ankles, so I flamed out of here as
fast as I had arrived. I was shipped out to the "city of Torah," Bnei Brak, wherein I meandered
my way into a ba'al teshuva yeshiva (Torah study for Jewish people with repentance on their
hearts) that had dormitory facilities. Therein, I insisted on eating wholesome pancakes even
during the heat of preparations for Passover, which brought about my imminent ejection. We
know that brain dead people can experience the mental pleasure of those truly enabled to
partake in actual events, which goes to say these things really happened.
Keeping cool, that's the rule! Nevertheless, I had landed up, ascended, into the fissure of
destiny. Really! I enrolled at a yeshiva on Mount Zion where the dorm rooms were carved
into the walls of the Jerusalem hills. I had traded the guitar for a violin; somewhere back my
father had told me that his father played the violin so that was a fast way to get in touch with
my past. It was a manifestation of my becoming more Jewish and Israeli style cultured. I was
so strung out I never took a bow. Not long before his death, I had played the tune of Kol
Nidre to augment his respect of my achievements. I had cut my "hippie" locks, been awarded
a college degree, and was conscripted into the work force as my father's office boy.
Spring is a rare occurrence in Israel and one learns to appreciate the passage of time
without any ability to keep track of it. I shall heretofore apply imaginative capacity to cloak
my thoughts in the garb of fiction. I was like a drug addict going through withdrawal because
the rest of the guys I had bummed around with were reformed hippies and I couldn't pull the
wool over their eyes, so it was either with them, or against them - and I chewed surf. I remain
truly, the loner I have always been, left to my own wares to propagate revolution as a

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principle I refer to a conflict resolution, to which nobody has the patience to attend for reason
they are heralded into pursuit of comfort.
I left Israel after six months, the last words I uttered before departure being my promise to
return within ten years later, which I did! To whom was this promise made? A woman
standing next to me at the check-in at the airport expressed concern for the fact I was leaving,
not giving up the comfort of Occidental régime to shoulder the burden of building modern
Israel. The story until this point has eluded to the type of training I received as a product of
occidental modernity. By the time of my second coming to Israel, I was married and a father
of four children. I was a petty crook, into drugs by manner of habituation, a derelict and
abusive husband: and despite it all, ordained as an orthodox rabbi. Learning to fake off
college matriculation was peanuts compared to earning rabbinical ordination, the latter
serving to authenticate my arrival to becoming conclusively a Ba'al Teshuva. Pertinent
matters concerning the in-between are soon to be discussed.
Look at the America's Jewish populations who have distanced themselves from tradition;
dress immodestly and purport loyalty to the culture pertinent to legions other than our own:
As though this fascination advances their status in the modern world! They reside in
materialistic facades, not aware that danger lurks from within their habits of self-abusive,
denial of Tradition as it should pertain to their modus operandi. Matrimony has become so
unfashionable that the older generation who culminated nuptial vows and raised families did
so with purposefulness; are unable to communicate to their children why marriage was
sacrosanct, and the result is petrifying. Such unspeakable demographic computations prevail
as calamitous ramifications that throttle progress into a nationalist schemata for the near and
long term future, not only of modern Israel, but also in the lands everywhere where Caucasian
populations have ruled.
If that's not bad enough, look at the situation in Israel. Fifty years ago, the Jewish people
came to inhabit that land of Israel, which had been their national homeland some two
thousand years earlier. One should analyze this fact by questioning the right of the United
Nations to reverse the historical process of Christian and Muslim efforts to make Jewish
people an extinct relic like prehistoric creatures. The Arabs of Palestine claim to be rightful
owners of the land and say the Jewish people should make their national refugee in Europe,
Russia, Africa, or New York. I dare say, one should be respectful of exchange of residences in
terms of forbearance of the ideas on may bring to new locations, as said, "When in Rome do
as the Romans do," and other epithets such as, Live and let live."
From another point of view, the Rabbis of Europe, before the Holocaust, also said that
Palestine was an unfit location to replant Jewish populations of Europe, though for different
reasons. It also seems likely that if it were a matter of survival they might agree for the
religious communities of present day Israel to relocate to Europe, Russia, Africa, or New
York, as such, if the Arabs keep hitting hard enough they might succeed. This is not
conclusive so perhaps we should question further.
In many cultures of the world, people have become fed up with ancient traditions, and to
their thinking are relics that have become extinct. The Jewish tradition has a staying power
that offers an example to humanity. The influence of Jewish tradition is incorporated in the
New Testament, is imparted by the teachings in the Koran. The unity in creation is also the
basis of far Eastern ideology; at least since the inception of Buddhism in the sixth or fifth
century BCE. All the major religions teach that life and death are part of a cycle of
compassion, disregarding desire, and acceptance of suffering in which a person is simply at
one with his surroundings. Suffering heaped upon the Jewish people drove them to establish a
modern state in Ancient Lands. I'd like to avoid, but shall briefly mention of the politics
pertinent to this discussion.
Looking at this issue, we see the ferocious conflict of the Palestinians to believe not, i.e., it
is they who are the indigenous; while the Israelis assert it is their Holy Land. Taking my
assumption that staying power is a person's being at one with his surroundings, we see the

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demographic threat to Israel is the population increases of Arab people amongst whom we are
living in the Middle East. This is, to some degree, because Jewish people won't sacrifice their
quest for selfish acquisitions in order to bring more children into the world. Their
acculturation to immodest and materialistic remnants of Greek culture is their downfall.
Families profess that by limiting the amount of children they bring into the world they procure
enhancement of the material comfort of those children they bear and raise within the
framework of modern society.
The military organization of the Hezbollah or Palestinian fighters can overwhelm tanks,
ships, and jet bombers, not because of their instinct for conquest alike to the ancient Roman
culture, which has no staying power. Religious warfare runs contrary to the underlying unity
of Judaism and Islam, and is but a manifestation of man's projecting his fallibility unto his
own image in order to rid his conscience of its inadequacy. The question is whether a United
Israeli and Palestinian Nation will emerge as a single nation or a divided land drenched in
blood. I am committed to the Return to Zion of Jewish people from anywhere to the Holy
Land, and don't relate to human rights' organization as either leftist or radical, labels that do a
great disservice to the principles of freedom, justice and brotherhood within the hearts and
soul of people everywhere.
