Mexican activist judges are destroying America

Guest post by Leonora Coldspell, CNHCPP, PhD

It's not often that I allow guest posts on this blog, and as you may know I hadn't been a Trump supporter, but in the interests of being fair and balanced I am publishing this piece. I have to admit that the writer has a powerful message about restoring sanity to the American judicial system as well as the political system, and truly making this country great again. Dr. Coldspell is a certified naturohomeochiropathic practitioner, anti-vaccination health activist, and a member of the advocacy group Americans for a More American America. She holds an honorary PhD from Baptist University of Lower Louisiana. Dr. Coldspell asked that I not edit her post in any way, shape or form, so I am honoring her wishes and presenting it here exactly as submitted to me.* Please give her words careful consideration, as she says that she represents a significant portion of the American electorate. Watch out, Hillary!
~ CC

I am a proud Donald Trump supporter and frankly I am really sick of being called racist and a bigot and a hater because of that. I am about as far from a hater as anyone could be because I love America and so does Mr. Trump and thats that. And although I am fed up with being called a racist I am even more I am fed up with hearing my candidate being called a racist just because he isnt afraid to tell the truth about Mexicans and about a certain Mexican "Judge" (possible NWO operative?) named Gonzalo Curiel, who has singled Mr. Trump out for persecution because Mr. Trump wants to build a wall to make America great again and take our country back. The truth is that judge Curiel is part of a conspiracy of activist Mexican judges that are working from within to tear our country apart and weaken us and depopulate us and take our guns away to get us ready for FEMA camps and mandatory vaccinations and conversion to the Moslemic religion.

The media has been beating up on Mr. Trump for telling the truth while it has been applauding Judge Curiel for being some kind of hero. But the truth has finally come out. Not only does Judge Curiel have deep connections to radical violent Mexican groups, but he is also a Hillary Clinton contributor! It looks like Mr Trump was right all along that the Judge had a personal vendetta against him.

And lets talk about Trump University for a few minutes since it is the focus of those unjust lawsuits. The lamestream media has jumped on this as if it was the biggest crime of the century but it was nothing more nor less than a real estate course and a very successful one for many people according to the investigative article I linked to above. It was only complained about by a tiny percentage of whiners who were probably lazy anyway or didnt do what the course told them to do or maybe they were unhappy because they didn't make a million dollars immediately. Very few if any people really lost money but too many people want something for nothing and there are so many loosers in this world, and thats not Mr. Trump's fault.

Besides many of those classes were free in the first place! A man that goes to my Church told me that his brother-in-law's boss has a next door neighbor who went to the free course and liked it so much that he signed up for another more advanced class. Someone wouldn't do that if they thought they were being screwed.

What you need to know is that there is a Mexican radical connection and a Clinton connection where judge Curiel is concerned and Donald Trump was right all along that the judge really does have a personal grudge against Mr. Trump. You can call me a racist if you want but facts are facts and I am tired of political correctness because it is destroying our country from within.

And judge Curiel is only one piece in a scandalous and dangerous puzzle. The Mexican plot against Donald Trump is ongoing and they are not even trying to hide it anymore. They even have Donald Trump pinatas now because they are so mad about the wall and the truths Mr. Trump has told about so many of the ones they are sending over here being rapists and diseased robbers and illegals and not the best people. The writing on the wall (the wall that my candidate is going to build, ha-ha) couldn't be any clearer: THE MEXICANS MEAN TO HARM MR. TRUMP.

Now I am confident that once he is President Mr. Trump will ban the manufacture and import of all of these pinatas because they are disrespectful but even more important becuase they encourage violence and also the "candy" in them is reportedly laced with drugs or with chemtrail poison that studies have shown disrupts hormones and causes people to be homosexuals or even trannies who pray on innocent children in public restrooms. But that is a whole other subject. Anyway unfortunately Mr. Trump cant do much about the pinata scourge until he is President so until then beware of all pinatas not just the Trump ones.

By the way. The picture on this post was taken of that so called "Judge" who is persecuting Mr. Trump. It was shot during a (taxpayer-funded) junket to Mexico that the judge went on early in 2016 with Hillary Clinton and Barack Obummer after they murdered Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia by putting a pillow on his head. (Does anybody really believe Justice Scalia died of natural causes?) The trip to Mexico was supposedly a "fact-finding mission" (ha) but it was really to meet with the judge's la raza buddies according to the source that leaked the picture. While in Mexico the judge bought a Donald Trump pinata and proudly posed with it. Somebody posted it on their Facebook page and it went viral before judge Curiel could have it removed. It's too late now Judge Curiel your secret is out. What an insult to the high position you hold. People say Mr. Trump isn't Presidential but what about judges who aren't judgelike? People who live in glass courthouses shouldnt throw stones as they say.

But there is more. It isn't just Mr. Trump that the Mexican judge cartel hates. And yes it is a cartel, judge Curiel is not the only Mexican judge in this country unfortunately. Together the mexican judges are working to make sure that illegals get to vote and get food stamps and welfare and all of our good jobs. They are ruining the moral fabric of our society. But what you really need to know is that they are involved in a elaborate plot against patriotic Americans who are not affraid to tell the truth.

Did you think Donald Trump was the only person they have gone after? Well hold on this may shock you. Many of you know about heroic consumer advocate Kevin Trudeau whose Natural Cures books ripped the lid off of the government and big food companies and big Pharma and many other things that they don't want you to know about. Mr. Trudeau was also not afraid to tell the truth about Mexicans and how Mexican illegal immigration is destroying America as we know it. Here is a link to one of his radio shows a few years ago where he talks about that and other important things (like how the government doesn't want you to be successful which is why they persecuted motivational speaker James A. Ray according to mr Trudeau.).

And now Kevin Trudeau is in jail! In case you dont know it he is serving a ten-year sentence on trumped-up charges. All he did was exercise his free speech and and say that a diet was easy. And for that they threw him in prison. How could this happen in America you say. Well remember we are living in Obamas America -- where there is a homosexual Kenyan islamic terrorist with a wife that was born as a man and two children they are pretending are their biological kids, living in the Whitehouse! And Kevin was put in jail during the Obama administration. Coincidence? I think not. Anyway one of my associates has a cousin whos friend's mother in law went on the Kevin Trudeau diet and lost nearly 100 pounds and she said it really was easy! Yet Kevin got thrown in prison for saying the same thing.

But as you get further down the rabbit hole of truth you will see there is more. Kevin also defended Donald Trump as a truth teller a few years ago. Maybe that was when he sealed his fate at the hands of the Mexican judiciary cartel.

So do you know the name of the judge who put Mr. Trudeau in jail for ten years? No it wasnt Judge Curiel because it wasn't his jurisdiction but it was Judge Ronald Guzman, another Mexican. Judge Guzman is definitely not an American he was born in Puerto Rico where they also speak mexican! And he was nominated to his current high position by President Bill Clinton so theres another criminal Clinton connection right there. Are you seeing a pattern here? If not you haven't done your research or you may be just another sheeple.

