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People form groups, hoping to fulfill that which is perceived to address a common need; a measure of safety in a dangerous world. These groups may family, schools, sources of employment and institutions which build religions and serve our spiritual needs,

Soon thereafter and for as long as the group exists, the individual’s major role is to support the group. Negotiations ensue. The group offers a measure of approval in return for compliance; the higher the quality of Compliance, the higher the approval rating. The higher the approval rating the more likely it is to be confused with Love. Approval is condition dependent; Love is not. Love’s only aim is to Heal.


Wishing is not a substitute for Hope.

Hope is not a substitute for Faith.

Faith is not a substitute for Truth.


Approval is not a substitute for Love.

Love is not a substitute for Safety.

Safety is not a substitute for Fear.




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“Is there a God?” I asked myself.

If so, what Powers would God have that I do not?

Love? The memory of all past and future events?

And the I wondered…

When i die will i awaken to discover that my memory is much improved and that I no longer have anything to fear and that I am the source of Love?

Will I now know that all life formes ar but an expression of the one and only Life?

I wonder.

Wasn’t there something about “faster than a speeding bullet”?



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A true story as first told in 1956 by the person whose story it is and who prefers to remain anonymous.

(“What the…..Why is it so hot in here? It’s so damned hot I can’t sleep. What was I dreaming about? Damn it all to hell, shit. Sumbitch!

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

I’m on fire!”)

He opened his eyes. He was covered with ripped and torn pages of newspapers and magazines all of which were burning;  the scraps of paper were ablaze, his jumpsuit was  afire,  he was  on fire.

He rose from his bunk, twirling, whirling, spinning around like a maddened dervish, pounding out flames, slapping his chest, stomping on the still burning pages, cursing as his seven noisy bunkmates yelled with laughter, mimicking their angered, vociferous victim as they had done at other fun times in previous siestas.

On his last spin his right foot connected with Cherry’s chin and the laughter stopped.

“What happened then? This Cherry fellow must have really been annoyed” I remarked.

“You got that right; within seconds both my arms were being pinned behind me by Cherry’s thugs. Within minutes I was being represented by a cellmate as Cherry himself conducted a kangaroo court.

There wasn’t actually a court; one of Cherry’s goons read the charge of malicious personal injury to our self-elected cell boss and stated that these charges could be reversed in hand-to-hand combat. If I could physically overcome the warrior of Cherry’s Choice in a battle for limited freedom and possibly for my life, they would quit harassing me.

Cherry declared himself as my opponent. We would spar during the evening meal which always took place in a larger cell referred to as the Day Room. There were three full cells in this cellblock which held eight occupants each. I would have an audience of 31 inmates.

How could I do this? My hands were nearly useless. At least Cherry had a sore jaw which would help to even things up.

I’d been in a similar situation in a previous jail where I had been charged with loitering. Had it not been for the results of my participation in a one-on-one struggle for possession of my shoes, a contest in which justice had prevailed at the expense of my attacker’s consciousness, I would have been free by now. As it happened,  a new charge  would free me from the city jail only to find myself behind county bars; had I surrendered my shoes I would have served a scant week or more after which I would have been free. As it was I had already spent three months awaiting trial on new charges.

With the help of a couple of sympathizers my hands were wrapped in towels, though I realized that the cotton protection would be of little use; I needed an alternate plan.

As we were being transferred to the larger room I decided not to wait until after dinner and went back over my plan. As soon as we had been served and the trustees were gone I would charge with my feet. And I did.

As my left foot connected with Cherry’s patella my adversary shouted at the pain in his injured kneecap and fell to the floor. My moment of triumph was quickly interrupted however by those members of Cherry’s entourage who had apparently formulated some alternative plans of their own. From the left I detected a sneak attack in progress. I whirled around to meet two new opponents and kicked the one on the left in the mouth; as he went down I grappled with his partner. Unable to use my hands I remembered some advice from a cellmate, ‘if you can’t use your hands, use your feet; if you’re too close to use your feet, use your teeth.’ And I dined on a greasy earlobe.”


Wresting the grisly gob of human flesh from its owner, the young warrior  spat it out. At that point the room became a cacophony of troubled screams and multiple blows to his head and body. As he went down he described  his head being stomped on and kicked about.

Darkness prevailed.

On the following day he awoke in a hospital bed. A nurse explained that he had been unconscious for 27 hours.

“What day is this?” he asked.