I appreciate the world's concern with the governance of this nation and think Israel has a
lot to learn about qualitative educational aspirations, equal economic opportunities, and the
principle of voting suffrage. It will require a whole generation of children to be raised by the
shared value of intrinsic human worth of people who are people. The Israelis intrusion into
areas in which the Arab populous would stand eventually to threaten the Jewish plurality in
that region and the state as a whole. A fact seldom recognized by Israeli politicians is that the
declining demographic borders are an ipso facto decrease of their rule over the land
historically sanctified as the Jewish Nation Israel. The present day State of Israel has limited
legal propriety over lands contested by Syria, Lebanon, Egypt, and Jordan. Alas, the
militaristic Israeli government was pushing an Israeli settlement in Gush Katif, known in the
West as the Gaza Strip. They pushed the people in; they pushed the people out, did the hokey
pokey, and got in a bout. The Israelis will have to reconcile themselves to bipartisan rule; one
man, one vote democratic authority in the lands from Eilat up to the Golan Heights and from
the Mediterranean Sea to the Dead Sea: by everybody who inhabits it!
The substance of these thoughts does not readily convince people that they have to reject
anything that contradicts their materialistic lifestyle. Man's overt tendency leads him to
represses conscionable truth, such as values professed by the wisdom of Torah sages,
wherever it conflicts to his habituation to pleasure. What hath one to say concerning Greek
and Roman academics that gave the world a tradition of relentless attacks against the Jewish
Nation Israel? Who will pay attention the groans of our weeping, the lonely voice within alike
to the garbling of a pigeon, a constant hum vibrating in its gasp for breath of communication
with life? Who can take stock of a world seeped in destructive weaponry, a global crisis
where climatic condition inundate the security of innumerable communities? Where does little
old me settle down in recognition of the prevailing situation as regards the future of the
generations to follow in my footsteps?
Every Circuit Needs Be Grounded
Who, what, where and when questioned the wise old owl. Who is what, when where and
why has this little boy come into the world? It was a world of hidden lies; liberty and justice,
racial equality, and religious freedom were empty epitomes. During the fifth decade of the
20th
century, technological apparitions had begun to replace man as a fundamental player in
the cycle of their owners acquiring wealth that heretofore had been paid to laborers.
Everybody felt he or she could be replaced by machinery or destroyed by a raging fanatic
pushing a button, anywhere in the world. The first fatality in the war for minds was "com-you
n'I–cation" between parents and children, between man and wife, worker and employer, and
those who governed and those whom believed they were being served faithfully by our

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elected representatives. As far as most people were concerned, "life goes on," so they took
little heed to the warning signs. I grew up alienated from everything; somehow, the vibes
irritated internal bearings that kept a person on track. Through the march of decades, I've
identified most of those parameters.
By the age of thirty-six hours, I was alienated from my mother. I figure it like this; she
grew up in the limelight of Jewish Class Assimilation and didn't know even how to boil water
when she got married; on a stage and in the drama portrayed to a get your kicks in, while you
have the chance. The drama scripted tedious endeavors as boringly mentality, and
responsibility to home and hearth was projected on menial laborers. As such, communication
between parents and their infant or growing toddler was superfluous; they had to be fed,
clothed, and clean up to standard, and that's all there is to it. Jewish Class Assimilation also
adopted the prevailing philosophy to hire help to perform the mundane chores of putting the
babies to sleep, so nursemaids were hired to sing us lullabies. Our Anna Mae's face glistened
like the moon, but she was deeply aware of hidden truths. In the time of her ancestors, people
heard breezes singing when all the jungle creatures to become restless, they learned to
articulate sounds that enabled them to respond calmly to any situation. Something might
move in the late night forest, it's a nocturnal creature and nothing to be wary of, no fear,
certainly no sweat or fret.
I wish I had enough film to shoot scenes and the wild gesticulations of many Northern
Caucasian mothers trying to stop a baby from crying. This pattern of social hysteria was given
over as a tradition that the care professionals proffered to a society no-being human people
who themselves were weaned and raised on hedonist folly. Those who could, hired people
whose history was rooted in the natural harmony of sounds; women of African descent in
whom was imbued a nature to woo their infants to sleep; to bathe, change, and bottle feed
them while humming their hymns. Our Anna raised us on us nursery rhymes about the slavery
to which her ancestors had been unjustly subjected. The words could have meant nothing but
the voice patterns became intrinsic to the development of our spirits, "don't you cry, cause
you's in that mean man's boat: Youh mommy hears your sad song an's gonna make it sweet,
so you just go to sleep. What we gonna do baby, you just sleep little baby, mommy's gonna
bake an apple pie."
That's what's called being a soul brother, when memories haunt far into the dark of my
sleep, or I'm uptight trekking down the street; can't forget Anna Mae's love for a minute, it's
cool right now, here and nowhere too, caus' I got soul. I Mickey am Marshall throbbing into
Moshe the imperative "to be." I am being that gives structure to the inner essence, connected
to the any action performed within a framework of time, utilization of the "ing" thing
expression unique in the English language. I move in silence, just action on the physical level
is being described, but when I'm moving the whole globe spins around the sun, and as such
the verb depicting such action becomes continuous. Let's take a brief overview of what is
involved in communicating thoughts. In order for a normal child to develop his capacity to
speak, he needs a healthy auditory system, visual acuity, adequate memory, speech facilities,
and mechanisms within the brain that switch and transfer the flow of thought into a proper
response. Most sensations never arrive to the realm of perception because we filter out all but
the pertinent details of our existence.
That some people go beyond viable and the simple may be attributed to man's creative
potential, they tap into a realm beyond the rational and tune into the soul. All energy intrinsic
to the world emanates from a core at the expanse of time and space; it is forever bound to its
source like an electron orbiting around its neutron. This does not postulate either the
destruction or creation of energy, it simply states that energy is a force that travels over the
expense of time but was generated in the original space with which it forever remains
identified. Action of a body emanates from mental forces sending impulses from the brain to
the body, so you've got soul and if you've got brains try to keep it together. How does a blob
of flesh called the brain arrive at cognitive realizations? The physical and cosmic entities in

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the world are fashioned out of the same substances -- the basic elements, wind, light, water,
and earth. The universe is energy infused into a form the brain comprehends at the right time!
When linguistic scientists discuss language processing they start with the ability of the
mind to formulate representations. These representations are described in terms of external;
broken down into categories of either linguistic or pictorial, and internal; either prepositional
or analogous, the latter being compared to pictorial. Yet, it is obvious that a picture does not
maintain physical proportions of an image during the mental processing, regardless of
whether it is a sensation of external events, or a perception that is internal in its entirety. The
object we perceive with our five senses takes on a meaning that translates into sound and
other images: letters, and words! Animals express a variation of sound that requires no verbal
representation; their lives are less complicated. Their affinity to nature is more highly attuned
than that of the human species.
