Monthly Archives: March 2008

My Baby Sisiter has Leukemia

The news declares a wreck on I-15

A three-alarm fire and impending storm

An Amber Alert shows a missing child

And my baby sister has leukemia

My daughter wants help with training a horse

My granddaughter needs a bedtime story

And hugs and kisses and tucked into bed

And my baby sister has leukemia

There are bills to pay and chores to do

I move as fast as I can but still can’t keep up

So many hats I must wear to make life work

And my baby sister has leukemia

So…the pace of life screeches to a halt

Soon, however, heartbreak fuels action

I lay myself down for a bone tissue test

And my baby sister has leukemia

The Observer

The Observer

The connecting strand

Softly running through

God’s Synchronous-All,

An always present,

Attentive and wise

Divine Delegate

Sitting quietly

Behind self we know

Sometimes entering

Gaps between our thoughts,

Forever conscious

Of our faculties,

Making perceptive

Karmic inscriptions

Upon Spirit Scroll,

Patiently waiting

For our awareness

To identify

And, therefore, expand.

© 2008

Ending to "Mindless Stupor"

THE END IS NEAR, unless you fight your own battle. Everything I have shared with you was written from my heart and soul, as I have done with all my manuscripts. Sincerity runs throughout the text of my books, like blood circulating through my veins and arteries. I hope you will pick up on something that will help you realize what your life is all about and aware of the dangers ahead. Today, there’s no possibility for me to immediately impress upon you the importance of your saying “No” to drugs. Perhaps you now have a dear friend or a member of your family involved some way with addiction. Help them, please. There are then two paths for you to travel. You may either shape up or ship out.

*You can be butt-headed and test the waters to see how you too can go have fun, which is more appealing, but your days will be numbered.

* Or you can join in my fight against substance abuse, since you might have lost a dear friend, a member of your family like Jeff the nine-year-old boy whose father and mother will never be the same, or the gentleman who shared his teary-eyed story about his grandson whose life was snatched away from his wonderful family.

     One after another, we will hear more and more about teenage deaths caused by drugs.

     Overdoses overcome the Youth of America, and unless you fight back, your heritage will slide away from the mountains and the shorelines out to sea. You will be in the combat zone, not me.

     The real weapons of mass destruction are spreading across our national territory like we are told about global warming. I am not too wise about the warming issue, but drugs have been my life across the counters for many years.

     Every country in the world is preying on America because we have so much money to squander. Enticement with addiction is spreading the word.

     We are all vulnerable and rapidly losing the battle, proving that addiction plus abuse does precipitate poverty.

     You don’t have to travel away from home; those weapons of mass destruction are in your neighborhood. Take a good look at the way drugs are gift-wrapped to arrive in America. They are coming by boat, planes, underground and even UPS and the US Postal Service. Who knows what’s in that box?

     Look at the web sites selling drugs to everyone of all ages. I have no idea of the lowest aged child who might be smart enough to use a parent’s credit card to make a purchase of addictive drugs but it really is happening.

     I knew when I gave up my retirement that I had a lot to give back, where I was going, who I must share with, and how substance abuse will take you for a ride.

     This is my gift to you—my hours at the keyboard and coming out of my retirement. It ate up eight years of my life to create one hundred and thirty thousand words for the two books on substance abuse. I typed with only one finger on each hand during my writing of Fatal Addiction and Mindless Stupor. I never studied one day of typing, but I made do with what I had.

     In response, I hope you will give me a moment of your time to reciprocate and see why I think it all will be worth it. If I am told that I have saved only one of your young lives, then it will be worth all of my sacrifices.

We are so busy no one is paying attention to the facts. In God We Trust is rapidly fading away. Our American Heritage is floating like a river to the sea.

 

LET”S ALL FIGHT BACK BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE.       THERE IS A GOD WHO LOVES YOU, AND SO DO I.

 

– Posted on behalf of Everett Beal

Philip Gardiner’s – The Bond Code

The Bond Code

(Official launch April 15th) The stories of James Bond are not just popular spy thrillers. This is the remarkable tale of how Ian Fleming and his associations with the world of the occult actually led him to create a masterful series of clever clues, ciphers and codes within his novels, revealing a sacred truth discovered whilst searching for his own inner harmony.

Every time there is a new Bond film produced, the same old Bond documentaries are played on our TV screens. Our book and film will introduce not just new material, but radically reappraise everything we thought we knew about James Bond.