But there is still hope for you. We still have a few months until the election. More and more people are waking up and come November, we will be casting our votes for Donald Trump the man who will keep America safe from illegal Mexicans and muslin terrorists and hopefully from the Rothschilds who really run everything. (By the way do you think that it is coincidence that the two judges who oversaw Mr. Trudeau's cases, Robert Gettleman (probably a jewish zionist name!) and Ronald Guzman, have the same initials, "RG"? And that those are the same initials as "Rothschild Goons?" The New World Order is speaking to us in code and again the writing is on the wall!)

So forget your political correctness and stop calling the people racists who are only trying to help save our country. A vote for anyone but Donald Trump is a vote against America and all that we hold most dear. He will restore sanity to this country not only to the courts but to the whole political system because he is not a politician and cant be bought. He will also be able to finally rain in the lying lamestream media by strengthening libel laws and forcing the media to tell the truth or go out of business. Donald Trump tells it like it is and not like the way the politically correct crowd and the social justice warriors wish it was.

Some people say to me how could you support Trump if your a woman. Well there are millions of us women who proudly support him. And not just because he has hired many women for his businesses and gave them all a chance to succeed in a so called mans world. It's also because he will save us from the alternative under Killary (which Hussein Obama-nation has paved the way for), which is an America where we are forced to speak Arabian and have to live under Sharai laws where women are treated worse than dogs and they have to keep their heads covered or they get raped in Mosques by diseased imans. And those will be the lucky ones because at least they will still have heads to cover. If people (women or men or children) try to stand up for their Christian faith there heads will be cut off on TV to make an example of them. Mr Trump will save us from that. He is the only one who can.

So a vote for Donald Trump is a vote for American greatness. God bless America and God bless Donald Trump. In the name of Jesus Christ our Lord and Savor, amen.

Copyright © by Dr. Leonora Coldspell, CNHCPP, PhD
Sharing is caring! Please share everywhere but please give credit to the author.

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* Specifically, this post is presented exactly as the voices in my head submitted it to me, since -- I confess! -- I totally made up Dr. Coldspell and this piece is satirical. But I can't really claim to have made up the sentiments, which are loudly trumpeted (so to speak) all over the Internet by Donald fans and conspiracy nuts -- including some of those who have been snargets on this blog (e.g., "Dr." Leonard Coldwell, longtime Kevin Trudeau buddy Fred van Liew, et al.).  The spelling and grammatical errors were deliberate but actually I was being charitable, as I've seen much worse by some of the Trumpians (e.g., the aforementioned "Dr." C). ~CC

Donald Trump names Kevin Trudeau as running mate in 2016 race to the White House

Jupiter, Florida, API News Services, March 9, 2016 -- Eat your heart out, Canada; the US might soon have a Trudeau in power too. But he won't be a liberal like that young Justin fellow.

In a stunning development in an already controversial US presidential campaign, Republican front-runner Donald J. Trump has named infomercial king Kevin Trudeau as his running mate. Although currently serving a 10-year sentence in a Federal prison in Alabama for criminal contempt related to infomercials for one of his diet books, that's no impediment, says Mr. Trump, who added that the Donald J. Trump Foundation has made a "substantial" donation to Mr. Trudeau's legal defense fund.

Said Mr. Trump, "I've given careful consideration to this matter and after talking to and vetting many, many people, I have decided that I needed another 'outsider' rather than a career politician by my side. Kevin is definitely an outsider; the establishment hates him. And he and I have a lot in common. He is one of the most successful businessmen in modern history, and he has terrific taste in foreign wives. He can pick a '10' every time.

"And like me, Kevin has been fighting the establishment and telling truths that those in power just don't want to hear. They don't wanna hear any of it, I tell you. They're running scared now. And Kevin, he got put in jail for telling the truth, and that never should have happened."

When asked how a convicted felon could become V.P., Mr. Trump scoffed. "There's nothing in the Constitution that says a convicted felon can't be president or vice president."

He added that the point might become moot anyway. "Kevin lost his appeal last month but we're taking the case to the Supreme Court. We're going to get his conviction reversed, we're going to get that $40 million civil fine vacated, and we're going to make sure that the government compensates Kevin for all of the time and money they've taken from him. And we're gonna get that 1990s fraud conviction reversed too; he never should have been in jail for that either.

"And then we're gonna change the criminal contempt laws, and throw out the Federal Trade Commission if we need to, so that something like this travesty of justice will never happen again.

"The bottom line is that Kevin Trudeau is a great, great American. He's gonna help me re-open Trump University, and along with our mutual friend Troy McClain -- he was on The Apprentice and he's running that GIN club now, and there is definitely a position for him in my cabinet --- together we are going to make America great again."

###

I have other Matters of Consequence to deal with now, but will have more about this tomorrow.
~CC

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Kevin Trudeau released to custody of his parents

BREAKING NEWS
Chicago (WM WireNet) April 1, 2014 -- Infomercial pitchman Kevin Trudeau, who was convicted of criminal contempt last November for repeatedly defying court orders regarding infomercials for a diet book, and was sentenced last month to ten years in a federal prison, was released Tuesday to the custody of his parents, Robert and Mary Trudeau of Lynn, Massachusetts, for an indefinite period. Judge Ronald Guzman signed the order releasing the pitchman to the elder Trudeaus' custody until the courts make the final decision about the prison in which he will be serving his sentence. "It's the compassionate thing to do," said Guzman, "since after all, his parents are getting on in years and are in very poor health."

When asked if Trudeau was considered a flight risk, Thomas Kirsch, one of Trudeau's attorneys, responded, "Mr. Trudeau has indicated that he will indeed be flying to Massachusetts, where he will be staying with his parents and helping them put their affairs in order. As for the question of being a risk, this trip is no more risky than any airline travel. There is always some risk of course, but flying remains one of the safest forms of transportation. No, we don't see any particular risk."

Trudeau was also given back his passports so he can travel to his luxury apartment in Zurich, Switzerland "to pick up a few things" that might look nice in his elderly parents' Massachusetts bungalow, which according to a recent report by noted inferior decorator Augusta Wend, is "sadly lacking in faux-finishes, puffy gold couches, and pretentious reproductions of Renaissance art."

Once back in the US, Trudeau will surrender to the custody of his parents, where he will be placed under house arrest at night and will not be allowed to travel outside of North America during the day, except on weekends.

April Fools! Real updates coming soon. I'm kind of busy today.

Meanwhile here is a real court document, filed on March 31, 2014..
Kevin is begging the court to let him go see his aging parents one last time before he begins serving his sentence. This motion will be presented before Judge Guzman on Thursday, April 3, 2014.