Say hey, for Anna Mae's devotion to raise Northern Caucasian children, and all like her
who while working for Northern Caucasians invested mitochondrial soul in the bones of the
offspring of the young ones with whom they had contact. Such deep individuals of African
descent served in the menial capacities that Northern Caucasian mothers and fathers abhorred,
and sowed revolutionary breath and deep secrets of their faith into the flesh and blood of
those for whom they cared. Faith is not a destination it is a heartfelt deposition, it's there just
like the heartbeat. The issue of human language is of particular interest especially to people
who distinguish between the cognitive processes and intelligence. Know that the first sounds
an infant hears are the basis for all later language acquisition. This ability is one of the
strongest forces in nature, the imprint. Imprinting occurs geese and ducks and is essential to
survival of the human species.
That being the case, so I kind of flip out when I think of the hissing and battering,
screaming (not to mention the visuals of my mother being bashed); hysterical ranting like
incessant horn blowing during rush hour. I offer these thoughts here as a contradistinction to
the steady stream of soul sounds that flowed across the span of time that comforted me when
Anna Mae held me to her bosom. Rock my soul in the bosom of Abraham, so tell me father
gone and deceased what was going through your mind; how would you like me to think of the
love you emphatically shared through the hateful and perverted manifestations of your
inhumanity towards my brother, sister and I? I would willingly forgive you and if it were
possible, also to forget you but I am what you fashioned in the living of your self-image.
I am inclined to harp the sweet song of the jungle's harmony that imbues ancient African
civilizations with their appreciation of the human role in the wide realm of nature. I mean;
nature with all its ramifications expands beyond the environs of Africa, so it stands to reason
that historical inhabitance of the same inculcated wisdom in the people who would ultimately
transmigrate. Though Northern Caucasian society was bent on enslaving the indigenous
population of the African nations, what they didn't realize is that the traditions of these people
includes the realization; that after all the manipulations, no matter what the Northern
Caucasian society thought was mastery, in the end human nature will be restored. They will
be the masters of their own destiny. This wisdom was passed down from generation to
generation -- to Anna Mae, from her ancestors. She cuddled me to the degree I felt the spirit
she has imparted into my soul.
The basic premise of human existence is that a person can effect any specific reality, which
prevails at any given moment, only insofar as he remains true to an internal identification. Our
will power extends only as far as the will to grasp a perception. This was known to the little
old great-grandmother and transmitted in the soul sounds that she would utter in harmony to
the nature of the fierce jungles of Africa. How could people live amongst tigers and elephants
and believe they were in control of their lives? It was a matter of faith; the beasts are as
intended to be, and one needs to go about life, so what is there to understand? Words are an
expression of sounds that accompany actions learned through imitation, practice, and

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perfection but have little meaning unto their self. Anna Mae told me how her granny felt
plenty bad on that boat, the while tears pouring down her cheeks almost drowned me. Hush
little baby, you're rocking the slave ship; it's just old Anna Mae singing a lullaby, and if that
swing takes you high, grab yourself a piece of sky.
If only to climb out of Rose Cavern and run to Anna Mae (AM), but we AM, I is singing
the song I learned of love for life, we be it for you all. The weaving of breath from within the
rhythmic beating of my heart, as sounds reverberating therein make themselves felt upon the
earth beneath; like an ethereal Morse Code impelling words beyond the reaches of eternity. If
you were as smart as an ostrich you could tune into soul faith, if as sensitive as an elephant
you could catch my breeze. What of the gestalt in which this development took shape? By
contrast, we must dare a glance at the physical, cultural, or social accomplishments of man in
the modern age. We have become intellectual perfectionists, idolizing and arrogantly
defending the correctness of mentality, of knowing we are right about our views of things or
events. The important thing is to know how life is found breath of a mantra: Motion is the
universal language and it all returns to the silence.
Perfectionist Intellectualism Debased
I've aged considerably during the decade of my descent and deliberate seclusion into a
conception of death that has sprouted from within Rose Cavern. I can see the wobbling
characteristics in my mind's playback, of the imagined film episodes portraying me as a
toddler grasping my plastic baby rattle and manipulating it with my lips and tongue. I was
consigned the very best, and this model had the approval of Dr. Spook. Such multifaceted
levels of sophistication involved in how a rattle arrived to the hands of an infant. The design,
including material, shape, and color were the outcome of studies and consultations on the
highest level of social and physical sciences such as psychology and engineering. In addition,
the marketing techniques were piqued to the finest infinitum, such as pertained to a whole
range of baby products, but that's not even the main point. First, they deprive you of bodily
warmth; and from the moment one's security blanket is grabbed away from him; the modern
Caucasian society dictates gaudy display of consumerism as a way for him to regain an
increment of self-assurance. The consumer economy was based on deceptive strategies to
fleece people of their income, money that would have better been invested in a secure future.
Toys were designed into order to maximize the specific quantity and effect of the
stimulation that the object would have on the child's brain. The Greeks had the culture of
sensation; drama and art, the Romans; sport and conquest, and each strived for perfectionist in
the realms that depicted the nationalist ideal. Intellectualism is a realm of striving that has
superseded every other consideration in honky societies in both the occident and the orient.
Up to date parents were encouraged to ensure that their children would have super-ultimate
ability to climb rungs of social mobility, so they bought every educational gadget that
promoted "youthful development." The idea was to train parents to acquiesce to the
nationalist suggestions that promote excellence in the academic arena, the "only" assurance
that could guarantee the security and liberty of their children. Failure, of course was built into
the system, and factories thrive on those who didn't make the grade. It goes without saying
such pursuits were very expensive.
I can depict here the feeling of parents whose children are rejected from the college,
parents of those who flunk out of high school. The issue a hand is to bring to awareness that
certain ideals concerning academic indemnities were not based on the principles of a greater
human society for the largest number of citizens. Calm demeanor is the responsibility of
adulthood, specifically to avoid greedy yearning as one's main occupation in life. Parents who
were enticed by styles and purchases when fashions became outdated should have learned to
communicate to their children as beloved members of a family. Our existential sustenance
depends on the utilization of resources we procure in the world we inhabit. This then is the
character of survival imbued in every species that for whatever reason has been placed in this
world. It is important to know our place in the larger scheme of things.