The words and concepts may sound strange to the reader, such as alchemy and gnosis, but in this documentary and book we will reveal their truths in a simple and step by step approach. In fact, the codes within will even make people radically reappraise books such as the Da Vinci Code.

The bookMy own journey into the hidden and coded world of Ian Fleming began one winters night whilst watching Live and Let Die. There was a surge of interest for all things James Bond and so, almost every night there was one Bond film or another. I had just finished writing The Ark, The Shroud and Mary and my mind was full of the world of the esoteric, alchemy and psychology. Live and Let Die struck me almost immediately as being a very strange film. Any Bond fan will know that the film involves many references indirectly and directly to the world of the occult – in this instance voodoo. For me at that particular time in my life I was struck by the strangeness of that fact. You see, I had watched all the Bond films many times, having loved them from my childhood, and I had never before considered why Ian Fleming should delve into the dark world of voodoo. Now, having a deeper understanding of ancient psychological methods we know as gnosis, alchemy and a great many other terms, I had to sit down and re-consider things.

That was nearly two years ago now and in that time I have read every Bond novel; searched out every scrap of writing produced by Ian Fleming; researched his background, associations, friends, military history, book collections and even cross-referenced his relatives. What I discovered was to me, simply amazing. I had never considered that Ian Fleming was writing anything other than a simple spy thriller. I had never thought for one moment that the adventurous tales of a fictional British spy would lead me into not just the dark nature of mankind, but the dark world of intrigue he developed and fostered around him.

James Bond became famous in the world at a time when the real British intelligence service was a shambles. SIS (also known as MI6), the Secret Intelligence Service of the United Kingdom was being toyed with by the Soviet KGB to such an extent that I often have visions of them laughing in the Kremlin. Britain was bankrupted after the Second World War and struggling to maintain an Empire, which was crumbling around her. It worked hard at trying to rebuild physically and emotionally along with other European countries. The USSR was a gloomy threat to the stability of the world, and so Britain, along with other nations such as the USA, decided the threat of communism was too great to ignore. And so, they despatched numerous agents, both home-grown and imported from Balkan countries, into the outlying Russian occupied countries. All the time, the KGB were one step ahead, with deeply entrenched double agents of their own within the heart of Western spy networks. Most of this was hidden from the ordinary public, but it did occasionally surface and hit the mass media, resulting in several scandals such as those surrounding Kim Phillby and of course the infamous McCarthy hounding of the so-called communists in the United States. In short, the public needed reassurance that yet another war was not going to break out and that our glorious leaders had things under control. This kind of assurance only comes from very good propaganda and when Ian Fleming created Bond and Kennedy in the States claimed to have “liked it” a beautiful synergy was created – a super-spy to save the world who was of course British, but needed the help of the Americans on several occasions.

Bond was set for the heights of fame and like Sherlock Holmes, he would become more famous than his creator. But there is so much more to Bond than people may realise, for Ian Fleming was a distinctly unique individual with a great many influences. His mind was not ordinary in any respect and this gave rise to his occult interests and associations which in-turn fed information, codes and clever plots into the Bond novels. These clever devices even inadvertently found their way into the films too. Let’s just run through quickly a few of the interesting facts that we discuss in The Bond Code book:

The Influences:

  • During his youth, Ian Fleming was sent to “special” schools in-order to overcome his issues – issues created because of a domineering mother, a dead father and a successful elder brother. In fact we shall find that Fleming simply fooled everyone, including the doctors.
  • Ian Fleming explicitly said that Bond was Manichean – a concept perfectly in-line with the supposed secrets of certain societies to which Fleming was associated as we shall reveal. These are the very same secrets held sacred by secret societies throughout time.
  • Relatively unknown to the wider world, Ian Fleming actually translated a lecture given by psychoanalyst Carl Jung on the alchemist, physician and magician, Paracelsus, and we have copies of this transcript in Fleming’s own type and handwriting. which backs up our statements.
  • Within the books there is the secret of the art of alchemy at play and along with yet more patterns within the novels, reveals Fleming’s understanding of the concepts.
  • We will show how Ian Fleming associated with or was influenced by mystics and spiritually inclined individuals, which reveal his inner and hidden thoughts.