UPDATE 3 April 2014:
Who was it who said, "You can't go home again?" Judge Ronald Guzman, that's who. MOTION DENIED. And that's no April Fools joke.

Meat the Master: in which Cosmic Connie witnesses a real miracle

Dear Ones, I have something to confess to you. Most of you know me as a snark who scoffs at many things, including and especially the entire idea of miracles. But the truth is – and some of you more savvy readers have read between the lines and have detected the yearning soul who trembles beneath this snarky cloak – I long for tangible miracles in my life. Why, I even wrote about this longing years and years ago, on my old Cosmic Relief web site, during the heyday of Millennial madness when many feared that the world, or at least civilization, would end at the stroke of midnight on January 1, 2000. Here is what I wrote (and I hope you will pardon the royal-"we" affectation):

THESE are the days of miracles and wonders? Oh, we only wish. Either we've led a really wicked life, or the recently* discovered "God module" in our temporal lobe is severely underdeveloped. Or maybe it's just that we never did hallucinogenics.
Whatever the cause, the unhappy truth is that angels don't whisper in our ear, deities don't dictate sacred texts to us, and dead spiritual masters refuse to use us as a mouthpiece.
To add insult to injury, the dolphins at Sea World treat us with disdain, the Weeping Jesus picture just rolls its eyes at us, The Face on Mars stuck its tongue out at us, and the statue of Ganesh laughed so hard at us that the milk squirted out of its nose...er...trunk.
Worst of all, aliens from UFOs have never taken us into their vessels to poke at our naughty bits (oh, but we keep hoping...)
Life, alas, is just so mundane for us. All of the tortillas, billboards, cinnamon buns, and porch lights we've ever encountered are just tortillas, billboards, buns, and porch lights. No face of the Lord, no nunly visage, no apparition of the Virgin, no secret signs of the End Times. (Okay, on one of our quests we did find a misshapen dog-turd that bore a striking resemblance to the face of evangelist Pat Robertson -- pious smirk and all -- but we just couldn't get the media interested.)

The Millennium came and went and, as far as we... I mean I can tell, the world didn't end. Eventually I created my own Whirled. It was fun from the get-go, but still something was missing. My life remained bereft of the type of miracle that draws bored reporters and long lines of desperate believers to one's front door. Except for some isolated experiences with statues, which I wrote about a few years ago, discernible miracles have been few and far between in my life.

Of course I pretended not to care. On the surface I was a happy snarker – a livid one, as one of my snargets has described me – but beneath it all flowed a deep, deep river of discontent. I still felt so... well... left out. Overlooked. Utterly under-appreciated by the Higher Power(s).

And then, and then... last night... Something Happened. 

It was so wondrous that it shook my Whirled. 

It made me re-examine my entire life.

It made me want to write one-sentence paragraphs.

Or even one-word paragraphs.

Really.

Here's the deal: Last night Ron took me into the Big City (that would be Houston) for dinner at a restaurant that I will not name for reasons that will soon become apparent. We'd been there numerous times before and had always enjoyed superb food and service. 

But last night was over the top.

Being in a carnivorous frame of mind and feeling a bit extravagant, I decided to go all out with one of the most expensive steaks on the menu. I was famished and couldn't wait to dig into it when it arrived.

But something stopped me. On that succulent piece of meat I beheld a Face, clear as could be. It was an oddly familiar mug with a toothsome smile. At first I thought it was a demon. Then it kind of looked like an obnoxious ex-boyfriend of mine. And then I realized that it was...oh, my Goddess, the Face of the Master.

It was... it was... Himself. It was The Big T. As in Tony Robbins. The undisputed king of the selfish-help industry.

I gasped.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Ron asked, his mouth full of New York strip steak. Speechless, I pointed to The Face. 

Ron's eyes widened.

He put down his fork, whipped out his cell phone and began snapping photos.

By then a small crowd had gathered around our table. Most people instantly recognized The Face. Many were astounded; some were crying. People were Tweeting and Facebooking about it. A reporter from a local TV station happened to be dining at a table near us and contacted her producer, and before I knew it there were camera crews and bright lights in my face. I became a minor celebrity for a while. I signed autographs, did a couple of mini-interviews, even landed a book contract.

Finally, I had the miracle I had been waiting for. In spades. Well, in a steak, anyway.

But the fact remained that I was still hungry and feeling more fiercely carnivorous than ever. So instead of preserving that wondrous cut of beef, I scarfed it down, much to the dismay of some of the miracle seekers who were still crowded around us. Others, however, cheered me on. They said this was the ultimate self-empowering thing for me to do. They assured me that there was no better way to Awaken the Giant Within than to consume an image of The Giant himself.

I noticed that the steak tasted a little "off," but I didn't care; I was that famished.

Back at home a few hours later, I bitterly regretted my choice to eat the miracle meat. I became violently ill, and am only just now recovering. Some may call that poetic justice or instant karma for destroying the evidence of a miracle, and perhaps they're right. But I really didn't destroy anything. After all, I still have those photos. The miracle lives on and continues to unfold in my life in mysterious ways. Now I am seeing The Face everywhere. What does it all mean? Stay tuned...

* Well, the discovery of the God module was "recent" in 1997, anyway.

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Bat sh-t crazy?

I'm working on a real blog post – yet another follow-up to a wacko promiscuous-sex cult I've written about before –
but meanwhile, here's something batty from the world's most respected news source, The Onion:
http://www.theonion.com/content/video/breaking_news_bat_loose_in

And speaking of bats, a well-known New-Wage guru may have hit upon a new discovery (or, rather, the discovery hit upon him): an organic way to expand one's vision, as it were, via bat poop:
http://twitter.com/mrfire/status/4458557210

Who knows what miraculous health-supplement product ideas that incident might have inspired?

And now that we're on the subject of poop, Ron and I found an unfamiliar-looking piece of dark, crumbly, and very interestingly textured poop in our garage the other day. We probably should have shot a few pics of it (would that be considered a "crap shoot"?), but alas, we didn't. We do know that it wasn't the product of one of our domestic quadrupeds, and it wasn't from a possum. After doing several minutes of intensive research on the Net, I found a picture that closely resembled the turd that was in our garage, and the bad news is that it appears to be the work of a skunk (though alternatively, it might be from a raccoon). I am reasonably certain, however, that it wasn't from a bat. 

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Now more than ever, your donation is needed
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A Barry Happy New Year!

Well, Dear Ones, it's been two weeks since I blogged, and now I find myself in a brand new year, at least if you're going by the Gregorian calendar.