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Is this preponderance not a most difficult truth to absorb into our mentality? Doesn't each
of us have our own, a right to possession? I deign to answer that a system of academic
research called the scientific method is based on the one aspect of truth that remains after
eliminating the untruth. The above-mentioned objectives of commercialism are the strategy
effectuated by Society's Community of Unjust Barracudas (SCRUB) whom; though a small
percent of the world's population, claim the right of ownership over more than 90% of the
world's resources. They had to take the risk of higher education in in order to devise better
and more efficient systems of corruption and persecution. My assertion stands to question
whether those who chased the proffered rewards of the system can get their goose out the pot
of delirious devastation in time to regenerate their intrinsic spiritual aspirations. Are we
inextricably dependent on the SCRUB (Society's Community of Unjust Barracudas) system?
At a conjecture of two decades into the 21st
century, we wonder if the cumulative abuses of
the ecosystem have shifted the globe from a state of balance to a state of imbalance. We are
face with a calamity of irreconcilable demographic ramifications. The escape from the
melting pot of assimilation is the new era introspection and for many individuals the chosen
path is a return to the roots (teshuva) from which Jewish tradition has been eternally
nourished. Those brave enough to burden himself or herself with personal and national
salvation are in for a surprise. The baggage of cultural taboo is not some baggage he or she
leaves at the train station as he climbs aboard the train of mitzvohs. It is a process of
restructuring one's habituation, culture affiliation; denial of all that he believes to be
scientifically true, and yes, deprivation (in proportion to his level of depravation). This story
is a twenty years journal of weeping and sniffling, and patting my tears dry with the paper on
which the ink is cast.
Subterranean Currents
I was about three-years old when a fire-breathing dragon decimated my fragile family
shelter. "Young sister," "older brother" and I were playing and fooling around in our
backyard. The swing arches forward as neighborhood children push young sister gently in
harmony to branches of the pear tree swaying in the summer breeze. Trees, you see, need to
sway in order to strengthen their trunk. Elephants' trunks are not relevant to this discussion,
but it bears mentioning their feet become flat from their stomping them in frustration of
finding no refuge from the Society's Community of Unjust Barracudas. Older brother, a
neighborhood girl, and I were standing in the garage taking turns to break the glass window in
the garage door with a stick that had come to hand. My turn arrived and the honor to break the
very tiniest last piece of remaining glass.
Others besides me have remarked that events in the first five years of development form
the character traits the individual carries throughout life, so yes sir; we'll follow out that
theory starting here. This, however, does not contradict that each of us can strive to achieve
anything we set our minds to accomplish. Even people with neurological difficulty or those
wanting to learn a skill they've never studied, don't have to defend to the national character of
doing society's bidding. Every limitation can be surpassed if one channels his strength into
contemporaneous levels of talent. My point here is that I was socially and emotionally
handicapped because of a tragedy, and the way my nurturing society handled it conformed to
the SCRUB (Society's Community of Unjust Barracudas) authority to abuse, batter, and
condescend towards everybody, and to lust after wealth obtained through corruption that
resulted in ends justifying themselves.
The (Post) trauma (Stress disorder), not the tragedy -- that's the point being made here! My
parents treatment of one another was atrocious, the school authorities at best insensitive, other
children conspicuously obnoxious, and my efforts to dismantle the injustices society has
perpetuated against their own citizenry at best frustrating. As to my personal neurosis
resultant from glass piercing Joanne's eye, the "protectors" reaction to "the accident" was
more distressing than the trauma. This, because of each parent would assert alibis and
castigate blame in order to pin the crime on the other, a child's game of pin the tail on the

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donkey. Dad held mom culpable for not standing guard to prevent the occurrence, mom
claimed he authorized surgery that was the cause of blindness, whereas a different treatment
would have saved the vision in that eye.
What a (laughing to avoid crying) joke, the Jewish people in middle classless modern
society have made of the richness of true and pure faith, wisdom entrusted in the soul of man
instructed as tradition; and I'm not even talking about observing religious strictures. Want a
real laugh, look at the pictures of the counts and established patrons of the monarchial
societies with pomp as the ultimate glory passed on to the offspring of the aristocracy that
maintains social appearances above all, and then figure out how people of natural human
societies (African, Asian, Aborigine, Native American) mange with skin bare attire. I mean,
the genetic coding of one human is the same as any other, and has nothing to do with the
vessels or fashion with which we adore ourselves. My ancestor's originated in Mesopotamia,
were strewn about Western Europe, then Eastern Europe and when things got hot under the
collar, from there emigrated to America.
My paternal grandfather was notorious for trade in semolina he'd ground until one of his
biggest hoists rotted in the warehouses of the Chicago gangsters. His ancestors had traded in
gold so he readily fell into the sewage line of the gangster underworld. Dad would have
married a Canadian had not mom's father ran away from Canada in order to abandon his faith
and family. She was apparently attracted to the lights fantastic that the shores of Lake
Michigan reflected from the beacons the Windy City, reflected in the jazz skills dad pounded
out of the keyboard. They, as did many other Jewish teenagers in the after-roaring twenties
sought to avenge themselves on poverty, did so by stripping their soul of anything worthwhile
to humanity. These historical facts are universal currents of energy that would influence the
generation of progeny in the modern scenario of Jewish inhabitance in the Modern Occident.
Suffice to say that sins of the parents are visited upon the third and fourth generations.
Reconciling himself to the truth was the last thing that came to my father's mind; but I became
a chozair b'teshuva (adherent to the laws of Judaism).
The wind whistled soundlessly as the projectile rocketed into the speck of light hidden in
young sister's pupil. The stick utilized to break the window in the garage door, from where did
it hail? Was it a splinter from a witch's broom, which the puritan yenta threw away before she
was burned at the stake? What forces of gravity destined the stick in my hands to bat a piece
of glass into such a small circle of tissue as an eye? Can man avoid retribution because he
turns an eye when "master" whipped slaves, the hoodlum robbed a bank, or a storeowner or
the sales representative profaned the Sabbath?
While the scalpel was being sterilized, the steam was howling from the train ride that took
mom to distant relatives, part of the scheme pre-meditated by dad so he'd carry through with
the surgery in mom's absence. The shifts of blame covered the history of civilizations buried
under the threat of reopening wounds. I made so many excursions to Canada so many to
Chicago, to unravel confusion buried somewhere in the past, not even knowing where I was
or how I got there, and in the end I drew a blank, I was buried up to my neck in self-hatred.