The Bond Code:

  • We will reveal how the number 007 has a sacred numerological code.
  • We will also reveal that the other number given to Bond, 7777, by Ian Fleming also has a numerological meaning. Other numerological codes exist such as Magic 44.
  • We will even show how he named his own retreat, Goldeneye, after certain occult terms. The location was known as Oracabessa and this too has occult references.
  • Unravelling The Bond Code we will look into the etymology of the very names and words used.
  • We will show how the Bond books and films are modern day fairy tales working in the same way as the medieval tales of the Holy Grail or Robin Hood and which contain gnostic codes picked up and understood by Ian Fleming.

In short, Fleming lived in a fantasy world of his own making in-order to escape his inner turmoil – something, which lead him into his own death through smoking 70 cigarettes a day and drinking copious amounts of alcohol. This fantasy world led him into the land of the occult and gnostic thought. He created his fantasy alter-ego as a great alchemical work to fulfil his own tumultuous and chaotic mind, just as many before have done. But he left behind a set of clues and codes for us to decipher – just as our medieval friends did hundreds of years ago and linked with his extensive knowledge of ciphers and codes from his wartime experiences he knitted the two worlds together into something of profound beauty.

However, we shall also discover that Fleming associated with radical secret societies both whilst within the secret service and in post-war Britain. The very codes left by Ian Fleming within his work, are the codes to the secret of the societies…

Biography of the writer Philip Gardiner is an international best selling author of several books including Gnosis: The Secret of Solomon’s Temple Revealed, The Serpent Grail, Secrets of the Serpent and The Ark, The Shroud and Mary. He has several DVD documentaries out, which are in chain stores across the world and widely available through Reality Films. He lectures across the world, from the USA and England to France and Australia. His website is www.gardinersworld.com

The book is published by New Page Books.

Magical Love – 7th Place Runner Up Winner published in Joyous Publishings' Internationally Yours – Prize Winning Stories

