Podcasts about camped

Ever needed a second chance with God? Yep, me too. In this episode of Live the Bible, we see God's people needing a second chance hardly before they had begun as a nation! Camped on the edge of the Promised Land, they heard Moses speak encouraging words that would take them across the Jordan River—all the way home.We need to hear those words as well.Episode Scripture: Selections from Deuteronomy 6, 8, 11, 32 Support the show

Today's Word for the Day is "Camped." If you listen to Word for the Day on audio and have never checked out the video, you can do so on our YouTube channel at youtube.com/@fbmmediastudios. To receive your Word for the Day by e-mail, go to http://fbmaryville.org/wordfortheday to sign up.

I hear no voices in my head And from what I can tell There are none, Only frequencies, And frequencies, And frequencies And recently I've been eating Whatever it is that suits me, Though not whenever And everyday I wish I were A little bit better off A little less bitter A little higher up A little lighter skin A little lighter, Like a feather Wish Misinformed imperfection Military introspection Complexities and such Division and acknowledgement Of no higher power other than One's own Sacred stones; Sorry stories, Sinister canisters of Abandonment Unintentional neglect, depression Non-representation Don't participate in it, If there's nothing there for you Fair hero, Your story was worn in As your uniform, Not new and polished at all And in disposition, regulation, But already threaded to have been Camped in, and eventually— Left to die, then Recovered autonomously. Riverbend, will you wither here In less than a year, I beg for death And still was pardoned, Still I was sacrificed; Still, I was pardoned —still, I was sacrificed. I had not expected to hang this low Without having been picked Or falling to seed anew. I had not bittered, nor broken Nor bittered, nor broken And still I was pardoned, Still I was sacrificed Still I was pardoned, and still I was sacrificed Death comes in tolls Knock the door once Death comes in soft warnings I didn't want to hurt her; I didn't want to harm her Suddenly my heart died, Suddenly on front lines with no boots And no armor, No shield and no cannons, No sword at all, and still I was pardoned I had not bittered, nor broken Nor bittered, nor broken And still I was pardoned, Still I was sacrificed Still I was pardoned, and still I was sacrificed Secrets of the Illuminati Elite. Kamala. Mm. When was the last time you cried? —. … —I— have never cried. I believe you. {Enter The Multiverse} I hadn't been planning on writing at all, and leaving the house—the last time I had taken the risk of doing so on such a day, I was nearly trampled by beady eyed racists in MAGA hats and star spangled banner t-shirts— glared, shoved and patonized—and what's worse— I had been 8 months pregnant. Maybe it was worse in that aspect, I was part of the problem. But— What was the actual problem again? Never ever pay you fares for ferry, fairy monster Never prick for pixies, golden dust and megapixels, Whimsical, into the ore and out of the forest, Disassociate before it's too late! The propaganda of the product. The human American. The human— American. dare I to wander? Dare I to dream! Then I was wicked; I was wicked I was wicked I had grown so dark And so tall the tree Still untouched by any or all Still untouched by mankind, it is Still untouched by mankind, by many By many By many By many By many. Bye Annie. Buy again Buy buy baby Buy all you can while you still come Christmas is coming Out and unleashed is the dragon How's that spiced cider And a song, For your coloring books and Maps to scale Your coloring books And maps to scale Wayfinder Wayfinder Bury you hither Bury you hidden Hypocrisy, hypocracy Hydroponic cry for help A wish to window seat Then, and there Then, and there Northernbound, Wayfinder The end of us The taking of tire marks. Just a smidgen armegeddon of corn syrup And tears on the brink of falling over the shores to the well The velvet windows, winds on lips and colors red on purple Color red on purple Hypocrisy! Wait for it, Wait to call the number Wait to up the bridge To tie the noose To hang from rope Hypocrisy! A far cry. The way to the wind is the chalice. There it was, the ocean, And still sparked untruth from foraged windspoke There were 5 of us there And then four And then 5 once more And now 9 we have gathered. More coffee. I'm gonna fucking kill myself. Finally. More coffee? Might as well be awake for this. Another unremarkable opera From the democrat Waiting conversavive Republican Oh, no Bananas are always in season Oh, right; There's always a time Where Mango fruit does indeed fall In full bloom In fall, doom and gloom Assumingly Tune in now, It's on every TV In the meridian It's on every channel In the Bermuda Triangle It's on every Christmas tree At the top each year— So, A star, Or an angel! A star, Or an angel. Preach Choir, And let us all revel In the absolute sweetness Of Drew Barrymore. Aw-men. Awwww man. Awwwwwwwwwwwewee And I'm in awe of it all Isn't it awful, how I could have bought a CBS sponsored waffle iron From Walmart But instead invested in ending this depression Single-handedly with home remedies Of medication And botanicals From the garden of Eden forgotten, Perhaps only as steady inward, or in reverse As I had thought to run or shuffle A Madonna (That's roughly 7 miles) There were ten of us there, Then nine, Then none at all, Now ten again, Before only 5 and then 4 And then 3, Two of them none, and nine become one Against another And again, the atom has split Lightning has stuck God has come The song is sung, I'm still strung up on the rafters, Or what have you What a beautiful and pitiful Jack o'lantern What a disaster, after all— There was no end. Whatsoever! Ring the division bell, Come around now, Download the abounding Clocks set forward And moving in circular motion Clouded judgement, now, Hounding is the crown of a thought Though heavy is the gold in which has made the kingdom, There was love in words And food for throught And foreign tongue, Born outright fury, Fury Fury Hands down, master, Does not that ask I Of what you now now comes next Farewell bid you , I In the where-well I parted, Never once a king, but a god And never once a man, But a time Willing and ready for attack, goes the king Waiting and running full force into front lines Sure to be killed in battle, But killed in honor Of those come before And now waiting to be born, also So take it next to sacrament, On uour alter With your sacred prayers and scented candles What we are and the time we came, What as, The tails of asunder, The other world of wonder l l l Come chorus, Come choir, Come individual countrymen Come focus this attention deficit, This intrinsic thought form, Has indoctorined your subculture. Sim…sim…sim— why are they all sims? I don't know: This one's vaping essential oils. How do you know? I know the smell of a lavender and eucaputus oil blend. What does that mean? I must be at a spa somewhere. At a spa?! Sleeping to death? Could a been a slip and fall… They're very relaxing. …Equinox. What. Equinox fitness. I'm at.. Equinox fitness. You died at the equinox fitness? In the— steamroom. Are you sure it's not the sauna? Heavy on the eucalyptus oil. Then again, here I was Infinite and insecure, Unsure of anything but the establishment so far and just however everything you were Was nothing for gain and everything I was, Was just to be there. And again, easy for the mobs And ready for the torches and ready for the torture And ready for the rapture On hard diets and tied to our l forests. Forfitture. Misaligned and malnourished, Tied to our desks and wondering Unsolved problems and foreign language dialects, Social repressions and expressions of forgiveness, though somehow apologetic, Or with any indifference at all With any indifference at all . Something overcomes whatever we were in that moment And here we are, Again, Exactly what became of the thoughts you had for us— The things you gave us a name to You did make us And here in the suffer-he, We all fall, like water over Niagara Or the last rainfall on earth did. (The rains it never came again, And then the ocean turned to mud, And soon to dust, shortly thereafter in your time While in our time, The thing of light, Nothing really at all, But in your way, many lifetimes, and almost too many even to tie to your number, I. The most, you know, That you can hope for, my dear King, is a fair fight And then as it were, nothing at all were fair, In this life or any, But the skin and eyes of the enemy, The wool of the sheep of course, and the color of cotton. Therefore you shall too understand this music. And nothing my dear king begins without another ending, And all the same is nothing and everything Everyone and no one, Here and nowhere at all, And so it has come— And therefore, I too, shall understand these things again. Try to remember your honor, at the resting tip of the diamond, and at the unburdened idea of circumstance, The rush of August, the cinema tongue And cheek, The blood drawn and again the awakening, The fertile flower and the dove, And the greatness of all that was, which was— In my past, as you call now and present, But again also may come, in aptitude to darkness. Farewell, my great, my son and daughter, my king of glory, and farewell to change! Farewell to fall and farewell to spring, farewell to summer And very well gone are the oars of the boat which has sunken, and your oars, your arms, And your tide, my own A breath so shallow almost forgotten, To no wind a sail, And another great misfortune has come, To wonder besides us, What art thou. And then, what are I? If none. If none, I call, and If none, I shatter. If none, I fall, And if none, I shatter If none, I call And if none, I matter. Then. Then and so. Then and so very well All and all And all in all, we all were Abandoned. No trauma form, The faceless god. No trauma form, the faceless God, Unknowing of what the world's rules are, And of course, then coming Unknown at all to another, and yet To humankind, all knowing of all things And being embodied as one, Then another, and some all The faceless God, as we all are, The faceless God, whom we all mock And The Faceless God, free from the burden of trauma, In wanting and unknown, The truth in all things, Taking all forms and all bodies, As the time comes upon us, To walk towards the light and To free ourselves from all time In all ways. Steady, shook, and window watching She did not wave To die today. To die today. To die to day. Is to die at all, not once, but all times Forever. It'll come harder the next time I promise. At my wits, as the man who had sworn my death now some see fit to wear a crown, A crown such as I had earned, by death and by will But he, by birth and by blood and wrong done. Woe is this! Hellicopter, Hellicopter Spin me round right round to where you hand And as I gallantly had planned to cross, I still hadn't lay last I her embarques all for free and care of down down, now I see something like home, over water The water had music, And the waves had tongues, The smell of gas I cherished and did breathe deepl, as sudden to come, I was as far as I had ever been, and as lonely as I always was, but still, mi finally walk on water To lululu buy a song, No price, but with time does come the cost and to live as though I always was, here, before the land was born And the oceans had parted, as something known As just a thought {I_NY.} I don't want it that much, nor do I need it, And stillc here I am, Watching Madame President. Today ought to be the day for the occult, The hymn of the omens And all polished the dolls, waiting the words And worse off, Astonishing The seagulls song had sung The flight has flown The dance was talked about But never coreographed I never even saw the lighthouse; And you're just a face in the crowd Can you see yourself in me? Do you hope to, like I do you? I don't have that disaster. I really don't have that conquest. I doubt you'd the answer The system, the sacrifice, the annex, Get out of my alignment m Decide to assign you Resign your retirements For the full four for the full force The best place to live is La. , but next comes New York, if you're— [America Runs on Dunkin] I don't know where I was going Damn that train. —Actually, it was a boat. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I hear no voices in my head And from what I can tell There are none, Only frequencies, And frequencies, And frequencies And recently I've been eating Whatever it is that suits me, Though not whenever And everyday I wish I were A little bit better off A little less bitter A little higher up A little lighter skin A little lighter, Like a feather Wish Misinformed imperfection Military introspection Complexities and such Division and acknowledgement Of no higher power other than One's own Sacred stones; Sorry stories, Sinister canisters of Abandonment Unintentional neglect, depression Non-representation Don't participate in it, If there's nothing there for you Fair hero, Your story was worn in As your uniform, Not new and polished at all And in disposition, regulation, But already threaded to have been Camped in, and eventually— Left to die, then Recovered autonomously. Riverbend, will you wither here In less than a year, I beg for death And still was pardoned, Still I was sacrificed; Still, I was pardoned —still, I was sacrificed. I had not expected to hang this low Without having been picked Or falling to seed anew. I had not bittered, nor broken Nor bittered, nor broken And still I was pardoned, Still I was sacrificed Still I was pardoned, and still I was sacrificed Death comes in tolls Knock the door once Death comes in soft warnings I didn't want to hurt her; I didn't want to harm her Suddenly my heart died, Suddenly on front lines with no boots And no armor, No shield and no cannons, No sword at all, and still I was pardoned I had not bittered, nor broken Nor bittered, nor broken And still I was pardoned, Still I was sacrificed Still I was pardoned, and still I was sacrificed Secrets of the Illuminati Elite. Kamala. Mm. When was the last time you cried? —. … —I— have never cried. I believe you. {Enter The Multiverse} I hadn't been planning on writing at all, and leaving the house—the last time I had taken the risk of doing so on such a day, I was nearly trampled by beady eyed racists in MAGA hats and star spangled banner t-shirts— glared, shoved and patonized—and what's worse— I had been 8 months pregnant. Maybe it was worse in that aspect, I was part of the problem. But— What was the actual problem again? Never ever pay you fares for ferry, fairy monster Never prick for pixies, golden dust and megapixels, Whimsical, into the ore and out of the forest, Disassociate before it's too late! The propaganda of the product. The human American. The human— American. dare I to wander? Dare I to dream! Then I was wicked; I was wicked I was wicked I had grown so dark And so tall the tree Still untouched by any or all Still untouched by mankind, it is Still untouched by mankind, by many By many By many By many By many. Bye Annie. Buy again Buy buy baby Buy all you can while you still come Christmas is coming Out and unleashed is the dragon How's that spiced cider And a song, For your coloring books and Maps to scale Your coloring books And maps to scale Wayfinder Wayfinder Bury you hither Bury you hidden Hypocrisy, hypocracy Hydroponic cry for help A wish to window seat Then, and there Then, and there Northernbound, Wayfinder The end of us The taking of tire marks. Just a smidgen armegeddon of corn syrup And tears on the brink of falling over the shores to the well The velvet windows, winds on lips and colors red on purple Color red on purple Hypocrisy! Wait for it, Wait to call the number Wait to up the bridge To tie the noose To hang from rope Hypocrisy! A far cry. The way to the wind is the chalice. There it was, the ocean, And still sparked untruth from foraged windspoke There were 5 of us there And then four And then 5 once more And now 9 we have gathered. More coffee. I'm gonna fucking kill myself. Finally. More coffee? Might as well be awake for this. Another unremarkable opera From the democrat Waiting conversavive Republican Oh, no Bananas are always in season Oh, right; There's always a time Where Mango fruit does indeed fall In full bloom In fall, doom and gloom Assumingly Tune in now, It's on every TV In the meridian It's on every channel In the Bermuda Triangle It's on every Christmas tree At the top each year— So, A star, Or an angel! A star, Or an angel. Preach Choir, And let us all revel In the absolute sweetness Of Drew Barrymore. Aw-men. Awwww man. Awwwwwwwwwwwewee And I'm in awe of it all Isn't it awful, how I could have bought a CBS sponsored waffle iron From Walmart But instead invested in ending this depression Single-handedly with home remedies Of medication And botanicals From the garden of Eden forgotten, Perhaps only as steady inward, or in reverse As I had thought to run or shuffle A Madonna (That's roughly 7 miles) There were ten of us there, Then nine, Then none at all, Now ten again, Before only 5 and then 4 And then 3, Two of them none, and nine become one Against another And again, the atom has split Lightning has stuck God has come The song is sung, I'm still strung up on the rafters, Or what have you What a beautiful and pitiful Jack o'lantern What a disaster, after all— There was no end. Whatsoever! Ring the division bell, Come around now, Download the abounding Clocks set forward And moving in circular motion Clouded judgement, now, Hounding is the crown of a thought Though heavy is the gold in which has made the kingdom, There was love in words And food for throught And foreign tongue, Born outright fury, Fury Fury Hands down, master, Does not that ask I Of what you now now comes next Farewell bid you , I In the where-well I parted, Never once a king, but a god And never once a man, But a time Willing and ready for attack, goes the king Waiting and running full force into front lines Sure to be killed in battle, But killed in honor Of those come before And now waiting to be born, also So take it next to sacrament, On uour alter With your sacred prayers and scented candles What we are and the time we came, What as, The tails of asunder, The other world of wonder l l l Come chorus, Come choir, Come individual countrymen Come focus this attention deficit, This intrinsic thought form, Has indoctorined your subculture. Sim…sim…sim— why are they all sims? I don't know: This one's vaping essential oils. How do you know? I know the smell of a lavender and eucaputus oil blend. What does that mean? I must be at a spa somewhere. At a spa?! Sleeping to death? Could a been a slip and fall… They're very relaxing. …Equinox. What. Equinox fitness. I'm at.. Equinox fitness. You died at the equinox fitness? In the— steamroom. Are you sure it's not the sauna? Heavy on the eucalyptus oil. Then again, here I was Infinite and insecure, Unsure of anything but the establishment so far and just however everything you were Was nothing for gain and everything I was, Was just to be there. And again, easy for the mobs And ready for the torches and ready for the torture And ready for the rapture On hard diets and tied to our l forests. Forfitture. Misaligned and malnourished, Tied to our desks and wondering Unsolved problems and foreign language dialects, Social repressions and expressions of forgiveness, though somehow apologetic, Or with any indifference at all With any indifference at all . Something overcomes whatever we were in that moment And here we are, Again, Exactly what became of the thoughts you had for us— The things you gave us a name to You did make us And here in the suffer-he, We all fall, like water over Niagara Or the last rainfall on earth did. (The rains it never came again, And then the ocean turned to mud, And soon to dust, shortly thereafter in your time While in our time, The thing of light, Nothing really at all, But in your way, many lifetimes, and almost too many even to tie to your number, I. The most, you know, That you can hope for, my dear King, is a fair fight And then as it were, nothing at all were fair, In this life or any, But the skin and eyes of the enemy, The wool of the sheep of course, and the color of cotton. Therefore you shall too understand this music. And nothing my dear king begins without another ending, And all the same is nothing and everything Everyone and no one, Here and nowhere at all, And so it has come— And therefore, I too, shall understand these things again. Try to remember your honor, at the resting tip of the diamond, and at the unburdened idea of circumstance, The rush of August, the cinema tongue And cheek, The blood drawn and again the awakening, The fertile flower and the dove, And the greatness of all that was, which was— In my past, as you call now and present, But again also may come, in aptitude to darkness. Farewell, my great, my son and daughter, my king of glory, and farewell to change! Farewell to fall and farewell to spring, farewell to summer And very well gone are the oars of the boat which has sunken, and your oars, your arms, And your tide, my own A breath so shallow almost forgotten, To no wind a sail, And another great misfortune has come, To wonder besides us, What art thou. And then, what are I? If none. If none, I call, and If none, I shatter. If none, I fall, And if none, I shatter If none, I call And if none, I matter. Then. Then and so. Then and so very well All and all And all in all, we all were Abandoned. No trauma form, The faceless god. No trauma form, the faceless God, Unknowing of what the world's rules are, And of course, then coming Unknown at all to another, and yet To humankind, all knowing of all things And being embodied as one, Then another, and some all The faceless God, as we all are, The faceless God, whom we all mock And The Faceless God, free from the burden of trauma, In wanting and unknown, The truth in all things, Taking all forms and all bodies, As the time comes upon us, To walk towards the light and To free ourselves from all time In all ways. Steady, shook, and window watching She did not wave To die today. To die today. To die to day. Is to die at all, not once, but all times Forever. It'll come harder the next time I promise. At my wits, as the man who had sworn my death now some see fit to wear a crown, A crown such as I had earned, by death and by will But he, by birth and by blood and wrong done. Woe is this! Hellicopter, Hellicopter Spin me round right round to where you hand And as I gallantly had planned to cross, I still hadn't lay last I her embarques all for free and care of down down, now I see something like home, over water The water had music, And the waves had tongues, The smell of gas I cherished and did breathe deepl, as sudden to come, I was as far as I had ever been, and as lonely as I always was, but still, mi finally walk on water To lululu buy a song, No price, but with time does come the cost and to live as though I always was, here, before the land was born And the oceans had parted, as something known As just a thought {I_NY.} I don't want it that much, nor do I need it, And stillc here I am, Watching Madame President. Today ought to be the day for the occult, The hymn of the omens And all polished the dolls, waiting the words And worse off, Astonishing The seagulls song had sung The flight has flown The dance was talked about But never coreographed I never even saw the lighthouse; And you're just a face in the crowd Can you see yourself in me? Do you hope to, like I do you? I don't have that disaster. I really don't have that conquest. I doubt you'd the answer The system, the sacrifice, the annex, Get out of my alignment m Decide to assign you Resign your retirements For the full four for the full force The best place to live is La. , but next comes New York, if you're— [America Runs on Dunkin] I don't know where I was going Damn that train. —Actually, it was a boat. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I hear no voices in my head And from what I can tell There are none, Only frequencies, And frequencies, And frequencies And recently I've been eating Whatever it is that suits me, Though not whenever And everyday I wish I were A little bit better off A little less bitter A little higher up A little lighter skin A little lighter, Like a feather Wish Misinformed imperfection Military introspection Complexities and such Division and acknowledgement Of no higher power other than One's own Sacred stones; Sorry stories, Sinister canisters of Abandonment Unintentional neglect, depression Non-representation Don't participate in it, If there's nothing there for you Fair hero, Your story was worn in As your uniform, Not new and polished at all And in disposition, regulation, But already threaded to have been Camped in, and eventually— Left to die, then Recovered autonomously. Riverbend, will you wither here In less than a year, I beg for death And still was pardoned, Still I was sacrificed; Still, I was pardoned —still, I was sacrificed. I had not expected to hang this low Without having been picked Or falling to seed anew. I had not bittered, nor broken Nor bittered, nor broken And still I was pardoned, Still I was sacrificed Still I was pardoned, and still I was sacrificed Death comes in tolls Knock the door once Death comes in soft warnings I didn't want to hurt her; I didn't want to harm her Suddenly my heart died, Suddenly on front lines with no boots And no armor, No shield and no cannons, No sword at all, and still I was pardoned I had not bittered, nor broken Nor bittered, nor broken And still I was pardoned, Still I was sacrificed Still I was pardoned, and still I was sacrificed Secrets of the Illuminati Elite. Kamala. Mm. When was the last time you cried? —. … —I— have never cried. I believe you. {Enter The Multiverse} I hadn't been planning on writing at all, and leaving the house—the last time I had taken the risk of doing so on such a day, I was nearly trampled by beady eyed racists in MAGA hats and star spangled banner t-shirts— glared, shoved and patonized—and what's worse— I had been 8 months pregnant. Maybe it was worse in that aspect, I was part of the problem. But— What was the actual problem again? Never ever pay you fares for ferry, fairy monster Never prick for pixies, golden dust and megapixels, Whimsical, into the ore and out of the forest, Disassociate before it's too late! The propaganda of the product. The human American. The human— American. dare I to wander? Dare I to dream! Then I was wicked; I was wicked I was wicked I had grown so dark And so tall the tree Still untouched by any or all Still untouched by mankind, it is Still untouched by mankind, by many By many By many By many By many. Bye Annie. Buy again Buy buy baby Buy all you can while you still come Christmas is coming Out and unleashed is the dragon How's that spiced cider And a song, For your coloring books and Maps to scale Your coloring books And maps to scale Wayfinder Wayfinder Bury you hither Bury you hidden Hypocrisy, hypocracy Hydroponic cry for help A wish to window seat Then, and there Then, and there Northernbound, Wayfinder The end of us The taking of tire marks. Just a smidgen armegeddon of corn syrup And tears on the brink of falling over the shores to the well The velvet windows, winds on lips and colors red on purple Color red on purple Hypocrisy! Wait for it, Wait to call the number Wait to up the bridge To tie the noose To hang from rope Hypocrisy! A far cry. The way to the wind is the chalice. There it was, the ocean, And still sparked untruth from foraged windspoke There were 5 of us there And then four And then 5 once more And now 9 we have gathered. More coffee. I'm gonna fucking kill myself. Finally. More coffee? Might as well be awake for this. Another unremarkable opera From the democrat Waiting conversavive Republican Oh, no Bananas are always in season Oh, right; There's always a time Where Mango fruit does indeed fall In full bloom In fall, doom and gloom Assumingly Tune in now, It's on every TV In the meridian It's on every channel In the Bermuda Triangle It's on every Christmas tree At the top each year— So, A star, Or an angel! A star, Or an angel. Preach Choir, And let us all revel In the absolute sweetness Of Drew Barrymore. Aw-men. Awwww man. Awwwwwwwwwwwewee And I'm in awe of it all Isn't it awful, how I could have bought a CBS sponsored waffle iron From Walmart But instead invested in ending this depression Single-handedly with home remedies Of medication And botanicals From the garden of Eden forgotten, Perhaps only as steady inward, or in reverse As I had thought to run or shuffle A Madonna (That's roughly 7 miles) There were ten of us there, Then nine, Then none at all, Now ten again, Before only 5 and then 4 And then 3, Two of them none, and nine become one Against another And again, the atom has split Lightning has stuck God has come The song is sung, I'm still strung up on the rafters, Or what have you What a beautiful and pitiful Jack o'lantern What a disaster, after all— There was no end. Whatsoever! Ring the division bell, Come around now, Download the abounding Clocks set forward And moving in circular motion Clouded judgement, now, Hounding is the crown of a thought Though heavy is the gold in which has made the kingdom, There was love in words And food for throught And foreign tongue, Born outright fury, Fury Fury Hands down, master, Does not that ask I Of what you now now comes next Farewell bid you , I In the where-well I parted, Never once a king, but a god And never once a man, But a time Willing and ready for attack, goes the king Waiting and running full force into front lines Sure to be killed in battle, But killed in honor Of those come before And now waiting to be born, also So take it next to sacrament, On uour alter With your sacred prayers and scented candles What we are and the time we came, What as, The tails of asunder, The other world of wonder l l l Come chorus, Come choir, Come individual countrymen Come focus this attention deficit, This intrinsic thought form, Has indoctorined your subculture. Sim…sim…sim— why are they all sims? I don't know: This one's vaping essential oils. How do you know? I know the smell of a lavender and eucaputus oil blend. What does that mean? I must be at a spa somewhere. At a spa?! Sleeping to death? Could a been a slip and fall… They're very relaxing. …Equinox. What. Equinox fitness. I'm at.. Equinox fitness. You died at the equinox fitness? In the— steamroom. Are you sure it's not the sauna? Heavy on the eucalyptus oil. Then again, here I was Infinite and insecure, Unsure of anything but the establishment so far and just however everything you were Was nothing for gain and everything I was, Was just to be there. And again, easy for the mobs And ready for the torches and ready for the torture And ready for the rapture On hard diets and tied to our l forests. Forfitture. Misaligned and malnourished, Tied to our desks and wondering Unsolved problems and foreign language dialects, Social repressions and expressions of forgiveness, though somehow apologetic, Or with any indifference at all With any indifference at all . Something overcomes whatever we were in that moment And here we are, Again, Exactly what became of the thoughts you had for us— The things you gave us a name to You did make us And here in the suffer-he, We all fall, like water over Niagara Or the last rainfall on earth did. (The rains it never came again, And then the ocean turned to mud, And soon to dust, shortly thereafter in your time While in our time, The thing of light, Nothing really at all, But in your way, many lifetimes, and almost too many even to tie to your number, I. The most, you know, That you can hope for, my dear King, is a fair fight And then as it were, nothing at all were fair, In this life or any, But the skin and eyes of the enemy, The wool of the sheep of course, and the color of cotton. Therefore you shall too understand this music. And nothing my dear king begins without another ending, And all the same is nothing and everything Everyone and no one, Here and nowhere at all, And so it has come— And therefore, I too, shall understand these things again. Try to remember your honor, at the resting tip of the diamond, and at the unburdened idea of circumstance, The rush of August, the cinema tongue And cheek, The blood drawn and again the awakening, The fertile flower and the dove, And the greatness of all that was, which was— In my past, as you call now and present, But again also may come, in aptitude to darkness. Farewell, my great, my son and daughter, my king of glory, and farewell to change! Farewell to fall and farewell to spring, farewell to summer And very well gone are the oars of the boat which has sunken, and your oars, your arms, And your tide, my own A breath so shallow almost forgotten, To no wind a sail, And another great misfortune has come, To wonder besides us, What art thou. And then, what are I? If none. If none, I call, and If none, I shatter. If none, I fall, And if none, I shatter If none, I call And if none, I matter. Then. Then and so. Then and so very well All and all And all in all, we all were Abandoned. No trauma form, The faceless god. No trauma form, the faceless God, Unknowing of what the world's rules are, And of course, then coming Unknown at all to another, and yet To humankind, all knowing of all things And being embodied as one, Then another, and some all The faceless God, as we all are, The faceless God, whom we all mock And The Faceless God, free from the burden of trauma, In wanting and unknown, The truth in all things, Taking all forms and all bodies, As the time comes upon us, To walk towards the light and To free ourselves from all time In all ways. Steady, shook, and window watching She did not wave To die today. To die today. To die to day. Is to die at all, not once, but all times Forever. It'll come harder the next time I promise. At my wits, as the man who had sworn my death now some see fit to wear a crown, A crown such as I had earned, by death and by will But he, by birth and by blood and wrong done. Woe is this! Hellicopter, Hellicopter Spin me round right round to where you hand And as I gallantly had planned to cross, I still hadn't lay last I her embarques all for free and care of down down, now I see something like home, over water The water had music, And the waves had tongues, The smell of gas I cherished and did breathe deepl, as sudden to come, I was as far as I had ever been, and as lonely as I always was, but still, mi finally walk on water To lululu buy a song, No price, but with time does come the cost and to live as though I always was, here, before the land was born And the oceans had parted, as something known As just a thought {I_NY.} I don't want it that much, nor do I need it, And stillc here I am, Watching Madame President. Today ought to be the day for the occult, The hymn of the omens And all polished the dolls, waiting the words And worse off, Astonishing The seagulls song had sung The flight has flown The dance was talked about But never coreographed I never even saw the lighthouse; And you're just a face in the crowd Can you see yourself in me? Do you hope to, like I do you? I don't have that disaster. I really don't have that conquest. I doubt you'd the answer The system, the sacrifice, the annex, Get out of my alignment m Decide to assign you Resign your retirements For the full four for the full force The best place to live is La. , but next comes New York, if you're— [America Runs on Dunkin] I don't know where I was going Damn that train. —Actually, it was a boat. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Stories by Swiggyswoo & Brandon Faircloth https://nightscribe.co/u/11909/swiggyswoo Brandon Faircloth: https://www.reddit.com/r/Verastahl/comments/9ndww5/welcome_to_the_new_verastahl_information_hub/ https://www.reddit.com/r/Verastahl/comments/8pnvcx/verastahl_story_database/ https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC73PScmymsggAJ26f_ZPmvQ?view_as=subscriber https://verastahl.com/ https://www.amazon.com/s?k=Brandon+Faircloth&ref=is_s https://www.reddit.com/r/Verastahl/