The force of guilt from an affliction of pain upon a beloved companion can never be forgotten,
no matter how many times forgiven.
The patch on Joanne's eye was a badge of my shame that was met with the cruelty of
reality, being accosted by everyone telling me "your sister is cross-eyed." Maybe I wasn't yet
even four years old the day after a picture taken (that portrayed her as a darling toddler who
was never again to enjoy such faultless features), but it wasn't until dad was in the throes of
death that I breathed into his ear the singular word of the true version of the story. Life was a
hot bed of castigations and there was no time for discussions; it was easier for my dad to
blame and persecute my mom, and punish her with the abuses he heaped upon her in the
presence of older brother, younger sister, and I. Confession could never repair the damage,
never would have prevented it.

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He used to scream at her, "Fang," and call her a snake and added the effect of a hissing
sound as though it proved his accusation! Even if the next-door neighbors hadn't heard the
shouting, which certainly they did, there were other people aware of what was going on. The
name-calling, the expressions of belligerence, the hate mongering were not isolated
expressions, did not occur in a vacuum. They staged a contest, each who thought they could
degrade the other into a state of humiliation that would signal defeat, admission, and
culpability. A war raged over the heads of family and community that would never abate as
long as the combatants survived.
This and many similar tribulations throbbed within the heart of a Jewish child, his family
and community in Northwest Detroit. As stated previously, a punishing accident can be a
tragedy; the trauma levels depend on the way the stress is handled. Neither of my parents
listened to the other because they were too busy arguing, first off as to whom was to blame.
As tension increased when the eye could no longer be saved the dissension on this point was
drown in the habit of alcoholism to which dad became addicted, which led to marital demise;
business failure, emotional collapse: and to my childlike thinking, I was suspect!
What a trip, my brain is still harangued by the constant arguments, mom's sobbing, dad's
detached bitterness; the sin became the permanent modality of family life in our home and the
edifice of our role in the eyes of the community. Teenage rebellion against authority runs
parallel to exercising one's physique to fit an image of self. I ran from the torture until I felt I
could no longer hide my disgust with life. On the grandiose level, I rebelled against people
because they chose to ignore despotism and planetary injustice. Underprivileged peoples are
economically enslaved, Jewish people are being assimilated out of existence, and the globe is
inundated by natural catastrophes. My life's effort was to find reprieve from committing
existential suicide, to wit people referred, trying to escape from myself.
My life began in the parental environment that preceded it, my father was rude and
arrogant towards my mother; it's not only in the movies I saw men drown their sorrows in
whiskey and become involved in raucous bouts of drunkenness. Violent eruptions at home
were impossible to avoid; name-calling, calumny, and shouting were the backdrops for every
motion, emotion, demotion, and continual demolition.
Good old dad had become a Northern Caucasian; dressed, spoke and acted in accordance
with media purported ideas intrinsic to manliness; hoodlums drank, cowboys drank, socialites
drank, and he was a drunken failure. By the time he had made it to "alcoholics anonymous"
mom had filed for a divorce. A year after its being inveighed into law, they were remarried.
He remained "dry" until his dying days, during which time he was a workaholic and in his
spare time a sport-aholic.
A couple of decades later, I booked passage on a mystical train ride that took me away
from the swamp of oblivion. I went to Chicago yeshiva, ostensibly, to revisit a path taken by
my cousins, in the very same environment that nurtured dad's upbringing. One of my fondest
recollections is the breakfast I shared in the home of a second cousin before going for the
interview at the Rabbinical College. Trying to fool the pain that haunted us, I traipsed through
the streets chanting, "Left, right, had a good job and I left. First they hired me, and then they
fired me - had a good job and I left."
The issue of each parent proving him or herself right in the arena of marital conflict knows
no boundaries of shame as the flames of inequity spread to the hearth of the neighbors. It
became an activity such as a sport's event, like boxing or wrestling matches were a spectacle
in the Aryan culture, a heritage of Rome and Greece. The literates of yore have their myths of
the strongest or wisest amongst them pulling a sword out of a rock, while the crowds cheer
until the victor arises. Accounting for my own anxiety was like chasing corn kernels popped
in burning oil, the amusement shared amongst all the neighbors. The patriarch of the
neighborhood was sure he'd get the truth out of me.

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I loved to hear him repeat his fable, a drama of someone who treasured a pink ping-pong
ball; and upon his marriage was asked by his wife, "why?" He was almost able to reveal the
secret, but never did, neither to her or their children and nor to their grandchildren. It was only
on his deathbed that he started to tell everybody about it, but he transpired taking the secret
with him to his grave. The idea was to get me to cough up the feeling of guilt I eventually
harbored inside for the length and breadth of fifty years, and everybody knew; it was I, who
poked out Joanne's eye. Only I refused to validate the reality.
I was friends with the "patriarch's" daughter, so he wanted to help, but I dared open my
mouth the whole sewer would back up, so how could I have told him? I saw my father argue
violently with my mother. One time, the issue was whether I should drink glass of milk that
he ended up throwing it in her face. We three heard his drunken rages of degrading her, and
where my mind blacks out when it comes to have actually have seen him beat her, I saw the
bruises. I tried to stop his abusive brawls so many times. A child sees things in extremes, a
monster and a fairy princess, no in-betweens. Someday I would triumph in battle.
Dragons of disharmony parade unhampered within children's minds; wreaking havoc in the
hearts of one whom gleans a sight of puss oozing from its chambers. I was alone in my
inability to battle the inner torment; forced to encounter the threat to my life by any nothing
that spontaneous combustion that would ignite into a confliction at every turn with my
surroundings. I was a prisoner of a man who terrorized his captive wife and appeased her by
setting up a façade of banal luxury that would distract her from the violation of her human
dignity. In this melting pot was prepared the brew of disregard for the human quality of life:
greed and cruelty were the fuel and flames of assimilation.
Nobody dared chastise this monster for having caused blindness in the eye of his daughter.
On the other hand, my mom was seemingly being beaten as an outcome of my having not
owed up to my guilt (as per misconstrued perceptual babbling), as per his having held her to
blame. Only someone who has been violent can describe what goes through his mind when he
acts that way, but since he's ashamed that he acted that way he'd rather not talk about it. I
think I can help on that score. The violator is under stress having desired the to-be-violated to
act in a certain way, to say something particular, or offer no resistance to his nuances. At
stake is his self-importance or the loss thereof; complicity becomes compulsion no matter
what the cost.