It was really quite implausible the things he said, “Me, believe in ghosts? Really! You expect me to believe that hundred-year-old house is haunted…honestly!”
I felt about ready to explode in argument, but I loved him and his derogatory disposition. Slamming the car door I said, “We wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t seen what I saw yesterday in the window, so quit giving me grief about it!”
I knew if I was to write the world’s most riveting mystery, I needed hands-on experience to flesh out my characters, and that old haunted house was going to be my research do or die. I didn’t really want to stay overnight, but I needed ideas, even if it made my skin crawl.
“I have no desire to sleep on a cold floor or dusty, old broken down bed so you can write your novel!” he argued with a snobbish air about him.
Warlock had no backbone when it came to supernatural beings, and if he did, no one ever saw it, least of all not me, and I was married to him. He was a highly educated wizard who most would say had a cold disposition and cold eyes. However, I saw compassion in his eyes every time he looked at me, and a desperate need for understanding. I melted every time I locked eyes with him…he was my true love, but so was my writing.
The blustery wind sifted his raven hair and his eyes glinted, portraying a man who had absolutely no interest whatsoever in being proven wrong. He turned on his heel and stood waiting for me with his black robes swishing about him. I stared at him reproachfully, hoping to change his ingenious mind, but he motioned for me to follow him. How could he expect me to ignore my creative side, the one side of me no one could ever understand and probably never will?
“Are you coming?” he asked, holding his hand out.
“No,” I answered curtly, stepping towards the decrepit, gothic door. I felt guilty knowing I disrespected my love’s wishes, but I had an extraordinary thirst for experiencing new things to broaden my writing.
“Come back here! There’s no reason for you to risk your life in that ol’ broken down excuse for a house!”
I fought myself to not retreat and headed towards the house with my writing tools in hand. He sprinted after me to catch up, grabbed me by the arm, not viciously mind you, but strong enough to stop me in my tracks. I withdrew my arm knowing he had reason to worry, but I was adamant about my intensions.
“If you truly loved me, you’d stay with me!” I cried, stepping away from him.
“Don’t give me that ‘if you love me dung’!” he said hotly, as he followed me to the old stone porch. “You know damn well I do! But this is just preposterous to chance!”
I stormed up the steps, my white cloak swirling about me as I faced him, “Warlock, you knew I was a writer when we married. You know I love you with every grain of my existence. All I’m asking is that you please stay — I need you!”
He stared at me in contemplation. I could never read his thoughts, although I was quite certain he could read mine. Perhaps it was beneath him to subject himself to a house that creaked, had broken windows, and torn screens. Perhaps the structure of the house was unsafe, what with its rickety wood siding and missing stone steps. Nevertheless, I furrowed my brow and waited for his answer in optimistic hope.
“I have, and always will support your writing career,” he argued. “However, this obsessive need of yours to have hands-on experience is simply unscrupulous! You don’t need to risk your life for ideas!” The concern in his voice was genuine — the deepness of his love for me glinted in his eyes, but I couldn’t give in to him.
“I’ve always given you the best of myself, why can’t you stand behind me on this?”
“Please reconsider this…” He begged with what was left of his dignity.
“I love you, but I have to do this with or without you.” I kissed him with intense passion then turned on my heel to enter the deserted house. He stood watching me, shaking his head in defeated disappointment.
Silk cobwebs decorated the walls, the disintegrating mantle over the fireplace sustained half-burned candles in an antique candelabrum, and firewood lay for want on the hearth along with a half-empty matchbox.
I laid my writing tools down as I drank in the antique setting, cleared away the cobwebs from the wood logs, kindling and opening of the fireplace, and struck a match several times until finally on the third match, flames burst from its tip.
Shadows appeared on the reading room walls and thick spiders scurried towards the floorboards, hiding in the shadows as I entered the room open mouthed. Books filled the floor to ceiling shelves and white sheets lay over outdated furniture.
I stared out the broken window into the moonlit sky, compiling my thoughts. Suddenly, the creaking floorboards in the foyer broke my concentration. My eyes widened as I sat fearful of making any noise. My heart hammered hard against my ribs as the footsteps fell closer and closer.
I covered my mouth, minding my breathing. Warlock was right about one thing, I had imagination, and at that precise moment, it was working quite well in overtime. I quietly gathered my writing tools and stood up to tentatively tiptoe out of the reading room to find Warlock. Suddenly, something laid a hand on my shoulder.
“AAAHHH!” screaming, I dropped everything in my hands to the floor.
“Sorry…seen enough?” said a man’s silky voice.
“Warlock!” I said in surprised relief. “Thank Heaven it’s you.”
“I came to persuade you to come home one last time,” he answered.
I remained unyielding in my decision, whether I was afraid or not, my thoughts of creativity glued me to the old house, if only to finish feeding my muse.
“I can’t… not just yet…” I said picking up my writing tools.
He looked up in annoyance at the ceiling; he was not at all pleased with my answer.
“Please…don’t go…” I pleaded in a loving tone, my hands on his chest. “Let me wander through the house and soak in its atmosphere for a spell.” I placed one hand behind my back and crossed my fingers, hoping I persuaded him.
He said nothing, but pulled out his wand.
I furrowed my eyebrow with my curiosity peaked. “Does this mean you’ll stay with me?”
Warlock tapped his wand in his left hand and nodded. He stepped closer to me, pulled me into a close embracement, caressed my red hair and kissed me, “I don’t care for such a filthy place…it is simply beneath my expectations. However…I shall stay with you. Please do hurry up with your creativity so we may go home.”
I smiled at him, seized my paper, quill and ink, and we headed out of the study, into the hallway and up the rickety stairwell of oak, his wand illuminating the way.
On the top landing of the stairs, a little transparent boy in medieval attire, olive colored breeches, knee length, and tunic to match, sat crying. I approached him with care, trying not to startle him.
He looked up at Warlock and me, then scuttled backwards, shaking his head and screaming, “No, No, go away! I’ll be a good little boy! I promise!”
I knelt down to his level and said compassionately, “We’re not here to harm you.”
He looked up alarmed at Warlock still holding his wand.
I turned and covered his hand, pushing the wand down. I then turned to face the little ghost and said, “He will not harm you either. He’s with me to keep me company.”
“Who are you?” he cried. “What d’you want?” He backed himself up into the wall, sticking half way out. Two tear-flooded eyes and a whimpering little smile stared back at us in utter terror.