“Today is Christmas.”  Came the reply. “You have two Christmas presents.”

“Where are they?”

“First, let me show you what you look like” replied the lady in the nurse’s cap and she held a mirror to his face.

“So, what did you look like” I asked. “That was only a year ago. You look fine now”.

“I gasped. My heart sank. What I saw in that mirror was a badly beaten stranger; all my features were so swollen that I recognized only my hair. The nurse lady with the mirror informed me that the skin was not broken and that no stitches had been taken.

I continued to look at the stranger in the mirror, looking for something familiar. Eventually I asked for my Christmas presents.”

“You already have them” she told me. “For one thing, you’re still alive and secondly you’re being released on your own recognizance. Your parents will be here to take you home tomorrow morning. Merry Christmas!”


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(This article was first posted on my marketing blog, NinetyDayWonder on Friday, November 14, 2013. At the end of the article was a message which promised “More tomorrow.”  On November 15, 2013 I was on my way to The Gallery at City Hall. As I neared my destination I STOPPED at a stop sign. I LOOKED both ways and I LISTENED to my inner voice telling me the coast was clear. I nearly lost my life in the middle of that intersection as i was struck by a lime green taxi. I was charged with failure to yield the right of way. I defended that charge and lost. )

When we discover that something we are doing is creating problems, the first inclination is to stop what we are doing. Perhaps that is a good idea; perhaps not.

The important thing to remember is that whatever it is that we believe is creating problems exists because it is overcoming problems. When we stop doing this thing, the good stops along with the bad.

If stopping is our choice, let that choice be momentary. And, let the purpose of that choice be to gather information.



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It is said that it is easier to break an empty bottle of beer than a sealed one.

It is also said that it is easier to break anything than to fix it, unless that thing is an undesired habit or a relationship.

Is it any consolation to realize that when a thing is made by man, that something was first destroyed?

Whatever we make of ourselves requires raw materials, desire and a whole lotta Love.

Design it, gather materials, build it and sell it.


From: Leadership. A Love Story

By Lee Broom 

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Motivated to search for Love, the socially active seeker of that commodity is eventually disappointed by the discovery that  “Love” once found is usually not so much “Love” as approval.

On those rare occasion when the social butterfly chances to meet a less socially dependent “other” the party goer may view the independent one as possessing humility.

Th-s oft-labled Introvert on the other hand may view the socially astute as an obstacle to the more important endeavors of daily living. Humility is not a character trait in this case but simply a topic for discussion by students of small-talk.

This scholar-scientist-artist depends less on social activity and is motivated primarily by the search for “the Truth of the matter”.

Both seek Love.

Each seek Safety.

They are on the right path.



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Bullies are not always what they seem to be. They can be noisy and threatening – that’s to be expected. But often they are quiet; the Extortionist for example…“I’ll tell, unless”…

Sometimes the threat does not even have to be voiced.

The victim often pretends not to hear and tolerates the threats. But sooner or later the bully needs to reign in their victim to test their controls.  Perhaps a gift is involved. And the victim says “Thank you” and soon after comes the quiet threat… “Don’t complain or I’ll tell”…

At some point the victim reaches their tolerance threshold and they do in fact, complain; the accumulation of taunts and threats has had its toll and the victim cries out. “Stop it”. That cry is often quite loud and the victim sounds like a bully.

Meanwhile, the real bully tells those whose judgment will follow “See, I told you so” and to the victim “You brought it on yourself.” And the victim becomes compliant in a quiet attempt to repair the damage and becomes yet more of a victim and the bully plans the next move.

I’m talking about a problem that is familiar to many, if not most families. But the bully pulpit exists also in government, industry and society in general.

In families the bully and the victim each lose their feeling of safety. It is that search for safety that motivates us; we wrestle for pecking order; governments raise taxes often creating more problems than were meant to be solved; industry raises prices and lose business which results in cutting costs and with it, jobs and quality of goods; our search for safety included getting the best possible education in order to get the best possible job and the world went into a recession and we lost our pecking order. We looked around to note when the feathers quit flying and we began again, this time in a call center for minimum wage. And people came out of their cubicles and out onto the streets shouting “Stop it” and the Victim “became” the Bully.

Those of us who include ourselves in this drama seldom notice that the solution was always right in plain sight.

Ignore the bully.

Accept the Love and pass it on…

First to the bully…

Then to the mirror…

And then to society at large…


Accept the Love and pass it on.