AP Washington correspondent Sagar Meghani reports the suspect who apparently tried to assassinate Donald Trump yesterday was outside Trump's Florida golf course for nearly 12 hours.

When I turned twenty-one in 1994, I embarked on a 500 mile solo hike on the Pacific Crest Trail across the state of Washington.  The Tread of My Soul is a memoir-meets-travelogue written from the trail.  Originally self published and shared with only a handful of family and friends, I recently dusted off the manuscript with the intention of sharing it with a new generation, on the 30th anniversary of its completion. Among black bears, ravens and Indian paintbrush, I grappled with the meaning of life while traversing the spine of the Cascade range with a handful of pocket edition classics in tow. Quotes from sacred texts, poets, and naturalists punctuate a coming of age tale contemplated in the wilderness.What follows is Part 1 of the book, squared off into four long Substack posts. For this first post, I'm also exclusively including Pacific Crest Trail Soundwalk, featuring a binaural field recording captured while hiking the first few miles on the Pacific Crest Trail up out of the Columbia Gorge in Washington. (If you haven't already, feel free to tap that play button at the top of the post.) The 26-minute composition cycles a triad of parts inspired by the letters PCT: part one in Phrygian mode (in E), part two in the key of C, and part three with Tritone substitutions. The instrumentation is outlined with Pianet electric piano, and colored in with synthesizer and intriguing pads built with a vaguely Appalachian mood in mind. It's on the quieter side, in terms of wildlife, but all in all, I think it compliments the reading. It concludes with a pretty frog chorus so, like the book, I'm making it unrestricted, in the hope of enticing some readers to stick with it to the end. If you prefer, you can find The Tread of My Soul in ebook format available for free right now on Apple Books or Amazon Kindle Store (free with Kindle Unlimited, points, or $2.99). If you read it and like it, please feel free to leave a review to help others find it. Thank you. So, without further ado, here we go:The Tread of My SoulComing of Age on the Pacific Crest Trailby Chad CrouchACT 1(AT RISE we see TEACHER and STUDENTS in an art studio. It is fall term; the sun is just beginning to set when class begins. Warm light washes the profiles of eight classmates. The wood floors are splashed with technicolor constellations of paint.)TEACHERHello. Welcome to class. I find role taking a tiresome practice so we'll skip over that and get to the assignment. Here I have a two-inch square of paper for you. I would like you to put your soul on it. The assignment is due in five minutes. No further explanations will be given.STUDENT #1(makes eye contact with a STUDENT #4, a young woman. She wears a perplexed smile on her face.)TEACHERHere you go.                                    (hands out squares of paper.)(People begin to work. Restlessness gives way to an almost reverence, except STUDENT #5 is scribbling to no end. The Students' awareness of others fades imperceptibly inward.  Five minutes pass quickly.)TEACHERTeacher: Are you ready? I'm interested to see what you've come up with.                                    (scuffle of some stools; the sound of a classroom reclaiming itself.)TEACHERWhat have you got there?STUDENT #1Well, I used half of the time just thinking. I was looking at my pencil and I thought…                                    (taps pencil on his knee, you see it is a mechanical model)this will never do the trick. The idea of soul seemed too intense to be grasped with only graphite. So 1 poked a pin sized hole in the paper and wrote:                                    (reading voice)“Hold paper up to sun, look into hole for soul.” That's all the further I got.TEACHER                                    (looking at student #2)And you?STUDENT #2                                    (smiles)Um, I didn't know what to do so all I have is a few specks where I was tapping my pen while I was thinking. This one…                                    (she points to a dot)is all, um, all fuzzy because I was ready to draw something and I hesitated so the ink just ran…(Students nod sympathetically. Attention goes to STUDENT #3)STUDENT #3I couldn't deal with just one little blank square.                                    (holds paper up and flaps it around, listlessly)So I started dividing.                                    (steadies and turns paper to reveal a graph.)Now, I have lots of squares in which to put my soul in. I think of a soul as being multifaceted.TEACHEROkay.  Thank you.  Next…                                    (looking at student #4)STUDENT #4                                    (without hesitation)I just stepped on it.(holds paper up to reveal the tread of a shoe sole in a multicolor print.)The tread of my soul.•     •     •            The writing that follows seems to have many of the same attributes as the students' responses to the problem posed in the preceding scene. While I have a lot more paper to work with, the problem remains the same: how do I express myself?  How do I express the intangible and essential part of me that people call a soul?  What is it wrapped up in?  What doctrines, ideologies and memories help give it a shape?            I guess I identify mostly with Student #4. Her shoe-print “Tread of My Soul” alludes to my own process: walking over 500 miles on The Pacific Crest Trail from Oregon To Canada in the Cascade Mountain Range in Washington. In trying to describe my soul I found that useful to be literal. Where my narrative dips into memoir or philosophy I tried not to hesitate or overthink things.  I tried to lay it all out.            Student #1's solution was evident in my own problem solving in how I constantly had to look elsewhere; into nature, into literature, and into symbology to even begin to bring out the depth of what I was thinking and feeling. Often the words of spiritual classics and of poetry are seen through my writing as if looking through a hole. I can only claim originality in where I poke the holes.            As for Student #2, I am afraid that my own problem solving doesn't evoke enough of her charm. For as much as I wanted to be thoughtful, I wanted also to be open and unstudied, tapping my pen. What I see has emerged, however, is at times argumentative. In retrospect I see that I had no recourse, really. My thoughts on God and Jesus were molded in a throng of letters, dialogues, experiences, and personal studies prior to writing this.Finally, in the winter of my twenty-first year, as I set down to transcribe this book, I realize how necessary it was to hike. Student #3 had the same problem. The soul is complex and cannot fit into a box. Hiking gave me a cadence to begin to answer the question what is my soul? The trail made me mindful. There was the unceasing metaphor of the journey: I could only reach my goal incrementally. This tamed my writing sometimes. It wandered sometimes and I was at ease to let it. I had more than five minutes and a scrap of paper. I had each step.•     •     •            The Bridge of the Gods looks like a behemoth Erector set project over the Columbia River spanning the natural border of Washington and Oregon. My question: what sort of Gods use Erector sets?  Its namesake actually descends from an event in space and time; a landslide. The regional natives likely witnessed, in the last millennium, a landslide that temporarily dammed the Columbia effectually creating a bridge—The Bridge of the Gods. I just finished reading about why geologists think landslides are frequent in the gorge. Didn't say anything about Gods. How we name things, as humankind, has something to do with space and time doesn't it? Where once we call something The Bridge of the Gods it has been contemporarily reduced to landslide. We have new Gods now, and they compel us to do the work with erector sets. Or perhaps I mistook the name: It doesn't necessarily mean Gods made it. Perhaps Gods dwell there or frequent it. Or maybe it is a passageway that goes where the Gods go. It seems to me that if the Gods wanted to migrate from, say, Mt. Rainier in Washington to Mt. Hood in Oregon, they would probably follow the Cascade Ridge down to the Bridge of the Gods and cross there.            If so, I think I should like to see one, or maybe a whole herd of them like the caribou I saw in Alaska earlier this summer, strewn across the snow field like mahogany tables. Gods, I tend to think are more likely to be seen in the high places or thereabouts, after all,The patriarchs and prophets of the Old Testament behold the Lord face to face in the high places. For Moses it was Mount Sinai and Mount Nebo; in the New Testament it is the Mount of Olives and Golgotha. I went so far as to discover this ancient symbol of the mountain in the pyramid constructions of Egypt and Chaldea. Turning to the Aryans, I recalled those obscure legends of the Vedas in which the Soma—the 'nectar' that is in the 'seed of immortality' is said to reside in its luminous and subtle form 'within the mountain.' In India the Himalayas are the dwelling place of the Siva, of his spouse 'the Daughter of the Mountain,' and the 'Mothers' of all worlds, just as in Greece the king of the gods held court on Mt Olympus.- Rene Daumal, Mount Analogue            These days Gods don't go around making landslides every time they want to cross a river, much less perform a Jesus walking on the water miracle. That would be far too suspicious. Gods like to conceal themselves. A popular saying is "God helps those who help themselves." I think if Moses were alive today, Jehovah would have him build a bridge rather than part the waters.            Someone said, "Miracles take a lot of hard work." This is true.•     •     •Day 1.Bridge of the Gods.Exhausted, I pitch my tent on the side of the trail in the hot afternoon and crawl into to take a nap to avoid the annoying bugs.My sweat leaves a dead person stamp on the taffeta floor.Heavy pack.  A vertical climb of 3200 ft.Twelve miles. I heaved dry tears and wanted to vomit.Dinner and camp on a saddle.Food hard to stomach.View of Adams and gorge.            