“My name is Wendelyn, I’m an author.”
“Who’s he?” pointed the little ghost.
“He’s my husband, you needn’t be afraid,” I answered in a gentle manner. “Why are you here, what happened to you?”
“I was left here by a bad man; he had eyes of the devil!” wailed the little ghost.
“He stole my parents! I want Mama and Papa!”
“What’s your name?” I asked, wiping a runaway tear from my cheek with my sleeve. My heart went out to him.
“Joseph… Joseph Fiddleton,” he said fidgeting and trembling. “Do you know where the bad man took Mama and Papa?”
“Sorry…no,” I answered. “Joseph, how long have you been here?” I asked, wanting to know if he understood that he wasn’t of this world.
“I don’t know how to tell time, but it’s been long enough!” he cried.
Just as I suspected, he had no understanding that he was a ghost. I had to tell him, but how to go about it was what worried me. I had to find the words simple and gentle enough to make him understand, without giving him reason to run away.
“Perhaps, I should talk to him,” suggested Warlock.
I could tell by the sympathetic, creased up look on his face, he felt sorry for the little ghost.
“I thought you said, (I motioned to Joseph) that you don’t believe in them?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “Joseph, there simply is no easy way to tell you this…” Warlock knelt down on one knee, “…as you said, your mother and father were taken by this bad man, several years ago. You, my friend… are not of this world anymore…. You belong with the angels.”
“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!” he wailed. “YOU LIE! THEY’RE COM’N BACK FOR ME!” He pulled himself from out of the wall and became fully visible as tears furiously flooded his eyes. He tried to kick Warlock for saying he was an orphan, but Warlock fell backwards to avoid his hysterical outburst. Joseph ran down the stairs and added, “And I’m not a ghost! Don’t think I don’t understand your fancy words!”
Warlock looked at me, and I, at him. Joseph was not taking the news well at all. We both got to our feet and followed him through the house until we came upon a corner in the common room where Joseph curled up crying. I moved stacks of books and boxes out of the way to talk with him.
“It’s not true … it can’t be….” he sobbed.
His sobbing made me feel as though we had intruded upon his home. I walked up to him and knelt down a few feet away.
“Joseph… if you want to see your mama and papa again, you must listen to me.”
“Why should I?” he cried, clamping his arms around his legs. “Go away you liar!”
Ignoring his harsh words, I gently said, “Go to the light.”
He looked at me through tears with puzzlement emerging on his young face.
“What did you say?”
It was as though I had said something familiar to him.
“Go to the light… it’s all right,” I said gesturing for him to take leave. “That is where you will find your mama and papa, I am most certain of it.”
“I’ve heard those words before…” he said, wiping his tears. “What do they mean?”
“Do you see a light shining anywhere around you right now?”
“I hear voices… and there’s a light com’n through, over there!” he said pointing to the front door, which strangely enough had disappeared and resembled the inky-black, starlit sky.
“You must go to that light… your parents are calling you.”
“I’m too afraid, what if it’s a trick of the bad man who took them away?” he cried.
“Joseph, I hear the same voices you hear, it’s a woman and man’s voice. It’s safe to go towards the light, I promise.” At first, I thought I had said something I made up to convince him — then I heard echoing voices. Warlock stood open mouthed, he was in awe of what he was hearing and seeing.
Joseph got to his feet and ran towards the light with widened eyes.
“Mama!” he exclaimed, “Papa!” Glistening stars and a brilliant light swallowed him, leaving Warlock and me in darkness. Suddenly I could hear a child’s happy cry… then a man and a woman’s happy cry… Joseph had found his parents.
Warlock stepped closer to me and stood by my side as we watched the three ghosts of medieval attire turn to wave good-bye.
“Thank you for helping our son!” cried Joseph’s mother with tears of happiness flooding her eyes. “God Bless you!” They turned and sauntered off into the glistening light.
“Now do you believe in ghosts?” I asked Warlock, crossing my arms. Having proved my point, I knew by the half grin he gave me, he wasn’t about to admit he had just witnessed three ghosts reuniting and heading off to heaven. He said nothing as we gathered my things and headed towards the car.
“Oh come now, Warlock,” I said after a short, silent walk to the car. “It wasn’t so horrible after all… was it?”
Warlock simply looked at me as if annoyed. He seemed to be under the assumption I was about to say, I-told-you-so, and turned the other way hoping to avoid hearing me say it. We both got into the car and then he let out a long sigh.
“I suppose you were right in saying the house was indeed haunted…” he said wearily. “Suffice it to say, after what we’ve just been privy too, the house is now free of ghosts… and should you feel the need for more inspiration, I fancy you have learned your lesson about staying in such deplorable conditions. I won’t apologize for wanting to keep you safe, so don’t expect it.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
“Yes my love… I can honestly say my having the need for inspiration from such places, will be left to my imagination, or in reading other books.”
Warlock turned the key in the ignition.
“Nevertheless, I fear my pride to be shattered in having to apologize for not believing you, and even more so, for admitting I’ve seen an apparition of some sort. Some things are best left unsaid.”
“Yes love, I agree.”
However, I’ve never been one to be so formidably inconsiderate and vain that I refuse to admit when I’m wrong. That being said, I feel that it only proper of me to say—” He paused for a moment and raised his eyes as though getting the words out was quite difficult.
I busily tucked away my things in my knapsack, trying to avert eye contact and making him more uncomfortable in his admittance than he already was.
“You what love?” I pretended to ask absentmindedly, as I tightened the cap of my ink bottle. It was quite obvious we both knew he was trying to apologize.
“I… I apologize… there I’ve said it.” He turned the heater on seeing that it had been a few moments of warming the car engine.
What came over me next, I can not explain. The only way I can describe such a feeling, would be to say that it felt as though I was dipped in a cauldron of love potion, (although, I really hadn’t the need for it in the first place) one that was permanently seeping into my skin and throughout my body. My love for him grew to new depths that night. For the first time in our relationship as wizard and wife, he apologized. I laid my bag down, reached over and pulled his lips to mine.
After an intensely passionate kiss I simply said with fire in my eyes, “I love you…”
Warlock cleared his throat and put the car in gear.
“We better head home,” He said, flooring the gas peddle, leaving the once haunted house in a trail of dust. And that night… well… you’re the reader… I’ll leave that part to your imagination.
From that day forward, my husband has never doubted me again. At least, as far as I know, he hasn’t. As for me, I’m in the process of writing the world’s most riveting mystery about a little ghost.