I was seriously considering doing one of those painfully clever Year In Review posts outlining the best and worst of 2008 from my Whirled view. After all, 2008 was an eventful year in the New-Wage/selfish-help arena; we had everything from a benevolent, bearded New-Wage guru who turned out to be a genocidal war criminal, to the usual shenanigans of your garden-variety hustledorks and amateur quantum physicists. Scientist Bob Proctor disavowed one of his major fame tickets, The Secret, while pushing the latest in a series of his own marginally legal highly questionable money-making schemes. Joe "Mr. Fire" Vitale bought more expensive cars and blogged and Tweeted about them endlessly, although his world nearly shattered when he failed to attract a flying car he'd had his eye on (if you follow the link, scroll down to the second item). David Schirmer, lone Aussie star of The Secret, lost more court cases (to paraphrase "Mr. Fire," way too many links to list here. Just Google.). And so forth.

Indeed, the ocean of 2008 runneth over with snark chum.

Alas, I quickly realized that I am far too lazy to do a Whirled Year In Review. I'm even too lazy to do a personal Year In Review, even though it was a significant year for me, in that I became a country girl and finally learned how to use Twitter.

So I'm going to take the easy way out and hand you over to Dave Barry, who, of course, concerns himself with a much broader range of topics than I do. Just in case you haven't seen it yet, here is Dave's review of the year that was. And remember, he's not making it up. At least, not all of it.

PS ~ Don't worry. I'll get back to snarking...well...probably tomorrow!
PPS added January 3 ~ That "tomorrow" I mentioned above is now yesterday, and threatening to turn into the day before yesterday. But don't worry, I am preparing to snark...

A blog post that rocks (so to speak)

Blair Warren, who's been away from his blog way too long, exercises his imagination by telling the tale of an amazing man and his magic rocks. As Blair explains, though, it is just a fable. It could never happen in real life...

Reflecting on self-esteem

Lately I've been running across that "self-esteem" graphic depicting a cute little kitten gazing at itself in a mirror and beholding the face of a lion. You probably know the one I mean. I've seen this pic on various blog posts, web sites, and discussion forums, and in those emails that well-meaning friends forward to you and everyone else they've ever known or might possibly know at some undetermined time in the future. The caption on the graphic reads, "What matters most is how you see yourself." These days it is nearly as omnipresent as that poster of the cute little kitten hanging precariously from a tree limb, with the caption, "Hang In There!" That one is supposed to serve as encouragement for people who are having hard times. Depending upon the problem, if I were having hard times I'd much prefer money or some Xanax to a picture of a cute little kitty in a tree, but that's just me.

As for the self-esteem poster, I have a few problems with this whole kitten-and-lion thing. To begin with, it clearly implies that the lion is somehow superior to felis domesticus. Don't you dare try suggesting anything like that to the lap lions who live in my household. They may be smaller in stature than a lion, and lacking in a mane, and they may not be able to scarf down an entire gazelle in one sitting, but they are a lot more useful and, I imagine, considerably less messy than felis leo. Not only are they experts in stalking, catching, and killing those rat-sized roaches we have here in the semi-tropics – a feat which a lion would probably think was beneath its dignity – but let's face it: a lion would require an awfully large litter box. And I have enough trouble keeping the little litter boxes clean, despite the fact that I have told all of y'all about my problem and have asked you repeatedly to do some Ho'oponopono cleaning on the problem. Not that I'm getting after you or anything. I'm just saying.

Second of all, the poster does not depict a very desirable scenario. Think about it. Most cats already have an inflated sense of self-worth without seeing themselves as lions. No matter how much you adore your own cats (and I dearly love mine), you know I'm right. Can you imagine how intolerable they'd be if they literally thought they were big cats?

Third of all, the whole scenario isn't even very realistic. Your average itty-bitty kitty would almost certainly turn tail and run to the nearest closet if it happened to be looking in a mirror and a big lion-face suddenly appeared.

So forgive me if I am a bit less than inspired by the picture of Fluffy and the King of Beasts. I can identify with the staring-in-the-mirror part of the message, but that's about it for me.

However, I am not going to leave you uninspired. My good friend Dr. Lar Jeego,* Guerrilla Motivator®, bestselling author, bad poet, and holder of way too many phony university degrees to list here, has created a poster that I found much more inspirational, and that he has kindly given me permission to share with you.

Dr. Lar is the founder of the famous Self-Esteem Boot Camp®, in which people are forced at gunpoint to love themselves. This is part of a technique he invented called Tough Self-Love. Some may feel his methods are rather harsh, but the many thousands of participants in the Boot Camps have found the experience to be life-changing, and only fatal for a very few. Dr. Lar uses such extreme measures, along with traditional means such as talk therapy, role playing, and, of course, mirror work, because he believes that self-esteem is the most important quality we can cultivate. It makes up for a host of other shortcomings, such as lack of intelligence, lack of character, laziness, sociopathy, psychosis, poor hygiene, etc.

Along with the inspiring illustration on his poster, Dr. Lar has thoughtfully included one of his many bad poems. Click on the graphic and you'll get the large version, which is suitable for a wallpaper. It has also been specially infused with powerful properties, so it will "clean" you as you look at it.

But it sure hasn't done much for my litter boxes.

* Whom I just made up

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The rest of Hawai’ian Week has been postponed

Dear Ones, I have some slightly disappointing news for y’all. I had such glorious plans for Hawai’ian Week on Whirled Musings, and here at home as well. The Rev and I were even planning to top off the week with a Texas-style luau. You might pupu the idea, but we had a big shindig planned – to which we were going to invite all of y’all, of course. You would have had a chance to sample an incredible array of Texanesian delights – that’s Texas-Polynesian fusion food – with the pièce de résistance being roast suckling armadillo with a prickly pear in its mouth.

Armadillo, as you may know, is the state roadkill of Texas. Oddly enough, though, The Rev and I haven’t been able to find any armadillo this season. They’re generally so abundant, lying on the side of the road with their little clawed hands and feet up in the air, just ripe for the pickin’. But the moment we started shopping for the luau, not one ’dillo was to be found. We’re thinking that maybe all of the rain we’ve been having just washed them away. All we were able to find was one little ol’ opossum that had been hit by a car a bit up the street from Casa de RonCon, and hell, that just won’t feed a whole crew. So the luau is off.

Adding to the frustration was an unavoidable delay in the launching of the book, Nero State, that I co-authored with noted Hawai’ian shaman Dr. Ihavascama Fer Yew. I told y’all about it the other day. The official launch was supposed to be at the end of this week; Dr. Yew and I were scheduled to appear on several big radio shows and all the morning shows on TV. But our publicist called me Wednesday evening in a panic, saying nobody has been able to get hold of Dr. Yew. "The man’s MIA," said the publicist. "Without Yew, there can be no launch."

"Well, I’m here!" I said. "And I’m ready."

"No, not you," the publicist said. "YEW. Your co-author. No one can reach him by phone, email, IM, Blackberry, Law Of Attraction, telepathy, or anything."

Now, that’s totally unlike Dr. Yew. Granted, the man is famously a bit reclusive, but he’s never been completely out of reach. Well, after trying all day yesterday to contact him myself, I finally reached his assistant, Mandi. She assured me that he was okay, but that he was "in seclusion" for at least two weeks.

