It is more than I deserve. It is perfection. It is the perfect Sneaker, perfect in price, perfect in design, and perfect in appearance, and a perfect fit. My new Sneakers are everything I want to be.

They are Sneakers worn by Angels, who are only used to walking on clouds, and so demand a Sneaker that is fit for cloud walking. In fact wearing these Sneakers is like walking on Cloud 9, click https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WHOrtW4PJm8&list=RDWHOrtW4PJm8&start_radio=1&t=53.

Each step bathes my foot in pleasure and is an invitation to dance, or run like a gazelle. I love looking down and see my Sneakers looking up. "We are perfect for sneaking around in comfort, ya wanna sneak up on someone or even sneak up on a tiger, we're your Sneakers, silent, unobtrusive, splashes of blood, simply wash off. We are the perfect Sneakers for the fashionable predator, we provide silent service".

"We cushion every step, we cushion the steps of kings and queens, and we cushion the steps of career criminals, we don't discriminate. We are fit for every foot. We are fit for the newly married, and the newly divorced.

We are more than you deserve".

I am in a light trance, and you are not.

J am relaxed, cool, and calm, while you are like ruffled water, anxious to be getting on with it.

And you are impatient with me in my trance. This is strange because I am no threat to you, but yet my trance troubles you. And you instinctively, and without thinking, close my trance down and bring me down to earth.

You rejection is so strong and absolute, I must take notice of it, even though I don’t understand it.

Yet trance is so seductive for me I read about it in, “From Magic to Technology”, by Dennis Wier, and I attend a trance workshop, at the Australian National University, by the Sports’ Psychologist, John Turnbull. And I am entranced by writing every day.

I do a walking meditation when I am waiting for a bus, and I do a walking meditation to put myself to sleep at night. And I meditate by rocking back and forth, forward and back, rocking my soul in the ***** of Abraham, click https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJhMjuza_1A, rocking myself like a baby in the arms of my mother.

Yet the rejection of trance is so strong, I wonder why. I think because trance means giving up control progressively, giving up control progressively from a light trance to the deepest ineffable (beyond words) trance.

And giving up control means being vulnerable. And the world ‘vulnerable’ comes from the latin ‘vulnans’ meaning wound. And naturally we don’t want to be wounded, we are afraid of the pain, disability, and shame of a wound. The military seek to wound others and avoid being wounded ourselves.

Unfortunately vulnerability provides the ground for creativity and empathy. So we prefer to conform and sympathise.

Yet we are entranced, across the world, by the universal Touring machine, held in our hand, our mobile phone. We prefer to be entranced unknowingly, in company with others, like a congregation.

But the possibility exists to design our own trances, and their effects, safely ourselves. A good place to start is by reading the book, “The Way of Trance”, by Dennis Wier.

Me-Too have Harvey Weinstein in jail.

But all Harvey Weinstein did was to follow the lead of *******. What Harvey Weinstein did can be seen every day in public *******.

This means ******* incites its followers to commit crimes against women and children.

The exquisite moment awaits me, waiting till the coast is clear.

Don't be shy, I say, I love you, I adore you,

I love you too, says the moment.

I know, I say, I bath in you like sunshine. I am surprised you are still here. I want to spend time with you, but I must do other things, what can keep our hearts apart?

It is as though a veil is drawn, as though we are embarrassed by delight, as though life wasn't meant to be easy, but meant to be obeyed, or followed.

So I sneak away for a kiss behind the shed, and how bold you are, I am transformed, how can I ever let you go?

Should I sneak away from life, should I take a perpetual holiday in your arms? Will you love me in the morning?

My heart fails me as I leave. Don't worry, you say, be happy, as I drag my heart out the door.

You'll be back, you say, and I will be a surprise for you, once again, we are made for each other.

Click https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gA0GcXV2njY.

There are two ways: logic and feeling. Feeling is not logical, and logic has no feelings, yet together they make the perfect marriage.

Logic is linear and sequential, like the lines of a book, with the words in sequence. Western books are written in the phonetic alphabet of the Phoenicians, each letter has no meaning, yet we create meaning sequentially in lines, quite like the Roman army, which lasted 1,800 years in the Eastern and Western arms of the Empire.

And the Ancient Greek, Euclid, took the linear sequential phonetic alphabet of the Phoenicians and created logic, and today our mobile phones are programmed with logic.

Yet our mobile phones have no feelings. And just as we create our mobile phones, our mobile phones create us. And to be more specific, logic creates us. And logic creates us without feelings.

So to be logical we suppress our feelings, to simply function in a logical world, we hide our feelings away. Our feelings never get a chance to grow and mature, and remain immature all our lives.

The price we pay for logic is stunted feelings.

Yet there are green shoots, in meditation, in therapy, in reading alone, and falling in love.

My God I want to be normal, but I ain't.
Make me normal, dear God, make me the same as everyone else.

Give me, dear God, the charisma of the normal. I want to be Norman Normal, with your grace.