Intro to "Mindless Stupor"

INTRODUCTION

SO MANY WARNINGS OVERLOOKED

This is the second book I have written to make the world aware that this generation is exposed to drugs and alcohol on a daily basis. Drug abuse touches every family in America. I am told that every campus in the nation has some kind of drugs available on it. Derivatives of the Opiates are being pushed on high school and some found on middle school campuses too.

Think about all the lives that have been lost while defending our country in all the wars, including Iraq. Unbelievable, but can you imagine all the lives lost in a matter of seconds testing the waters with new hallucinating drugs for excitement due to overdoses? The total deaths of America including the Revolutionary War are just under a million, according to statistics furnished by DOD. Like I say the combined total of deaths due directly to drugs and indirectly to the end results i.e. doctors and hospitals and other medical care mistakes should run close to the million, give or take a few. Then we can add the results from pushers and street drugs. Robberies, crashes and all connected bring on accidents and more deaths.

Lortabs, Lorcet and all hydrocodone pain relievers are increasing addiction in the US of A. For the ten-year period beginning in 1990, there was an increase of 400% in the sales and production of these medications. There were over 124 million prescriptions with hydrocodone dispensed, according to the US Drug Enforcement Administration. No wonder Lortabs is the number one street drug being pushed ahead of OxyContin. What I don’t understand is this sudden overflow of pain relievers available for physicians to prescribe.

Prescription drugs originating from a physician are now killing more people than the street drugs. Was it that much increase of excruciating pain, I can’t even begin to imagine why but for one reason. Everyone is cashing in on the addictions from members of the medical society on down to the pushers. Supply and demand is the answer for any increases in the chain and whose fault is it? Do you think the percentages will go down in the next ten years, no way?

And what if a fist full of drugs purchased on the streets can hook everyone and ruin a multitude? Their lives are lost before they know it. I can’t help but wonder what the total number of deaths in America could be which are already caused from drugs? I am sure it’s available.

Drugs can destroy our world when consumed and all the mentalities are gone. A sniff or a snort, a few pipe loads, some chasers and a lost count of how many are swallowed—these all take lives away daily. Drugs can cause a whole community to shut down.

It only takes a little while and up jumps the devil, saying, “You now are missed in action; so easy, so stupid and so long.” It only costs a few bucks and another life is snuffed out, like a candle in the wind. There is a potential for more lives to be destroyed by drugs available than all those who gave their lives to defend their country. Believe me; this can happen through organized crime, which exists in the shadows of our country.