Sticks are good for beating drums and the percussion of this projectile crashing away from
the window frame was destined to reverberate for more generations than those that preceded
its arrival to this trespass in time. The vibrations of it hurtling through space arouse a peculiar
sensitivity in anyone, touched by the horrific waves of concentric energy that were essentially
traumatic ramifications. Eye for an eye the tomatoes grew green and the bigger they became,
the redder they got. When popped forcefully all the gushy pulp comes pouring out, just like
the blood I witnessed pouring out of young sister's eye. It left a trail from the garage unto the
back door of our house. Planting tomatoes alongside the garage was the therapeutic lesson
intended to displace the disturbing memories of the accident. The whistle of the projectile was
a cosmic percussion, a repercussion. A spin off from events that had transpired generations
ago.
Examples of the concentric circles that ebbed from the force of "the accident" were
innumerable. The domestic unrest distracted all my energies in efforts to escape the same,
projecting my feeling of inadequacy on hapless targets. The many banal manifestations my
mind fears shot forth lest the darkness of my abysmal guilt feelings swallow me alive. Slimy
memories seeping out of my brain moisten and fertilize the soil of time and spice it for the
weevils therein creeping. Reversion overcomes my instinct to communicate with anyone
fearful they'll perceive the degraded nature that from within my soul causes an overload on
the autistic equalizer. Oh Rose Cavern, there's no place like home, you are my comfort, my
hope, and my only tranquility. As I lay upon the cushion of my darling Rose Cavern I can see

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myself for what I am, to withdraw into me and delve deeper beyond the presence of my being
into the essence of my purpose in becoming I am.
I was a microcosm of being subject to the pathos of guilt. Accusations of culpability for an
action by one person or another or by one nation against another has been the manner by
which man has controlled other people, the weapon with which he would fire hatred and
brutality throughout the generations of humankind. As it pertains to my development, on the
individual level, one can picture the youthful boy who had to cower in fear of being
discovered (he obviously identified himself as the perpetrator). Guilt can exist only where
insecurity prevails, an outcome of human dependency on one's society or nurturing
community. Thus, the value of traditional Judaism as it applies the method of inculcating faith
in its adherents, in word and deed even from the moment of birth. This faith expresses itself in
mutual devotion of spirit, comradely action, and direction even if it all leads to an infinite
nowhere -- now here!
Virtual percussion of stressful recollections permeated the hearts and memories of the
neighborhood. Anna, about my age, became a twinkle shining in my distraught heart. Behind
each house that was constructed ten houses, row upon row, was a backyard, each separated by
a gate from the neighboring yard. The rambunctious children climbed over them and trampled
flowers back from, and forth to people's homes. At some point, my dad prevailed over the
other homeowners to tear their gates down, thus connecting our yard to all others. It was as
though the effect of the accident dissipated in collective guilt by virtue of association. The
extra-curricular days of my prepubescent years were idyllic for their simplicity.
The image that seemed to prevail over my pubescent consciousness was being a tough-
guy; habituated to abrasive manners, sarcastic responses and offensive remarks, the hoodlum
type. With an end to the 1950's baby boom, and due to declining enrollment during my
elementary schooling, many new pupils transferred into my class. Behavioral adjustments
became the key to popularity. The early training grounds were the nightly prowls through the
neighborhood, together with a small band of boys doing everything we could to be an
annoyance and cause disruption to people settled restively in their homes for the night. During
daylight hours, I instigated a system of cliques based on territorial considerations; children
from different streets were excluded from the group that identified "us."
On my street consisting of the row of houses previously mentioned, I had been an
experienced as a leader of the "Fighting Blue Devils." I had not yet found acceptance amongst
the new group who quickly became fed up with my shenanigans. My expanse into these new
realms only reinforced the walls of the secret chambers into which I had plummeted. I knew
that I couldn't fit in with anyone and there was no one with whom I shared anything of value
to me. I thus experienced consternation and impelled to perpetuate some form of social
manifestations that enabled me to avoid confrontation with my inner ugliness. It never took
long for anybody to hate me. The neighborhood gang outgrew childhood, whereas my guilt
remained an infestation, affliction, and dereliction plaguing my innards.
The Quinns lived across Santa Clara but so did Chana who was Anna's cousin and within
that sphere evolved attempts at conquest, so that whole block became part of us. Then there
were my classmates who were from south of Six Mile Road, not part of "us." When the Board
of Education widened the school district, new terrains were introduced. Babushka had lived
north of Curtis, and now that I could cross Curtis without an accompanying adult, these areas
became a new dominion for expansion beyond my personality confinements. I was an
immediate novelty in new arenas but spurned quickly.
While the projection of my image shined forth, "Super" dad had to make good so we'd
know that no evil could be attributed to him, no matter what abuse he heaped on mom. Every
week, every Sunday morning during the winter, he took the neighborhood gang tobogganing.
One wintry morning, happening together this aura of special reprieve from my feeling like an
outcast: crash the ice broke and big brother went tumbling into the freezing puddle! There
were no more tobogganing Sundays; maybe we were already too big to fit in the car. He also

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organized Little League sports organizations but was relieved of his duties, probably for
double dipping into the kitty.
As I involuntary consider at length the explicit conscious memory of the swing set, it has
disappeared, with a swimming pool being placed subliminally in the spot it once occupied.
The pets went in with us and it was too disgusting even to discuss, so the pool was
dismantled. Ultimately, the haunted garage and the backyard became a parking space for my
dad's car. Grass and shrubs were ripped up, the esthetic beauty achieved by neighborly
conformity discombobulated, and most unfortunately, the guy who laid the cement for the
driveway ripped off. That's how SCRUB (Society's Community of Unjust Barracudas)
gyppers pride themselves on getting something for nothing.
People who justify taking everything they can get their hands on; for their lonely selves,
end up standing alone in the thick-walled steel reinforced vault protecting their cherished
values - in a safety box (the capitalist equivalent of a security blanket), where they dare not let
anybody join in their life. I learned to be greedy and to cherish unjust gain as evidence of my
value as a person, in short, a materialist. Like, the story about the pink ping ball nobody knew
what drove me to such extremes. Nobody senses the tears under the painted faces of a clown,
because they laugh so hard until they start crying. That's the only way he can become part of
their lives. The nationalist ideal of intellectual perfectionism allowed for no expressions of
emotion, a person was either cut out for academic excellence or destined to be a blue-collar
laborer, a non-entity; straw for consumption by the run of the mill the donkey.