We all love those just like ourselves, we love the normal, and we try to be normal too.

I want to be loved by everyone, and everyone loves the normal.

I prayed to the Devil, "Make me normal, and take my soul.".

"Sorry mate", said the Devil, "We only take normal souls".

"Why's that?", I asked.

"The normal", said the Devil, "Are easy to process, like sausages".

I just want to be a normal sausage, "Sorry mate", said the Devil, "Look, you're a bit of a ******, you don't fit in, not even in the Fires of Hell".

"But look, we have a special deal, for the strange, spare, and dappled, it is called psychotherapy. It will convert all your longings into acceptance".

"Wouldn't you like to be accepted, wouldn't you like to come in out of the cold"?

"Join us around the fire. Sweet Mole, Macho Mole".

Yeah, you can find me on Instagram. Yes, there I am floating above a glass table. I am beautiful in pink and white, I spread my wings further than your arms can reach. I am, though beautiful and magical, an illusion.

The Bible warns us of graven images, and all images lie, even images of me. There is a famous painting that illustrates this, click your Address above with https://www.google.com.au/search?hl=en&tbm=isch&source=hp&biw=1367&bih=773&ei=B5JhXt6SKOnhz7sP2pyHyA0&q=this+is+not+a+pipe+painting&oq=this+is+not+a+pipe&gs_l=img.1.3.0l10.3142.10633..13147...2.0..0.251.2832.0j19j1.....­.0....1..gws-wiz-img.......0i131j0i30.NaEfuBsLclU. We see an image of a pipe is not a pipe, in other words, the map is not the territory. And the image of me, although beautiful and magical, is not me, the map of me, so to speak, is not me. So all images, even beautiful images, lie.

And for those of you foolish enough to look me up on Instagram see that I am a large pink and white unbrella, floating above a glass table, under a seventy foot Pin Oak, in the sunshine.

And like botox I am an illusion, and rather than floating, I am held up by two opposing forces, compression and tension, my wooden pole compresses, and four invisible wires, tension me at the four points of the compass.

I have passed four tests, a ferocious hail storm with only one small tear, a rain event, and even a wind storm with only a slight twisting movement.

I am in love with my magnificent Pin Oak, and at night I am festooned with lights.

Some accuse me of being ****, but I know they are projecting their own feelings onto me. And indeed, there are worse things than being thought of as ****.

Do you like pink and white?

My God, says the Holy Book, is a jealous God.

Or we might say, my destiny is stronger than your destiny.

Orwe might say, our entrancement is stronger than your entrancement.

Or we might say, our wyrd is stronger than your wyrd.

This might be academic except we fought Imperial Japan to determine whose spirituality was the stronger.

And the final picture of our dominant General standing next to the deferential Emperor of Japan settled it. The

Almost everything we know of Jesus is in the New Testament. And we find -

Although he was part of the Judaic community based on marriage and children, he never married.

And he never made love with a woman.

And he never had children of his own.

But he did love John, his disciple.

And he loved other people's children.

Evil lives above me.

Who would have guessed?

And so seductive.

Reaching inside to my own evil.

So I played doggo, I didn't respond.

Evil escalated control, and half by luck, I played dead.

My strength is of the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.
And evil has superhuman strength, with a black heart.
Evil destroyed property, but left me standing.
Receding like a giant tsunami, leaving me behind.

I tell myself I triumphed over evil, but it was mostly luck
I shiver at the thought.

Just as authoritarians need Jews, I need you.

Of course if you do as you are told, it is all good.

And I know you want to be good, and you want others to be good too.

And the best way to be good, is to ensure others are good too.

Then, it's all good, and all are good,

Goodness me, don't listen to your feelings or mine, your feelings are bad.

Your feelings will constantly tempt you, listen to me, they say.

Listen to me and I will give you pleasure and happiness, they say, but don't listen because they will only give you pain.

And if they don't give you pain, I will, and so will everyone behind me, and above me.

Remember your place, and never forget who you are.

Feeding my soul is such a relief, no longer relying on the kindness of strangers.

My soul is a little greedy, and wants more.

But starts to relax, just what it has always wanted.

They controlled me through personal tension, I was a trained horse with a bridle.

But I bridled at their control, but found it almost impossible to slough off.

Until I started to listen to my soul, it's true, a quiet voice amid the bustle. Almost the voice of a child, who loves to be listened to.

Fortunately whatever we feed grows, and this is also true of my soul, who hopes to grow fat and strong and safe.

My soul feels like dancing and likes to dance to Alpenzusjes, click https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DI1x7yVSv0c&list=RDMMDI1x7yVSv0c&start_radio=1. How wonderful are the Alpine Sausages.

And not content to feeding my soul, every morning I feed our Currawongs and Ravens. Who like us have a left and right brain, and a frontal cortex, and so they learn, remember, and socialise, just like us.

And every morning these song birds show their delight by singing, quite loudly, at my feet.

My soul and my song birds are all one - one dances and the other sings.