"What’s the deal?" I asked.

There was a long silence. Finally Mandi replied, "He is…um…honing his self-focusing skills…I think he said."

"Magazines again?" I asked.

"Yup. The 25^th anniversary issue of Big’Uns just came in the mail."

So the book launch was off. It will be on again early in July. Expect fireworks. Or stink bombs, anyway.

Even so, I was still thinking I could salvage some of Hawai’ian Week. But then I got an irate phone call from Steve Jobs late last night. "Cosmic Connie, how DARE you have Hawai’ian Week on your blog, when this is the official launch week of the iPhone?" he asked. "Are you trying to steal some of my thunder?"

"Oh, my gosh, Steve, I completely forgot," I said. "I really am sorry."

"Well…that’s not really a good excuse," he said. "But…okay, I forgive you, because I like blue gals. But do you think that, just as a favor to me, you could postpone your special event so my iPhone has a fighting chance?"

"Steve, for you, anything," I said. "And please accept my apologies."

And so, Dear Ones, it would appear that the same Universe that was practically pleading with me to have Hawai’ian Week is now flooding me with signs that I should postpone it. When I spoke to the Universe this morning, It confirmed this. "I tried to send you subtle signs, beginning with all of those flash floods around your state," said the Universe. "But you wouldn’t pay attention. I guess it took that call from Jobs, eh?"

"Yeah, that pretty much did it," I said.

So to all of you who were celebrating Hawai’ian Week with me, I offer my sincerest apologies for cutting this very special week short. But the Universe has spoken. And so has Steve Jobs.*

I trust you will forgive me.

And now that I probably have your mouth watering for armadillo, I would like to leave you with one of my most cherished poems from a delightful but out-of-print children’s poetry book, Eggs Amen! by John Goldthwaite. This book was one of many illustrated gems published by the late creative eccentric Harlin Quist.

The armor-plated armadillo
Sleeps beneath the jungle willow
Unaware that army ants are marching out to lunch.
He dreams he grow increasing hollow
By a booming waterfall-o
And of course it is the army ants
(Crunch, crunch, crunch…)

Have a wonderful weekend!

* I am, of course, kidding about talking with Steve Jobs. And in no way am I implying that he really likes blue women. Oh, and I'm also kidding about the Rev and I eating roadkill, let alone serving it to our honored guests. However, The Rev does like armadillo.

Mahalo, Dr. Yew

E komo mai, Dear Ones! As we continue with Hawai’i Week on Whirled Musings, I feel that the time has come to reveal to you one of the truly astonishing discoveries that inspired me to host this very special week on my blog.

A couple of years ago, I heard about a psycho in Hawai’i who cleared out an entire hospital of therapists with an AK-47. No, wait, that’s another story. The story I want to tell you today is the one about a psychotherapist in Hawai'i who cured an entire ward of criminally insane patients – without ever having any contact with any of them. He would simply study an inmate’s chart and then work on himself. As he improved, the patient improved.

Well, I have to tell you that when I first heard this story I thought it was an urban, or at the very least a suburban, legend. How could anyone heal anyone else, particularly a ward full of dangerous nutters, just by working on himself? How could even the most introspective, insightful self-improvement expert improve other people just by improving his own self? And most importantly, was there a way I could make a few bucks by telling this guy’s story? Even if it turned out that the story wasn’t actually literally true?

On the one hand, the story didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t logical. On the other hand, there was that money angle. But I had other things to tend to, so I put the story on my mental back burner.

Then I heard the story again a year later. And I knew I’d better jump on it before someone else did. I heard that the therapist had used an ancient Hawai’ian secret self-healing process called Boto’o’popopopo. I had never heard of it, yet it would not leave my mind. If the story was at all true, or even if it wasn’t, I had to know more.

The therapist's name is Dr. Ihavascama Fer Yew. We must have spent an hour or more talking on our first phone call. I asked him to tell me the whole true story of his work as a therapist. He explained that he worked at Hawai’i State Hospital for about four years, or maybe it was four months; he didn’t quite remember. And it was either in the late 1960s or some time in the 1980s. But heck, those are just details. The important point was that the ward where they kept the criminal nutters was pretty dangerous. Psychologists were always quitting, and the staff was always calling in sick or just not showing up for work. Folks would make their way through that ward with their backs against the wall, afraid of being attacked by patients. It was a horribly unpleasant place to live, work, or visit.

According to the stories I'd heard, Dr. Yew changed all of that. Today, that ward is closed. And ever since then, love and light and peace have prevailed throughout the entire Hawai’i Hospital system.

How did Yew do it?

I told him I'd heard that he never saw patients; he just agreed to have an office and to review their files. As he looked at those files, he would work on himself, and as he worked on himself, patients began to heal.

"I heard that after a few months, patients that had to be shackled were being allowed to walk freely," I told him. "And others who were on seriously heavy meds were getting off of those meds. Most amazing of all, I heard that those who had no chance of ever being released were actually being freed."

Dr. Yew laughed. "Yes, you’ve certainly heard some stories," he said. "And I suppose you also heard how the staff began to enjoy coming to work, how absenteeism and turnover disappeared, and how we ended up with more staff than we needed because patients were being released, and all the staff was showing up to work."

"That’s right!" I said. "And it is true that today that ward is closed, right?"

"You got it, Toots," said Dr. Yew. "You don’t mind if I call you Toots, do you? By the way, are you really as blue as your picture? I like blue women." **

"Just call me Con," I told Dr. Yew, sensing that the nickname was about to take on a whole new meaning. "And I’m not really blue; that’s just a cheap special effect."

"Damn," said Dr. Yew. "You would have so fit in with that whole ‘Blue Hawaii’ theme."

In an attempt to get him back on track, I asked the million-dollar question: "What were you doing within yourself that caused those loonies to change?"

There was a long silence. And then Dr. Yew said, "You’ve probably heard that I was simply healing the part of me that created them."

"Yeah, something like that," I replied. "It’s all over the Internet. But I’m sort of spiritually challenged, and I don’t really understand the concept. Can you explain it to me?"

There was another long pause. Finally Dr. Yew said, "Well, I might as well come clean with you. The truth is, I wasn’t exactly looking at the patients’ files."

"Oh?" I said, all ears now.

"Well… okay, I’d pick a random file up once in a while and say an ancient Hawai’ian prayer over it, just to make sure I had all my bases covered. And I always had piles of files on my desk, so on the rare occasion when one of the hospital administrators or a real doctor would pop their head into my tiny little office, it would look like I was really busy. But for the most part they left me alone. And I…well…"

He paused again. I detected a little bit of reluctance. "Go on," I urged.
"For the most part," he finally continued, "I studied…ah…magazines."

"Magazines?" I asked. "You mean, like Psychology Today or The Annals of American Psychiatry?"