Perhaps I am a naive pilgrim as I cross over that bridge embarking on what I suppose will be a forty day and night journey on the Pacific Crest Trail with the terminus in Canada. My mother gave me a box of animal crackers before my departure so I could leave “a trail of crumbs to return by.” The familiar classic Barnum's red, yellow and blue box dangles from a carabineer of my expedition backpack            As I cross over the bridge I feel small, the pack bearing down on my hips, legs, knees, feet. I look past my feet, beyond the steel grid decking of the bridge, at the water below.  Its green surface swirls. I wonder how many gallons are framed in each metal square and how many flow by in the instant I look?How does the sea become the king of all streams?Because it is lower than they!Hence it is the king of all streams.-Lao-tzu, Tao Teh Ching            On the Bridge of the Gods I begin my quest, gazing at my feet superimposed on the Columbia's waters flowing toward the ocean. Our paths are divergent. Why is it that the water knows without a doubt where to go; to its humble Ocean King that embraces our planet in blue? I know no such path of least resistance to and feel at one with humankind. To the contrary, when we follow our paths of least resistance—following our family trees of religion, learning cultural norms—we end up worshipping different Gods. It is much easier for an Indian to revere Brahman than it is for I. It is much easier for me to worship Christ than it is for an Indian. These paths are determined geographically and socially.             It's not without trepidation that I begin my journey. I want to turn from society and turn to what I believe to be impartial: the sweeping landscape.            With me I bring a small collection of pocket books representing different ideas of the soul. (Dhammapada, Duino Elegies, Tao Teh Ching, Song of Myself, Walden, Mount Analogue, and the Bible.) It isn't that I want to renounce my faith.  I turn to the wilderness, to see if I can't make sense of it all.            I hike north. This is a fitting metaphor. The sun rises in the east and arcs over the south to the west. To the north is darkness. To the north my shadow is cast. Instinctively I want to probe this.•     •     •Day 2.Hiked fourteen miles.Three miles on a ridge and five descending brought me to Rock Creek.I bathed in the pool. Shelves of fern on a wet rock wall.Swaths of sunlight penetrating the leafy canopy.Met one person.Read and wrote and slept on a bed of moss.Little appetite.Began another ascent.Fatigued, I cried and cursed out at the forest.I saw a black bear descending through the brushBefore reaching a dark campsite.            I am setting records of fatigue for myself. I am a novice at hiking. Here is the situation: I have 150 miles to walk. Simple arithmetic agrees that if I average 15 miles a day it will take me 10 days to get to the post office in White Pass where I have mailed myself more food. I think I am carrying a sufficient amount of food to sustain my journey, although I'm uncertain because I have never backpacked for more than three consecutive days. The greatest contingency, it seems, is my strength: can I actually walk 15 miles a day with 60 pounds on my back in the mountains? Moreover, can I continue to rise and fall as much as I have? I have climbed a vertical distance of over 6000 feet in the first two days.            I begin to quantify my movement in terms of Sears Towers. I reason that if the Sears Tower is 1000 feet, I walked the stairs of it up and down almost 5 times. I am developing a language of abstract symbols to articulate my pain.            I dwell on my condition. I ask myself, are these thoughts intensified by my weakness or am I feeding my weakness with my thoughts?            I begin to think about God. Many saints believed by impoverishing their physical self, often by fasting, their spiritual self would increase as a result. Will my spirit awake as my body suffers?            I feet the lactic acid burning my muscle tissue. I begin to moan aloud. I do this for some time until, like a thunderclap, I unleash voice in the forest.            I say, "I CAN'T do this,” and "I CAN do this," in turn. I curse and call out "Where are you God? I've come to find you." Then I see the futility of my words. Scanning the forest: all is lush, verdant, solemn, still. My complaint is not registered here.And all things conspire to keep silent about us, half out of shame perhaps, half as unutterable hope.- Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino Elegies            I unstrap my pack and collapse into heap on the trail floor, curled up. I want to be still like the forest.            The forest makes a noise: Crack, crack, crack.            I think a deer must be traversing through the brush. I turn slowly to look in the direction of the sound. It's close. Not twenty yards off judging from the noise.            I pick myself up to view the creature, and look breathlessly. It's just below me in the ravine. Its shadowy black body dilates subtly as it breathes. What light falls on it seems to be soaked up, like a hole cut in the forest in the shape of an animal. It turns and looks at me with glassy eyes. It claims all my senses—I see, hear, feel, smell, taste nothing else--as I focus on the bear.And so I hold myself back to swallow the call note of my dark sobbing.Ah, whom can we ever turn to in our need?Not angels, not humans and already the knowing animals are aware that we are really not at home in our interpreted world.- Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino Elegies            Remembering what I read to do when encountering a bear, I raise my arms, making myself bigger. "Hello bear," I say, "Go away!"            With the rhythm of cracking branches, it does.•     •     •Day 3.Hiked thirteen miles.Descended to Trout Creek, thirsty.Met a couple en route to Lake Tahoe.Bathed in Panther Creek.Saw the wind brushing the lower canopy of leaves on a hillside.A fly landed on the hairs of my forearm and I,Complacent,Dreamt.            I awake in an unusual bed: a stream bed. A trickle of clear water ran over stones beneath me, down my center, as if to bisect me. And yet I was not wet. What, I wonder, is the significance of this dream?            The August sun had been relentless thus far on my journey. The heat combined with the effort involved in getting from one source of water to the next makes an arrival quite thrilling. If the water is deep enough for my body, even more so:I undress... hurry me out of sight of land, cushion me soft... rock me in billowy drowse Dash me with amorous wet...- Walt Whitman, Song of Myself            There is something electrifying and intensely renewing about swimming naked in a cold creek pool or mountain lake.I got up early and bathed in the pond; that was a religious exercise, and one of the best things I did. They say that characters were engraven on the bathing tub of King Tching-thang to this effect; "renew thyself completely each day; do it again and again and forever again."- Henry David Thoreau, Walden            Is bathing, then, a spiritual exercise?            When I was baptized on June 15, 1985 in the tiled pool of our chapel in the Portland suburbs, I thought surely as I was submerged something extraordinary would happen, such as the face of Jesus would appear to me in the water. And I did do it—I opened my eyes under water— but saw only the blur of my pastor's white torso and the hanging ferns that framed the pool. I wondered: shouldn't a ceremony as significant as this feel more than just wet? I'm guessing that most children with exposure to religion often keep their eyes open for some sort of spectacular encounter with God, be it to punish or affirm them. (As a child, I remember sitting in front of the television thinking God could put a commercial on for heaven if he wanted to.)            Now, only ten years after I was baptized, I still keep my eyes open for God, though not contextually the same, not within a religion, not literally.            And when I swim in a clear creek pool, I feel communion, pure and alive. The small rounded stones are reminders of the ceaseless touch of water. Their blurry shapes embrace me in a way that the symbols and rites of the church fail to.I hear and behold God in every objectYet I understand God not in the least.-Walt Whitman, Song of Myself            And unlike the doctrines and precepts of organized religion, I have never doubted my intrinsic bond to water.And more-For greater than all the joysOf heaven and earthGreater still than dominionOver all worlds,Is the joy of reaching the stream.- Dhammapada, Sayings of the Buddha•     •     •Day 4.Hiked fourteen miles. Climbed to a beautiful ridge.Signs, yellow and black posted every 50 feet: "Experimental Forest"Wound down to a campground where I met three peopleAs I stopped for lunch."Where does this trail go to?" he says. "Mexico," I say."Ha Ha," says he.Camped at small Green Lake.            My body continues to evolve. My hair and fingernails grow and grow, and right now I've got four new teeth trying to find a seat in my mouth.            I turned twenty-one on August sixth. On August sixth, 1945 a bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. The world lost more people than it made that day. When I was born, I suspect we gained a few.            I'm an adult now, and I'm not sure where it happened or why. I wonder if someone had to stamp something somewhere because of it? A big red stamp that says "ADULT".  It was a blind passage for me—just like those persons who evaporated at ground zero on August sixth, 49 years ago.            I do feel like I just evaporated into adulthood. I am aware of the traditional ceremony of turning twenty-one. Drinking. Contemporary society commemorates becoming an adult with this token privilege. Do you have any idea how fast alcohol evaporates? I am suggesting this: One's response to this rite rarely affords any resolution or insight into growth. Our society commemorates the passage from child to adult with a fermented beverage.            