The playback zooms to my youthful development as I do corner turns on my two-wheeler,
leaning far over and exerting noise to imitate the motorcyclists seen on TV. Cultural
acceptance of the people, by the people who make up the constituency of the capitalist
America of the 20th
century, translated into a miniscule fraction of the people who acting as
societal power brokers took hold of the reins. They succeeded to manipulate the power with
which they would design, manufacture, advertise, distribute, and profit off all human
endeavor by anybody who benefited from the establishment. The generation was trained to
accept as authoritative the views that were popularized by the media. The strongest, wisest, or
richest amongst each segment set the pace for others in their groupings. By the time I had
reached five years old, I could pull back the reins on my bike (with training wheels), standing
it upwards on the hind wheel and charge stealthily forward to victory for the motherland and a
hearty slice of apple pie.
My kindergarten early morning hours with Mrs. Roll were exercises in the fractured
society's scheme of molding the national character to produce gullible, loyal citizens who
would sacrifice riches and their very life for the well-being of the SCRUB marauders. Each
morning, hand upon heart we recited the Pledge of Allegiance. Boy's ultimate development
into soldiers meant they were trained to be obedient and cruel; a verity nurtured in back
waters seeping from the mainstream of repulsive greed, unconscionable ignorance regarding
those whom we despoiled, or provisions for the generations to follow in the future. Actually,
this book is a story of the modern society exploding fireballs of assimilation in a cultural
genocide aimed at families of Jewish origin. Materialism, evolution, destitution, dissolution,
disruption, corruption, eruption, and perversion accompany our descent into a melting pot.
The wobbly lens is focused on a little boy arguing he doesn't want to put on his rain boots,
and a generation later forcing his own son to wear those yellow canvas-lined raincoats. If
somebody had a certain style raincoat, everybody had to wear whatever everybody else wore.
Somewhere a style is introduced; it becomes the fad because an actor who's idolized has
purportedly used that brand. How did the actors and sportsman become famed as heroes?
How can people cough up their hard-earned bucks to view them while they degrade their soul
in pursuit of idiocy and immodesty? Such charlatans earned millions and some laundered their
fame to become politicians. Glory and greed were the cultural mores that fashioned my
upbringing, my demise the harbinger to the downfall of SCRUBism. Detachment from
materialism is possible in the framework of Traditional Judaism, at least in my case.

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Chapter II -- Wild Style Riled
Let's contemplate the millions of people who may've lived in a communal location, used
the same roads, woke up and invested hours of labor, materiel, and time in banal pursuits such
as those to which they flock into the cultural and sport competition arenas. I'm thinking of
lifestyles mostly in the occident whereby every channel of the multimedia, gimmickry, and
advertising inundate the children of mankind and dupe them to consume idiocy and expend
frivolously, the same materialist greed haunts the whole of humanity. A dog, acting goofy is
animated under the tutelage of a mouse that is so talented there's not a child in America who
would want leaders less charismatic than Mickey. The subliminal commands were meant to
imbue people with a disposition towards racial and religious hatred, sexist greed, and
chauvinist lusting after the comforts of the world.
This is not the place to belabor the point, but people employ most of their strength and
talents in specific scripts choreographed by SCRUB (Society's Community of Unjust
Barracudas). People used to say they were cogs in machinery, but today we are controlled like
digital sparks that flash across electronic circuitry. This style of life debases the human
character to the extent the masses are programmed to fulfill mechanically; decisions as to how
we live, eat, sleep, dress, work, play, and die. The emotions we experience are like canned
vegetables and expressions such as grief and joy are canned into phrases that make them
delectable. Imagination is scorned as mental illness; independent thought considered a
ludicrous imposition; pursuit of liberty a scandalous disposition, and as such being human has
become an endangered rarity upon the face of the earth.
When I was between the ages of five and ten, I used to play with friends after school and
run around doing nothing until called home for dinner. I had a youthful inclination to make
friends with whom I would share moments, and experience physical recreation. Most people
sustained a relationship with nuclear and extended members of their family; this ideal had a
middle-class designation of being the preferred destiny of human development. Being a
SCRUB (Society's Community of Unjust Barracudas) meant enslavement of the
downtrodden, productivity, military service and our childhood games intended to train us to
perpetuate the same crap as perpetuated by the elitist class during those times. Academic
opportunity, job offerings, and mobility were the flames of the dragon that imbued people to
loath settling down and raising a family.
A look close-up view zooms in on us watching the wrestling matches we used to watch on
the tube. My brother and I whiled away the hours gouging at one another's eye, him bending
my arm behind my back, subjecting me to the spit torture (sitting on someone while a spitball
hanged from your mouth) until the opponent surrendered, and vain swearing. We invented
sport games to play when trapped inside the house during rainy days, nary a moment spent in
silent contemplation. The door to our parents' room was the "net,'' for basketball games until
the wall was bedecked with dirt. The time had to be spent doing something entertaining, an
imminent distraction to keep us out of trouble; we had no responsibilities!
I was inquisitive sort and during the course of life learned something from the ways dogs
mark out their territory by urinating. When a dude is stressed out, it's probably because he
feels ashamed of something, and if it's never properly discussed it'll start to get him pissed off.
Literally, meaning he'll do something to draw warm currents of attention upon himself; wet
his pants, pee his or her bed and urinate frequently all over the place. I became habituated to
such conduct until it spread to the realm of unconsciousness; I peed in my bed even as a
teenager. I wet my pants because I was the only territory left for me to mark within my
exclusive control. I hated school; the teacher would send me home to change pants. Enuresis
hunted me like the pea under a mattress; being subject to the best treatment non-withstanding:
when the world slept, I asserted imminent domain!
My parents quarrelling polluted the home environment while stains and the stench of urine
on my pants hampered socialization outside the home. Maybe the lack of being hugged drove

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me to be pissed off at my peers, after all, mom came running to attend to my having failed to
keep clean at school. Perhaps warmth that seeped along my flesh was surprisingly comforting.
I remember the merciful grimaces that were proffered as a sacrifice to the psychological view
of expressing empathy to those who endured traumatic stress, and herein is revealed an
important secret of child development. Many of us suffer from emotional problems that
diminish our ability to give and take, to create the pathway that leads us to outgrow infant
care, and move beyond physiological childhood. A spontaneous glance at autism can
elucidate the significance of unconditional love; the only way to relate to such people is by
expecting little; in order to avoid or diminish aggravation, the caregiver must patiently smile
with them so they know they're loved.