"Well…no."

"Oh!" I said. "You mean news magazines like Time and Newsweek, to give you perspective on what was going on in the world, and therefore help you in your prayer and meditation?"

"Um…no. I was looking at…well…you know…skin magazines."

"Dermatology journals?" I inquired, puzzled.

"Look, lady, you can’t be that dense," Dr. Yew said, clearly getting impatient with me. "I meant… you know… THOSE magazines, the kind with those foldout pictures of ladies…"

"Oh, now I get it," I said, a little taken aback. "So let me get this straight. All this time – four years, four months, whatever – you were looking at Playboy instead of patients’ files?"

"Oh, no, actually I preferred Swank and, later, Hustler. And occasionally Penthouse. I really liked those true stories people sent in."

"But the point is – you weren’t studying patients’ files," I said.

"No," he admitted, "but I was working on myself. And I got very good at it."

I didn’t think I wanted to hear any more, but I was curious about one thing. As your intrepid blogger, I needed to find out the answer to the question I know all of y’all would want me to ask.

"So how did those criminally insane patients get healed?" I asked. "Or should I say, how did that ward get cleared out? Did you have anything to do with it at all?"

"Well… indirectly I suppose I did. One summer, a young patient was admitted, some guy from the Mainland. I don’t know what he was doing in Hawai’i, but I think he’d been a member of some religious cult or other. I don’t think he was getting proper counseling or the right medications. There was a lot of that kind of negligence at the hospital. Anyway, this guy was a pyromaniac – liked to set fires, you know. He called himself ‘The Fire Guy,’ or ‘Doctor Flame,’ or ‘Mister Fire’...something like that, as I recall.

"One day when we were particularly short-staffed, he set fire to the whole ward. People were running around screaming that the place was on fire, and they were paging me and calling me on my office phone and telling me to come help evacuate patients and equipment. But heck, that ward was on the first floor and my office was on the fifth floor. It wasn’t my problem, you see. So I locked my door. Still they kept calling for me, and a couple of guys came up and pounded on my door. ‘Dr. Yew! We need your assistance! Please!’
"Bunch of whiners," he snorted.

"You didn't try to help them?" I asked.

"No, I knew it was more important for me to maintain my state of tranquility. Besides, Miss October had these beautiful big…ah…eyes. I had to keep concentrating on what was at hand, so to speak. That’s what total self-responsibility is all about, Miss Connie. So I kept on studying my magazines and working on myself while all of that was going on."

"Very impressive…I guess," I said. "What happened next?"

"Eventually the fire was put out, and no one was seriously injured, but the whole ward had been destroyed, including some very expensive medical equipment. The hehenas – the lunatics – were relocated to another branch; the Hawai’i State Hospital is a pretty big system. That particular ward never re-opened. So yes, I guess you could say I was partially responsible for the ward closing down."

"What happened to the pyro who started the whole thing?" I asked.

"Nobody really knows. He escaped during the fire. They never caught him. I don’t know if he’s still setting fires or not. Someone's been setting fires at the Hawai'i State Hospital, but it's probably not him. But I think I saw him in some big infomercial not too long ago."

The lasting lessons
Well, that was some story. Yet I was a little concerned. The story was so different from the one that people were babbling about all over the Net that I wondered if there was still some income potential in it. I asked Dr. Yew what he thought.

"Oh, sure!" he said enthusiastically. "There are some very important spiritual principles in this story that I think the world is waiting to hear."

"Like what?" I inquired. "What about that ancient Hawai’ian healing art you were supposedly practicing? Is there any truth to that?"

"Most definitely, Miss Connie. The practice, which is thousands of years old, is called Boto’o’popopopo. It’s from the word boto, which among other meanings is kind of pidgin Hawai’ian for…"

"Yes, I know what it means," I said. I’d done a little research between the time I’d first heard the stories and the time I called Dr. Yew.

"But it’s not just about the…ah…boto. And there is more, much more, to the practice than just sitting around looking at magazines and…ah…working on one’s self," Dr. Yew continued. "That is just one aspect, one way to enlightenment and fulfillment. The point is to engage in any pleasurable activity that keeps you focused on yourself even when it seems that the world is falling apart around you. For some the path to this focus might be looking at pictures of ladies in magazines. For others it might be buying very expensive watches or sports cars and blogging about them. You have to find the path that works for you."

"I see," I said.

Dr. Yew was really getting warmed up now. "The whole point of Boto’o’popopopo," he continued, "is to reach something I call Nero State, after the Emperor Nero, who supposedly fiddled while Rome burned. Of course he didn’t really do that, but that’s the story everyone believes so it is a good metaphor for the state you want to reach. The way I look at it, things are only getting worse, and there's nothing you can do to stop that. You have to look within yourself to find the peace and the happiness you seek. You can still be happy and have fun even as the world around you goes up in flames. At least your world won't be destroyed. That is really The Secret to a happy life."

"I guess you could call that state of being ‘Yew State,’ given that you were sort of…well…fiddling while that ward was on fire," I suggested.

Dr. Yew laughed. "As a matter of fact, there is a Yew State, but that is something different – a higher level of Boto’o’popopopo, at least according to the modern form that I teach. The Yew State is the level at which the student learns to engage in any activity that keeps their focus on me. At its core, Miss Connie, the Universe is really all about Yew."

"It’s all about me?" I said, surprised and delighted. Being the insufferable narcissist that I am, I’d always suspected as much, but it was good to have it confirmed by a Hawi’ian wise man.

"No, no, it’s about me," he corrected. "Y-E-W. I am Yew."

"That’s right, we all are one," I murmured, but I knew what he really meant.

At first I was not quite sure about the profit potential of trying to convince people to focus their adulation on a little old Hawai’ian dude. But I could easily see the potential mass appeal of the first level of Boto’o’popopopo – getting people to focus on themselves. And I could certainly grasp the potential of the Hawai’ian angle too. There hadn’t been a real Hawai’i craze in the US in decades, and I figured that it was high time for another one. And the New-Wage spiritual aspect could only mean extra profit potential. If we promoted this thing right, even Paris Hilton might be interested. After all, I did read somewhere that her grueling 23-day prison experience had made her vow to "work on herself," and that alone would be good for at least a couple of videos, I thought. We could probably sell a few before they got pirated and put on YouTube.

I have to admit that I was starting to get really excited about the possibilities. And I did like Dr. Yew’s views on responsibility. Dr. Yew explained that if you take complete responsibility for your life, then everything you see, hear, taste, touch, or in any way experience is your responsibility because it is in your life. So if you don’t want to be responsible for it, if you don’t want it in your life, just ignore it.

This means that terrorist activity, the president, the economy – anything you experience and don’t like – is up to you to ignore. These things don’t exist, in a manner of speaking, except as projections from inside you. The problem isn’t with them, it's with you. If you don’t think about them, they don’t exist…at least not for you. (And certainly not for Yew.)