I wanted to more deliberate about becoming an adult. Hence the second reason (behind a spiritual search) for this sojourn into the wilderness. I took my lead from the scriptures:And he was in the desert forty days... He was with the wild animal and the angels attended him.- Mark 1:13            Something about those forty days prepared Jesus for what we know of his adult life.I also took my lead from Native Americans. Their rite of passage is called a vision quest, wherein the youth goes alone into the depth of nature for a few days to receive some sort of insight into being.            I look around me. I am alone here in the woods a few days after my birthday. Why? To discover those parts of me that want to be liberated. To draw the fragrant air into my lungs. To feel my place in nature.…beneath each footfall with resolution.I want to own every atom of myself in the present and be able to say:Look I am living. On what? NeitherChildhood nor future grows any smaller....Superabundant being wells up in my heart.- Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino Elegies•     •     •Day 5.Hiked to Bear Lake and swam.Saw over a dozen people. Eighteen miles.Watched raven fly from tree and listened.Found frogs as little as my thumbnail.Left Indian Heaven.            Surprise.  My body is becoming acclimated to long distance hiking. I know because when I rest it is a luxury rather than a necessity.            The light is warmer and comes through the forest canopy at an acute angle from the west, illuminating the trunks of this relatively sparse old growth stand. I am laying on my back watching a raven at his common perch aloft in a dead Douglas fir.            It leaps into its court and flap its wings slowly, effortlessly navigating through the old wood pillars. The most spectacular sense of this, however, is the sound: a loud, slow, hollow thrum: Whoosh whoosh, whoosh....  It's as if the interstices between each pulse are too long, too vacant to keep the creature airborne. Unlike its kind, this raven does not speak: there are no loud guttural croaks to be heard.            Northwest coastal tribes such as the Kwakiutl thought the croaks of a raven were prophetic and whoever could interpret them was a seer. Indeed, the mythic perception of ravens to be invested with knowledge and power is somewhat universal.           My raven is silent. And this is apt, for I tend to think the most authentic prophecies are silent, or near to it.Great sound is silent.- Lao Tzu, Tao Teh Ching            The contour of that sound and silence leaves a sublime impression on me.•     •     •Day 6.Hiked twelve miles.Many uphill, but not most.Met several people.One group looked like they were enjoying themselves—two families.I spent the afternoon reading my natural history book on a bridge.Voles (forest mice) relentlessly made efforts to infiltrate my food bag during the night.            I am reading about how to call a tree a “Pacific Silver Fir” or an “Engelmann Spruce” or “Western Larch” and so on. If something arouses my curiosity on my walk, I look in my natural history book to see if it has anything to say.            Jung said, "Sometimes a tree can teach you more than a book can."            Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha was enlightened beneath a fig tree.            I read that a 316-year-old Ponderosa Pine east of Mt. Jefferson bears scars from 18 forest fires. Surely that tree taught us one thing a book couldn't.  All things are clues. Everything is part of a complex tapestry of causality.            The grand design behind these mountains has something to do with plate tectonics. Beneath me the oceanic plate is diving beneath the continental at twenty to sixty degrees putting it well under the coastline to where it partially melts and forms magma. This has been happening for millions of years. Every once and a while this magma channels its way up to the surface, cools and turns into igneous rock. Again and again, this happens. Again and again, and yet again until a mountain is made; a stratovolcano.            Meanwhile, on top, water, glaciers, wind, and sun are trying to carry the mountains away grain by grain. Geologic time is as incomprehensible as it would be to imagine someone's life by looking at his or her gravestone. These mountains are gravestones.            Plants fight to keep the hillsides together. Plants and trees do. But every summer some of those trees, somewhere, are going to burn. Nature will not tolerate too much fuel. New trees will grow to replace those lost. Again and again. Eighteen times over and there we find our tree, a scarred Ponderosa Pine in the tapestry.            And every summer the flowers will bloom. The bees will come to pollinate them and cross-pollinate them: next year a new color will emerge.            And every summer the mammals named homo-sapiens-sapiens will come to the mountains to cut down trees, hike trails, and to put up yellow and black signs that read Boundary Experimental Forest U.S.F.S. placed evenly 100 yards apart so hikers are kept excessively informed about boundaries.            Here I am in the midst of this slow-motion interplay of nature. I walk by thousands of trees daily. Sometimes I see just one, sometimes the blur of thousands. It is not so much that a tree teaches me more than a book; rather it conjures up in me the copious leagues of books unwritten. And, I know somewhere inside that I participate. What more hope could a tree offer?  What more hope could you find in a gravestone?•     •     •Day 7.Hiked twenty miles in Alpine country near Mt Adams.More flowers—fields of them. Saw owl. Saw elk.Wrote near cascading creek.Enjoyed walking. Appetite is robust.Camped at Lave Spring.Saw six to ten folks.Didn't talk too much.            Before I was baptized, during the announcements, there was a tremendous screech culminating in a loud cumbf! This is a sound which can be translated here as metal and glass crumpling and shattering in an instant to absorb the forces of automobiles colliding.            In the subsequent prayer, the pastor made mention of the crash, which happened on the very same corner of the chapel, and prayed to God that He might spare those people of injury.            As it turns the peculiarly memorable sound was that of our family automobile folding into itself, and it was either through prayer or her seat belt that no harm came to my sister who was driving it.            Poor thing. She just was going to get some donuts. Do you know why? Because I missed my appointment with baptism. There is time in most church services when people go to the front to (1.) confess their sin, (2.) confess their faith in Christ as their only personal savior, and (3.) to receive Him. This is what is known as the “Altar Call”. To the embarrassment of my parents (for I recall the plan was for one of them to escort me to the front) the Alter Call cue—a specific prayer and hymn—was missed and I sat expectant till the service end. The solution was to attend the subsequent service and try harder.            I don't recall my entire understanding of God and Jesus then, at age eleven, but I do remember arriving at a version of Pascal's reductive decision tree that there are four possibilities regarding my death and salvation:1. Jesus is truly the savior of mankind and I claim him and I go to heaven, or2. Jesus is truly the savior of mankind and I don't claim him and I end up in hell, or3. Jesus isn't the savior of mankind and I die having lived a somewhat virtuous life in trying to model myself after him, or4. Jesus isn't the savior of mankind and I didn't believe it anyhow.            My sister, fresh with an Oregon drivers license, thought one dose of church was enough for her and, being hungry, went out for donuts and failed to yield.Cumbf!            Someone came into the chapel to inform us. We all went out to the accident. The cars were smashed and askew, and my sister was a bawling, rocking little lump on the side of the street. We attended to her, calmed her, and realized there was yet time for me to get baptized. We went into the church and waited patiently for the hymn we had mentally earmarked and then I was baptized. I look back on the calamities of that day affectionately.Prize calamities as your own body.- Lao Tzu, Tao Teh Ching            Those events that surrounded the ritual decry a ceremony so commonplace one often misses the extraordinariness of it; of humanity; the embarrassment of my parents; the frustration and impetuous flight of my sister; and the sympathy and furrowed brow of our pastor. These events unwind in my head like a black and white silent film of Keystone Cops with a church organ revival hymn for the soundtrack.  There was something almost slapstick about how that morning unfolded, and once the dust had settled and the family was relating the story to my grandmother later that day, we began to find the humor in it. Hitting things and missing things and this is sacred. All of it.Because our body is the very source of our calamities,If we have no body, what calamities can we have?- Lao Tzu, Tao Teh Ching            Most religions see the body as temporal and the soul as eternal. Hence, 13th century monks cloistered themselves up denying their bodies space and interaction that their souls might be enhanced.            I see it this way: No one denies their bodily existence, do they? Look, your own hand holds this book. Why do you exist? You exist right now, inherently, to hold a book, and to feel the manifold sensations of the moment.            If this isn't enough of a reason, adjust.            I've heard it said, "Stop living in the way of the world, live in the way of God."            My reply: "Before I was baptized, I heard a cumbf, and it was in the world and I couldn't ignore it.  I'm not convinced we would have a world if we weren't supposed to live in the way of it."Thanks for reading Soundwalk! This is Part One of my 1994 travelogue-meets-memoir The Tread of My Soul. This post is public so feel free to share it.Read: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4. Or find the eBook at Apple Books or Amazon Kindle Store. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit chadcrouch.substack.com/subscribe

