I made a decision to kill the spiders. Extracting their webs has been quite a lesson in perspective. Healthy, happy and web free does not happen per chance, it takes massive amounts of discipline and daily disagreement with the intricate workings of the matrix. I have succeeded. Smart phones are a thing of the past. I have not been bitten by one in almost three months. May 16th was the day of reckoning or should I say “recognition”.
I Maybe I will return with a poem or two, maybe I won’t. The world will most likely keep spinning with or without me. Either way, I am healthy, happy and free.
Food for thought, the heart and stomach. May you find your way to healthy, happy and web free. Yummy!
Now that’s a horrific haiku with stupidity unleashed.
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“Trust the science” is a mantra out of sync with the innate wisdom of the human body. Just ask it (the body) with the simple but complex knowledge of muscle testing. Believe what your body tells it tells you, and not what comes out of a lab full of rats.
MRNA vaccine injuries are no joke, they cripple and kill you, not the things that ail you.
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Moderna terrorists
fan hypodermic needles.
MRNA Gods.
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These jabs are the antithesis of health. An un-compromised body should be the goal of medicine, not injecting all manner of toxins and poisons to disrupt and compromise normal cell functions. Injecting healthy and vibrant children with these body compromising pharmaceuticals is a crime against nature and humanity.
That is the message from my sacred body and my horrific haiku unleashed. The same important message sent from God, the real one.
Off the Beaten Path stratospheric haiku conspiracy for March 26, 2026.
The skies tell the truth even when your smartphone lies. Michigan just had another devastating ice storm with surface temperatures at 28 degrees. Rain freezing instantly on contact with everything near the ground. It is raining because of geo engineering programs that warm temperatures aloft. Satellites, microwave frequencies, Chem trails and cell towers in conjunction with metallic nano particles and our weather is coming straight from Hell.
Preach all the college book “science” you want. Chem trails make clouds and dim the sun, they change the weather, contrails do not. Weather modification is not a conspiracy theory, its deniers are the real conspiracy theorists.
Life can change in an instant, especially when extraterrestrials shatter the windows to our soul.
For some of us, it’s a spiritual epiphany, for others it can be an occluded blackout.
In our physical universe as we know it, life begets death. Death begets life. That is our physical dimensional reality.
We exist in other dimensions as well as our existence on the physical plane, and thus the life death cycle so engrained into our reality is quite frankly, an illusion. The physical body dies, but the non physical body persists to reincarnate into the physical or live in another dimension altogether. Past life memories are now common place and electronically verifiable.
As my poem depicts, I have experienced other dimensions and have certainty that we have not been alone on this planet from its inception. Humanity is just one dimension of many that co-exists on this one physical plane we call Earth. There are three trillion planets extrapolated to exist just in the milky way alone. Just one of those planets has enough dimensions to make our heads spin. Dimensions and life in the Milky Way?
Even among our species their are many universes not containable within the confines of time and space. Extraterrestrials exist without our agreement. We are phenomenon but not the only ones. Any argument to the contrary is an impossibility so great that, yes, it is impossible. I have been there and have experienced when extraterrestrials shatter the windows to our soul.
Just like humanity, in that experience, I am not alone.
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Cross Over
There exists a world
few have ever seen. Those that have
are awe struck… completely
turned inside out and upside down
within the realm of what is
and what isn’t. They instantly know
Extraterrestrials exist, that there
is no such thing as “death”,
just a soft but vibrant susurrus
from the heart of creation, from the all
of existence, from the very beginning
before the beginning began. They behold
God is what God is, indescribable
in indefinable terms, incomprehensible
as the all-ness of is-ness
or the everything of forever-ness
where the essence of man has always been.
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Book 2 in my Conversations With Sasquatch book series Cross Over
Heartfelt Sunday Blessing and Beautiful Poem for Abundance and Joy on this Sunday, March 15, 2026. I have a great affinity and connection with trees and poetry. May they brighten your day.
I was born writing poetry. Nothing has changed. I’ll die with a pen and pencil in hand.
My roots are deeply embedded in the my Native American Spirit where a poem is food for life itself. The rain, the river, the wind and a whole host of phenomena are all poets in the interwoven scheme of creation. They are all much better than I, yet I still try to put a cloud or a whippoorwill into words.
I know it is not a popular or exciting endeavor for most people, poetry is about as esoteric as escargot.
When I was young I discovered the words of Pablo Neruda. Of course, for us English speaking readers, the words are twice removed by the nuances of language, but still speak with the and tongues of our nature.
Those Days
The mists of the North and South left me a little westerly and so those days passed. Everything was at sea.
I certainly earned the title of a wandering gentleman; I wore every kind of hat, I knew racy women; I ate sand, I ate sardines, and I married from time to time.
But without claiming to be emperor or sailor, I must confess I remember the most friendly hurricanes, and confess that I die of envy remembering what I’ve lost, how rich I was and wasn’t, the hunger that kept me going, and those intruding shoes which never knocked at the door.
The great thing about joy is the split self it has. One doesn’t live in today alone– the present is a handbag with a contraband watch in it. Our heart is all future, our pleasure is over.
And so I shifted from course to course, in heat, in cold, in a hurry, and all I didn’t see I still keep remembering– all the shadows I swam in, every sea that took me in; I beat on all the stones, I lay down among thorns, and I had the natural honor of those not born to it.
I don’t know why I’m telling these things, these places, these moments, the smoke of those bonfires. Nobody really needs to tremble at alien earthquakes and truly nobody cares about anyone else’s youth. So I am not asking for pardon. I’m in my usual place. I have a tree with so many leaves that although I don’t claim immortality, I can laugh at you and the autumn.