I know this is tough to grasp, let alone accept or actually live. Because of the guilt-trip way most of us were brought up, taking responsibility and wondering if there’s something you can do to make the world better is far easier than turning away from the bad things in the world. But the more I spoke with Dr. Yew, the more I realized that Boto’o’popopopo means loving yourself, whether or not you are in possession of an actual boto. If you want to improve your life, you have to heal your life. And the only way to do that is to ignore what you don’t want in your life. Don’t worry about the wars, the diseases, the natural disasters, or even the criminally insane people. They’re someone else’s responsibility.

I had one more question for Dr. Yew. I had heard about some magical Boto’o’popopopo phrases that supposedly have powerful healing effects.

"That’s right," he said. He explained to me that in English the phrases are:  "Thank me," "I love me," "I'm not sorry," and "Give me money."

"You just say them over and over and over and over and over again," he explained. "Mostly you say them to yourself, but you can say them to other people too – to everyone you encounter – from your family and friends, to your customers, to the cop who pulls you over for speeding, to the Universe."
"That’s it?" I asked.

"That’s it."

Wow.

Follow the profits
I later attended a Boto’o’popopopo workshop run by Dr. Yew. He’s now in his seventies and is considered a grandfatherly shaman type, and is somewhat reclusive. He has long scraggly hair and disturbingly long fingernails and toenails, and is otherwise rather ill-groomed – much like Howard Hughes was in his later years, except alive. But he is very wise. He praised my BLP (book-like product), Cosmic Relief, and told me that as I improve myself, my book’s vibration will raise, and everyone will feel it when they read it. In short, as I improve, my readers will improve.

"What about the seven or eight copies that are already sold and out there?" I asked.

"They aren’t out there," he explained, once again blowing my mind with his mystical magical wisdom. "They are still in you."

"Oh, and I thought it was just acid reflux," I muttered.

The point that Dr. Yew was making was that there is no "out there." And there’s no "there" there. And rose is a rose is a rose is a rose. And it ain’t over till it’s over. And it’s déjà vu all over again. And so on.

It would take a whole book to explain this advanced spiritual wisdom with the depth it deserves. Fortunately, Dr. Yew and I are writing that book. It is called Nero State, and it is coming out very, very soon.

I was still a little worried about the possible disillusionment when readers learned the true story about the mental patients and their alleged healing by Dr. Yew. "Oh, don’t worry about it," he said. "People will still continue to believe that stuff because they want to. It doesn’t matter if it gets debunked a thousand times. You saw how long that hundredth-monkey thing has lasted. I have learned that people do not really care about facts. But they do care about themselves, and Boto’o’popopopo encourages them to do that."

Suffice it to say that whenever you want to improve anything in your life, there's only one place to look: inside you. And then when you’re ready to go to the next level, look to Yew. Or to me, since I’m the one who’s writing the book with Yew.

Well, that is quite enough wisdom for one blog post. Next we will dig a little deeper into Boto’o’popopopo, and I will reveal some hidden messages that were revealed to my friend Blair Warren by the entity Ralph.

Honi ko'u 'elemu,
Cosmic Connie

PS – The Hawai'ian Shirt Image above has special hypnotic powers. Stare at it long enough and you will see a message from the God Kanaloa. (And you may find yourself craving a heapin' helpin' of fried calamari with a tangy marinara sauce...)

And here is another special healing bonus just for you. This hula graphic has been infused with cleaning, clearing energy to free you of all negativity, anger, sadness, and unpleasant odors. It is one thousand times more powerful than the other leading brand of magical cleaning website. As you stare at the dots, you will find yourself feeling lighter and smelling sweeter. But this little graphic has even more potential than that – if you’re ready for it! There is an optional subliminal module that, if added to the graphic, will hypnotize anyone you want to hypnotize, and put them into a buying trance. Send it out to your entire email list and you will be amazed at the positive responses! And there’s more. There is also a "sex-slave" module that will work on anyone.


Interested? Send me $5,0000.00 USD, and a few Amazon gift certificates, and I will send you some more information when I get around to it.

** Back when this post was originally published, my profile pic was a head shot with a blue filter. ~ CC

* * * * *

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Losing my religion (Part 1 of 2)

There’s just no end to the wacko imaginative religious and spiritual paths that people are following these days. Take a look at this article I found in a New-Wage/metaphysical magazine about a relatively obscure alternative religion that, after more than forty years, is finally coming into its own.
~CC

ACKANKAR^®: BEYOND THE LIGHT & SOUND
By Letta Spray

The modern form of Ackankar^® was brought to a waiting world in the mid-60’s by a shy and gentle Southerner named Paul Twaddel. Twaddel had been raised as a fundamentalist Baptist but had always been somewhat of a quiet rebel. A long time student of world religions, Twaddel was intrigued by the notion that none of the existing religious traditions really provided a direct pathway to God. They all gave tantalizing glimpses of the Truth, but not the whole picture. And not one of them seemed to capture the true essence of Spirit.

Twaddel lived by his senses and sought a religion that would support him in this. "‘In the beginning was the Word’...and ‘let there be Light’...and so on, and so on," Twaddel wrote in his memoirs. "That’s what we were given in the Judaeo-Christian tradition, and other religions are full of similar images. Analyzing these traditions, I came to the conclusion that for all practical purposes they seemed to be focused mainly on light and sound. Not one of them touched on the smell or taste of God. That seemed to me to be a pretty significant gap.’"

It was a gap that Twaddel was destined to fill. After serving in the Navy in World War II, Twaddel moved to Las Vegas. It was there that he first began to get the nightly visitations from a being who identified himself as the Ascended Tibetan Master Reelbizar Starzs. Starzs wore a tattered maroon robe and smelled faintly of pastrami and stale cigar smoke. Through a series of dialogues with Starzs that lasted for many months, Twaddel became schooled in the principles of the ancient but long-suppressed spiritual path known as Ackankar. Finally, by decree of Starzs and a group of exalted spiritual masters known as the Nine Reticent Ones, he received the High Initiation in a profoundly secret ceremony that took place on the Seventh Spiritual Plane. With this Initiation Paul Twaddel became the first Living ACK Master of modern times, and was given the spiritual name Peddar Ast.

A prolific writer, Twaddel authored many books and treatises on the principles of Ackankar. His status as a spiritual leader grew as he gained a reputation for being able to perform all sorts of feats generally believed to be impossible: miracle healings, bi-location, tri-location, controlling the weather, and, most importantly, soul-food travel, a technique whereby he sent his astral body out to various local southern-cuisine bistros for huge plates of chitlins and greens and fatback. (Subsequent Living ACK Masters have also possessed miraculous powers.) Twaddel was the subject of a best-selling book, In My Soul I Am Me, by Brad Tiger, another prolific author whose brain was later stolen and reconfigured by extraterrestrials. Twaddel soon had a respectable number of followers, mostly young people who were disillusioned with traditional religions. Today there are over five million Ackists worldwide, and the number continues to grow.