Giovanni Ribisi joins Seth and Josh on the pod this week! Giovanni talks about growing up in Hollywood and how his family navigated the industry, going to a western museum in Lone Pine, California, camping next to a nuclear power plant, and so much more! Family Trips is supported by Airbnb. Your home might be worth more than you think. Find out how much more at airbnb.com/host to learn about hosting. So thanks again to Nissan for sponsoring this episode of Family Trips. Now go find your path, and enjoy the ride along the way.  Learn more at nissanusa.com Right now, get up to 60% off your Babbel subscription - but only for our listeners - at Babbel.com/TRIPS

Hour 2 - Too liberal, not liberal enough, plenty of people demonstrating at the Democratic National Convention.

In hour three we talk to Kyle Ulbrich who is camped out at the Dolphins facility looking for a tryout and which events have Joe fired up about the Olympics which start today

PREVIEW: TORONTO: ANTISEMITISM: Conversation with colleague Conrad Black of the National Post re the sluggish response of the University of Toronto administration to the antisemitic agitators who camped on private property and demanded to see the books. More later. 1851 Toronto

Celebrate Pride month by exploring the work of historically significant Indiana LGBTQ+ musicians. Listen to interviews with Lē Weaver of Software, and writer Tyler Alpern, author of the 2010 book “Camped, Tramped and A Riotous Vamp” a biography of the Indiana songwriter Bruz Fletcher. Software was an Indianapolis synth-rock band that played a crucial role in the Lesbian music scene of Indiana during the 1980s.  Stoughton “Bruz” Fletcher, a pioneer of LGBTQ+ music during the 1930s. Bruz was born into one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in Indiana, and his life was filled with extraordinary luxury and tragedy.

Celebrate Pride month by exploring the work of historically significant Indiana LGBTQ+ musicians. Listen to interviews with Lē Weaver of Software, and writer Tyler Alpern, author of the 2010 book “Camped, Tramped and A Riotous Vamp” a biography of the Indiana songwriter Bruz Fletcher. Software was an Indianapolis synth-rock band that played a crucial role in the Lesbian music scene of Indiana during the 1980s.  Stoughton “Bruz” Fletcher, a pioneer of LGBTQ+ music during the 1930s. Bruz was born into one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in Indiana, and his life was filled with extraordinary luxury and tragedy.

A group of asylum seekers sleep in tents in Washington state, worrying about food, a place to bathe, and whether they will be arrested for trespassing. AP correspondent Jennifer King reports.

Tony is back in the shop, and Keith went to @highcalibercraftsman's High Caliber Camp Please also consider supporting our sponsors: @Saburrtooth Tools for all of your Power Carving needs. Use code "WH" for 10% off @maritimeknifesupply https://maritimeknifesupply.ca/ for all of your knife supplies and more!  @gnomehammerforge has all the details on next months prize  Follow us on IG: Working Hands Podcast Account Tik Tok Patreon grab some MERCH Tony Woodland @woodlandiron Keith Drennan @blackthornconcepts If you would like to support the show: Click Here leave a 5-star review, and most importantly - Tell a friend to listen!

Join Premium! Ready for an ad-free meditation experience? Join Premium now and get every episode from ALL of our podcasts completely ad-free now! Just a few clicks makes it easy for you to listen on your favorite podcast player.  Become a PREMIUM member today by going to --> https://WomensMeditationNetwork.com/premium

Suzanne Colucci has the top stories from the WCBS newsroom.

There's plenty of action along the way including a stop at a very unique Outback pub, some awesome Aussie wildlife encounters, and we set up camp inside a ghost town with a remarkable history.If you've never travelled The Explorers Way in Australia. Be prepared to discover the best stops, attractions, and hidden gems along this iconic route!Get your hands on our South Australia Touring Guide eBook and start planning your road trip today! - https://shopthefeelgoodfamily.com/products/south-australia-ebook-the-ultimate-touring-guide Watch our brand new TV series Feel Good RoadTrips on Channel 7TWO at 3pm Sunday's, nationwide. Or catch up on episodes on the 7Plus streaming platform - https://thefeelgoodfamily.com/feelgood-roadtrips-channel-seven-tv-series/ This episode is proudly brought to you by our friends at Nakie – the world's first 100% recycled hammock! Relax wherever you go with the awesome range of Nakie products. Take advantage of our 15% Discount - https://www.nakie.co/?ref=feelgood(ENTER FEELGOOD DISCOUNT CODE).Listen to our Feel Good Road Trip Spotify playlist here -https://open.spotify.com/playlist/47S2LkmpBxztMEH8sw6Frt?fbclid=IwAR0Xk2BwpoAhbk5Xvl1cwadO2FzPVl2PHboIWNDPmtzW_F-1-4fKfw4AalU Be sure to Subscribe to our YouTube Channel and join us for all of the road trip adventures!Check out the footage from our latest episodes on our Family Travel Australia YouTube channel – https://www.youtube.com/@TheFeelGoodFamily Subscribe to Jasperoo - https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCceGx3esRSQBYZfWvf4KVtwOur YouTube channel www.youtube.com/thefeelgoodfamily has a new destination video every Sunday night at 6.30pm (AEST). We would love to connect with you on Facebook, Instagram and our website www.thefeelgoodfamily.com Our Family Travel Australia Podcast is now LIVE and available on all podcast platforms, with a new episode aired every Friday night 8:30pm [AEST].

Embracing Technology to Harness the Power of AI for Small Business Success is covered in this podio, along with the following subjects: - Productivity and efficiency - Automating customer service - Analyzing data ************************************************************************************** Harnessing the power of AI can greatly enhance small business productivity and efficiency. With the advancements in artificial intelligence technology, small businesses now have access to tools and solutions that were once only available to larger enterprises. By leveraging AI, small businesses can save time and resources, allowing them to focus on growth and innovation. Whether it's automating customer service or utilizing machine learning algorithms to analyze data, AI is revolutionizing the way small businesses operate and compete in today's fast-paced digital landscape. Carl Mazzanti is a top-tier IT guy with personality—and the ability to assemble a world-class crew to solve business problems. Camped on the leading edge of business technology, Carl knows it, lives it, loves it, and labors passionately to see that clients prosper with it. A lifelong partnership is more important to him than the transaction. Carl's firm, eMazzanti Technologies, is all about delivering powerful, efficient outsourced IT services, such as computer network management, proactive 24/7 monitoring and support, retail IT infrastructure, payment technology and POS, PCI DSS compliance, cloud hosting and backup, affordable DRaaS and IaaS solutions, business continuity and disaster recovery, managed print, mobile workforce technology, information security, and business information optimization. His firm manages over 400 active accounts ranging from professional services firms to high-end global retailers. eMazzanti has been recognized as a 2015, 2014, 2013, and 2012 Microsoft Partner of the Year, a 5X WatchGuard Technologies Partner of the Year, and has made the Inc. 5000 list seven years running. Despite all that, eMazzanti Technologies is fun, innovative, and professional. As likable as he is knowledgeable, Carl will shake 10,000 hands a year speaking at conferences and attending industry events. He is family-first and super loyal. His son accumulated 300,000 frequent flyer miles traveling to 7 countries, and 28 states by the time he was 5… Carl takes him along. Carl is a graduate of Georgetown University, with a triple major in Finance, New and Small Business Management, and International Business. Jennifer, his wife and business partner, is smarter. His interests include snowboarding, sailing, and minor-league baseball, but mostly he works and takes the kids on outings.

Creepypasta Scary Story

Boa had just heard the news that Mamoru Nakama was planning an attack on Jikai's hunting party. Thinking quickly, he notified Tsume and used his contacts in the castle to get an anonymous letter to Jikai warning him of the ambush. The next morning, everyone in the castle stood at the gates to see the hunting party off. Excitement was in the air, mixed with a hint of unease. The lightweight and flexible clothes normally worn on such an expedition were replaced with lacquered armor. It appeared that Boa's note had made an impact on the lord.As the hunting party left the castle, Boa tried to follow them, unnoticed. He was caught by none other than Otomo Nobu, who ordered him to get back to work. Disregarding his order, Boa fled the castle, trailing Jikai's hunting party across the countryside. The last thing he heard was Nobu gathering ronin to chase after him.On the trail, Tsume chatted with the other members of the hunt. He spoke with Reju Ume, Jikai's niece and heir. Tsume got a sense that Ume hated Closed Shell Castle and quietly resented her uncle for bringing her to that place. Noticing the general unease among the party, Tsume talked to Jikai's yojimbo, Jinzaburo. Speaking candidly, he revealed that Jikai received a letter warning him of an ambush. Uncertain of the letter's validity, the lord decided not to call off the hunt, but being cautious, he ordered that everyone be armed and armored.Camped out in a clearing upon a hill, the party began their hunt. For the first time in months, Jikai fully seemed himself, finally able to enjoy one of his favorite artforms: falconry. The lord brought his entire collection of birds, each one personally trained by him. He happily mentored Tsume on the proper technique before letting the bird loose and catching a plump rabbit. Tsume skinned and dressed the rabbit as only the son of a butcher could do, and then put the meat in a stew.Spirits were high as the party sat down to enjoy some rabbit stew. As everyone laughed and ate, the fear that pervaded them washed away. Just as everyone was beginning to relax, the horses began to whinny. Looking up, the party realized they were surrounded. A pack of wolves encircled them, slowly creeping forward from the forest. Chief among them was an enormous wolf, twice the size of the others with silver fur and yellow eyes: Nakama.The wolves fell on them, creating a mass of swirling, snarling jaws. They were everywhere. Overwhelmed and unable to retreat, the party was forced to stand their ground. The samurai drew their weapons and fought against the wolves bearing down on them. Nakama went straight for Reju Jikai— his mission was clear. However the bodyguard, Jinzaburo, bravely defended his lord against the tide of claws and fangs. Out from the forest yelled Boa, having crept behind the hunting party all day. He tried to reconcile with the beasts, but it was clear they were past that point. He drew his weapon and entered the fray. Hearing the sounds of battle from a not-too-distant-trail, Kaizoku came running through the forest. Upon seeing his friends in combat, he too joined the melee.Before long, it was apparent that the crashing waves of wolves were too much for Jinzaburo to handle. He fell in battle, and the wolves were soon upon him, finishing him without remorse. Nakama now attacked Jikai directly.Having lost half their number to samurai steel, the pack began to flee, but Nakama remained. With a final attack, he lunged at Jikai, ripping his right hand from his wrist. Jikai bled and cried in agony as the samurai struck at the giant wolf. With a final blow, Boa ended Nakama's life. The spirit he failed to console became the beast he had to slay.As the dust settled and the warriors caught their breath, the ronin Nobu ordered to find Boa discovered the party. They immediately tended to Jikai's wounds and brought the party back to the castle. That morning, they departed the castle excited and shining in resplendent armor, but they returned beaten, bloody, and exhausted. Jinzaburo was dead, and Jikai was permanently wounded. Nobu accepted the party into the castle. Among them he found Kaizoku, the pirate he believed had released a prisoner and murdered a guard, and Boa, the trouble-making ronin defector. Nobu's face contorted and a torrent of punishments and citations began to well up in his throat, but before a word could be uttered, Jikai spoke. He said, “these men saved my life.” 