Taking a closer look at autistic individuals, we may see that their brain development
doesn't shift into the "giving" phase of post infancy; they're stuck in the "take" only disaster of
the human condition. The national unnatural greed of people that take, and won't share is
worse than any form of mature autism. We have to learn their individualized language of
warmth and body contact in order to communicate with them. People in the occident are,
incidentally (not accidentally), ground to "to make the bread" of those who have claimed
possession of the world's resources. Once there, they'll demand illicit privileges, usurp and
hoard our private resources, enslave people, and do other political or economic machinations
intended to guarantee their bogus feelings of power, respect, and security. I was not at all
prepared for adult life; having not being in control of my kidney function or the insecurity that
wracked my emotions and whose toll left me in a loner mode for the rest of my life.
This then, is me doing it "my way," telling people to "learn from me.'" I have gleaned from
my research that the human personality is formed by the age the child learns to communicate.
Look at yourself and make a comparison to how you would get your way when you were a
toddler, if it is not similar. From the ages of five to ten, I was thrown in with the beasts that
roam the modern jungle, and thereafter given a little exposure to a watered down version of
religious training. If you think the appellation jungles beasts is a bit harsh, recall for a moment
what the social workers and news report about children at the dawn of the 21st
century.
A social recluse, I came home from school and watched television. Seeing the thieves pull
off such daring capers was tantamount to sociologic insanity; the messages became engrained
in my personality, and I found a way to act them out. I learned to cheat in school, rob sweets
and treats from the shopping markets, to lie, and abuse people with sadistic expressions of
cruelty. This was part of the chauvinist system of training boys not to falter because of
emotional infirmity, emotions were girls' stuff; boys will be boys, meaning destructive,
insensitive, and selfish. My personality distortion was evident by the time I entered
kindergarten. A child who grows in an intensely stressful environment is most certain going to
be a nervous person, meaning over reacting to most stimuli, be they positive or negative.
Whether it's true doesn't matter, it's the security I seek, and when someone hears such a
reply he quickly understands that to pursue the matter would only bring the hare to shameful
defeat in its race against the turtle, we know who wins in the end. I recall my childhood as an
experiential insanity, and the people with whom I associated were trained to see the problem
as me. If I would just strap my bootstraps and walk the straight and narrow everything would
be all right, meaning I had to be refashioned into something I was not. Throughout my adult
life, I identified with popular views labeled "prophecies of Doom." I have girded my loins to
overcome the dragon of disharmony, and battle for universal freedom and survival. The
normal people can take life easy.
There are Jewish People who are fanatically loyal to the USA, to whom criticism of
America is like spitting in the plate from which one eats. It's true that religious freedom is
protected in American statues, so it's hard to convince anybody that that a typical Northern
Caucasian is a virulent anti-Judaist who is planning our decimation through a quiet SCRUB
(Society's Community of Unjust Barracudas) process of assimilation (silent holocaust); no
mess, no compensation to victims. The SCRUB force us to use our grandparents' tears to

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burnish the evidence, "they're old fashioned," the young generation shan't make life choices
based on their opinions, or traditions.
We were taught to be ambitious, successful, and competent members of society. The main
objective being financial security, degrees of success not to be restrained by the burden of law
and order where it hampered upward mobility. The corrupt values of society inculcated within
us the demand to achieve even through dishonest means, but not to be caught; rationalized by
the hypocritical tenet, the richer the better. Students were motivated to graduate and succeed
to greater loftiness of unchaste pleasure; to dismiss every moral propensity, the outcome of
which seems to be the demise of society in its entirety.
I would like to measure the severity of my negative reaction to corruption since there's no
doubt my silence could be bought. The issue is whether humankind is imbued with an instinct
to perpetuate goodness or whether we are imminently corruptible. Here too, I must use myself
as a measure of personality factors, some of which are learned and others of which are
genetic. When detectives investigate crimes they present the accused with a list of charges
against him, but when nations press charges against other nations they charge them with
crimes against humanity. Of which am I guilty? When investigators pursue the evidence of
criminal conduct, they start with the question as to whom benefitted, what were the
motivating factors.
I can recall the expressions of disappointment when my parents confronted my failures.
We've provided you with everything, given you everything money can buy, sacrificed
ourselves in your behalf! So how could you do this to us? One thing is certain; they wanted
their children to perform within the strictures determined by the Society's Club of Raving
Unjust Barracudas (SCRUB) in order to get ahead. The idea was not just to receive average
grades, those who did would grow up to be a garbage collector and the like. Anything less
than excellence was criticized, why didn't you, next time you better, and so on if you don't'
want to be a street cleaner. The idolization of wealth succumbed to the idol of intellectual
perfectionism; children without academic skills were relegated to trash bins.
Children can learn by being forced to act out of complicity to parental demands, and adults
often have to be forced to be productive. Contrarily, there are many lessons we can learn from
nature; ivy growing in my garden reaches to new heights only during the season of its growth,
and only at its natural pace. No attempts on my part will persuade it to grow higher and spread
out faster, so having planted it, I assume the responsibility for its growth; the roots have to
receive water and proper nourishment. I am convinced of the expressed opinion, my praise of
the vegetative development, speaking of its beauty within hearing range of the ivy and so
forth, and perhaps loving vibrations of standing in the proximity thereof can encourage
strength and development of every living being.
Children need to be trusted to grow independently, given incrementally increased
responsibility, and praised warmly for what they are and will become. Rattles, bicycles,
cowboy boots, sports equipment, gadgetry, stereos, gimmickry, card games, wild parties; the
bottom line is that we get parental warmth or find a surrogate, regardless of when where what
who or why that may be. The best my parents gave me was no match for the stress and trauma
that accompanied my life, and ipso facto, I remain in dire need of relief from over sensitivity.
For instance, five generations later I still ostracize myself due to shame of childhood
encopresis (elimination disorders) and urinary incontinence. Nobody wanted me around for so
long, it became second nature for me to prevent them the pain of my being present in their
lives.
If this thing is of such personal of nature, how can I offer it as proof to my views of what is
awry in the occidental culture? As concerns "the accident," it was the trauma and not the
tragedy that wrought destruction, so the microcosm serves to portray how the macrocosm
related to perceived rejection; the historical paranoia felt by the Jewish Nation Israel and
particularly the use of collective guilt as a weapon to gain acceptance in the eyes of anti-
Judaists. I can only use myself as a reference to set the framework of what has become of the