But just what is Ackankar? Like most incredibly simple yet eternally profound truths, Ackankar is difficult to explain in a few sentences, and misconceptions abound. And the terminology can be confusing: in the beginning, Ackankar was billed as "not a religion, but a way of life"; today, however, it is a religion. Who knows what it might be tomorrow or next year? "It all depends on the revelations our marketing department receives from a group of very wise but disembodied spiritual advisors known as the Vagary Masters," explains Sri Herman Klump, the present Living ACK Master. "For now, calling Ackankar a religion seems to work for us. It sets us apart from all those other paths that are calling themselves ‘a way of life’ these days. Plus, it got us tax-exempt, which freed up our resources to help spread our message."

While many people think of Ackankar as "the throwing-up religion," in reality it is not just about throwing up in the literal sense. Ackankar is the outward expression of the ACK, which in turn is the Universal Expression of Divinity. "The Big Bang was really a big ACK," explains Sri Herman. "And all of life throughout the Universe is one continuous ACK. Ackankar is simply the path by which we reach the source of the ACK."

What does this have to do with the smell and taste of God? Plenty, as it turns out. Twaddel was a big believer in sensual indulgence, for indeed, how else could one know the true essence of God, the smell and taste of the Divine, without use of one’s senses? According to Twaddel, the holiest means of indulging the senses, other than physical union with attractive ACK Initiates, was through food. And Twaddel ate plenty of food. He encouraged his followers to do likewise. It helped that the Ackankar home office was located in Las Vegas in those early days. Ackankar conferences were held at various hotels around the city, and the extravagant buffets were always the chief attraction. Extreme overeating was always encouraged, as was the inevitable and immediate result of same. (There was only one rule: no after-dinner cup of coffee, for caffeine was believed to stunt one’s spiritual growth.)

Early on, Ackists became known for public vomiting en masse. It was probably because of this that Ackankar gained an undeserved reputation for decadence. "Those who accuse us of being decadent," Twaddel often said, "do not understand the spiritual aspect of what we are doing. We are simply demonstrating a universal spiritual principle: what goes down must come up."

Even today food, and lots of it, plays a very important part in ACK gatherings of all sizes. And while it is true that throwing up in the literal sense does have a role in Ackankar, it is only in the context of a spiritual rite; equally significant is the chant that follows the mass regurgitation: a prolonged "PU" (pronounced as the "pu" in "puny"). "Life is a holy process of assimilation and release," Twaddel always said. And indeed, there is nothing more representative of this holy process than a mass ACK, and no more eloquent expression of the smell of the Divine than the sound of several hundred voices softly chanting PUUUUUU.

Paul Twaddel chose to transcend this plane of existence in the early 1970s, during the annual World Wide of ACK Conference. At the time of his transcendence he was in his hotel suite, giving an Initiation to a female Ackist. Apparently he completed the Initiation before he transcended, because the female Initiate came out of the room with a radiant smile on her face. Very soon after, the Nine Reticent Ones appointed Sri Derwood Goose the new Living ACK Master. Not only did Derwood inherit Twaddel’s title, he got his widow Gayle in the bargain. "I just got in the habit of marrying Living ACK Masters," Gayle explained. "I like a guy who can cause tornadoes to visit the homes of people who piss me off." A jazz musician from the midwest, Derwood was also the author of several books and numerous articles, though he never had Twaddel’s gift for language. His writing was described by some critics as the literary equivalent of a beached whale. It was true that he spoke most eloquently through his music. At any rate, Derwood was a warm and very popular Master and was particularly fond of female Initiates.

At some point in the 1980s, the Nine Reticent Ones decided that perhaps he was a bit too fond of his female followers, and they decided he was doing some other things that were not in the best interest of Ackankar, so Derwood was de-Mastered and fellow midwesterner Herman Klump was appointed to take his place. Klump was chosen for several reasons, not the least of which was the First Sacred Tradition of Ackankar: The Living ACK Master must have an extraordinarily dweeby name. (Klump’s spiritual name, Wah-Zoo, elevates this tradition to art.)

As Ackankar’s numbers and members continue to swell, it becomes more and more apparent that this is the wave of the future in spirito-sensual paths. "We call it a religion," says Sri Herman, or Hermji as his fond followers call him, "but it is much more than that. Besides getting people in touch with the taste and smell of the Divine, Ackankar provides a workable model of the Universe, a means of dividing all of creation into spiritual planes with names that sound even dweebier than the Living ACK Masters’ names." He adds, "To tell the truth, most people entering Ackankar are bewildered by all the names and terms. We’ve been accused of practicing buffet religion, that is, taking elements of Buddhism, Hinduism and a bunch of other traditions, piling them on our plate and claiming them as our own. Nothing could be further from the truth. Ackankar is the oldest religion in the world. Those other guys stole from us. Although I must admit that the buffet metaphor is an extraordinarily appealing one."

As the Living ACK Master, Hermji’s responsibilities are many. He travels most of the year, speaking at various regional ACK conferences as well as the national and international gatherings. Hermji is more than willing to answer questions about Ackankar, and his answers are always as forthright as they are concise. When asked, for example, why the Living ACK Master is always male, he answers very simply, "Because that’s the way it is." When pressed to elaborate, he says without hesitation, "Because the Nine Reticent Ones say so. Well, they don’t actually say it; after all, they don’t talk, but their hand gestures make it very clear...the Living ACK Master has gotta be a guy."

Is there any message about Ackankar that Hermji would like the world to know? "I suppose the main thing we want to express," he says, "is that we’re not just a bunch of overweight, wild-eyed misfits who sit around eating Ding-Dongs® and Twinkies®. Some of us prefer Little Debbie Products. But whatever our personal preferences, we’re all searching for basically the same things: a decent meal, the big ACK...and, frankly, a great bonk once in awhile doesn’t hurt either. Basically I think we should all try to live Paul Twaddel’s core philosophy. Paul always said, ‘Take time to stop, get down on your knees and smell the roses. And as long as you’re down there, why not scarf down a few petals? The pink ones taste the best.’"

As they say in Ackankar, "May the blessings be eaten – and ACKed."

Copyright © 1995. 2007 by Connie Louise Schmidt. All Rights Reserved.
from Cosmic Relief: Honoring and Celebrating the Global Paradigm Shaft

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Well, now, Ackankar sure does sound like something that Mr. Creosote would have loved, doesn’t it? But seriously…I wish to apologize to the five or six people who may have previously read the above piece in my BLP (book-like-product) Cosmic Relief. There is a point to my using this recycled material, though. As is everything else in Cosmic Relief, this one was based on reality (well, in a manner of speaking), and in this case, it is "reality" with which I have some firsthand experience. More about that in Part 2.