Mountain man, trapper and author of “Journal of a Trapper.” Camped near Yellowstone Lake, he and his companion were attacked by Blackfoot Indians. Both wounded by arrows, they managed to escape by hiding in the thick brush and were able to walk back to Fort Hall. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

If not, I'm even more confused.

This is on a blog I felt led to create called: Books of the Bible in Smaller Chunks. You can find that at ⁠https://BibleInSmallerChunks.blogspot.com⁠ In addition to this podcast, you might check out some blogs I felt led to create: Daily Chapters of the Bible [in Smaller Chunks] at: ⁠https://dailychaptersofbible.blogspot.com⁠ ⁠Types of Christians⁠ found at ⁠https://TypesOfChristians.blogspot.com⁠ , Biblical Proof! found at ⁠https://BiblicalProof.blogspot.com/⁠ , Do Biblical Inconsistencies Really Matter? at ⁠https://Biblicalinconsistencies.blogspot.com/⁠ End of World Bible Prophecy at ⁠https://EndOfWorldBibleProphecy.blogspot.com/⁠ Please share this podcast and blog links with those who might benefit. Thanks! Debbie

This is the Afternoon All-Local for Friday, August 4th, 2023. 1010 WINS anchor Larry Mullins with more on the stories. 

Enjoy :) --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/themisterdavis/message

All Local Morning 7-30-23

Mack Rosenberg has the morning's top local stories from the WCBS newsroom.

Stories about my time driving the van through Texas. Fredericksburg, Corpus Christi, and Padre Island. Camped on Padre Island for 2-3 weeks. Happy times and sad. Good times and bad. Wrote a song on the beach and posted that video separately. Check it.

John Oliver joins Seth & Josh to dish all about the town he's from (which he does NOT recommend vacationing in), camping with his family, and what kind of trips he likes to go on now.Hosted by Seth & Josh Meyers. Theme song written & performed by Jeff Tweedy. Produced by Rabbit Grin Productions

Why is there 5,000 acres of near-wilderness at the heart of Oregon's largest city? Because nobody could develop it — although many tried. So, all the land reverted back to the city for unpaid taxes, and the city turned it into Forest Park. (Portland, Multnomah County; 1940s) (For text and pictures, see https://offbeatoregon.com/1010d-family-camped-in-downtown-portland-for-4-years.html)

Why is there 5,000 acres of near-wilderness at the heart of Oregon's largest city? Because nobody could develop it — although many tried. So, all the land reverted back to the city for unpaid taxes, and the city turned it into Forest Park. (Portland, Multnomah County; 1940s) (For text and pictures, see https://offbeatoregon.com/1010d-family-camped-in-downtown-portland-for-4-years.html)

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Welcome to a captivating episode of Autism Live! Join us as we unravel the mysteries of autism jargon and dive into the concept of "chaining." In this thought-provoking discussion, our expert panel, along with special guests Milo Nichols and Navah Paskowitz-Asner, share their insights, experiences, and valuable information on this essential topic. Stay up-to-date with the latest autism news as we bring you the most recent updates from the community. Plus, get ready for an exciting announcement about the upcoming "Camp Ed" and the highly-anticipated 11th Annual Ed Asner Poker Tournament! In this episode, our incredible guests, Milo Nichols and Navah Paskowitz-Asner, will join us to shed light on the transformative power of "Camp Ed" and the importance of enrichment programs for individuals with autism. They will also provide exclusive details about the upcoming 11th Annual Ed Asner Poker Tournament, a fantastic event that supports autism advocacy and brings together a community of compassion and care. Don't miss out on this enlightening and inspiring episode! Join us as we explore "chaining," dive into autism news, and get a glimpse into the incredible initiatives by Milo Nichols, Navah Paskowitz-Asner, and the entire Autism Live community. Tune in now and be part of this empowering conversation!   Click Here to Download the Autism Live App on Iphone Autism Network Website  Shannon Penrod's book is out now! Order from the link below! Autism Live's Link Tree Order the book written by the host of Autism Live, Shannon Penrod!  Click Here for Autism Live on Apple Podcast  Autism Network Toy Guide Autism Live on Twitch Autism Live on Spotify Autism Live on IHeartRadio Autism Live on Amazon Audible

We are so happy to bring you Royal Coronation podcast special: Part 1.    We keep you up to date with how we got on trying to get a great spot to watch The Coronation Procession on The Mall for King Charles III Coronation. Today, we are talking all about:  Our Keeping Up With The Windsors Meet-Up and the amazing Royal Community we met during our afternoon tea and spent time with on The Mall.  Scoping out The Mall  Camping on The Mall overnight  Our whole experience of watching The Coronation Process  Let's talk weather…..we were soaked!!! Crying at the beautiful Coronation Music  The Fly-Past   Plus so much more…   Thank you so much for sharing our experience of being on The Mall during King Charles III Coronation. How did you celebrate your Coronation weekend? Will you be taking part in the Big Help Out?    M+R xoxo  

Demetra Kaye reports on South Africa evicting refugees that were camped outside of the UNHCR offices. Connect with Demetra:  @demetrakaye ​ --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/africandiasporanews/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/africandiasporanews/support

The All Local, 6AM Update, 2/2/2023 

This is the All Local Morning for January 31st 2023

Photo: No known restrictions on Harbor 1890 @Batchelorshow #Bestof2022: Long before Ukraine, Russia invaded the New World. Russia camped in Cuba, Venezuela, and Nicaragua. @MaryAnastasiaOG @WSJOpinion (Originally posted February 4, 2021) https://www.wsj.com/articles/putin-is-already-in-cuba-and-venezuela-south-america-influence-western-hemisphere-ukraine-11643567547 Mary Anastasia O'Grady, @MaryAnastasiaOG  Wall Street Journal editorial board and “The Americas” columnis

This week we pack our tents and go camping in the Aussie made multiplayer shenanigans of Camped Out! Plus, we play the racing game where the goal is to stop in You Suck At Parking!

HTH's TENNESSEE VELVET BUCK   Tyler and Eric are back from their Colorado Adventures. Camped out at 12k feet they put a lot of work into the pursuit of a high country Mule Deer. Tyler breaks down the hunt and we discuss how tough the hunt was. Watch the full video this Sunday, September 18th!   HUNTING FROM THE GROUND TIPS   It just doesn't get any better than these two hunts:   Tyler's KANSAS Giant 18 pt! K.C.'s Dramatic Biggest BUCK EVER!   Be sure and subscribe on YOUTUBE so you can experience all the action on film!   BUY ONE OF OUR NEW SHIRTS and HOODIES! www.theelementwild.com/shop   MAKE SURE YOU ARE SUBSCRIBED to our Youtube Channel. **GIANT TEXAS PUBLIC BUCK**   Comfort and Mobility Matter. Go With The Best of Both. CRUZR Tree Saddles   Our Camo System First Lite Hunting   The best map app there is. Find Access to YOUR public lands with OnX Maps. Know where you stand. #onxhunt   Durable Customizable Arrows, Quality Components, Good People, Fast Shipping. Vector Custom Shop   Need Some Dependable Trail Cameras That Won't Break The Bank? Moultrie Trail Cameras   Here are the bows we shoot: bowtecharchery.com   To find out more on Texas Public Land opportunities, visit the Texas Parks and Wildlife website. TPWD     Rock out with Tyler and the Tribe!  E252

Blockchain? Cryptocurrency? Bitcoin? The future of transactions? Tomorrow we're breaking it down for you with Embark alum Evan Mann. Evan owns Camped 901 but has also made it a priority to help destigmatize the complexities of the new era of data shared across a business network. Why does it matter for you? Why does it matter for Memphis? Tune in to hear practical examples applicable to local non-profits, businesses, and individuals. This episode is made possible in partnership with Independent Bank. Resources: coinbase.com @CoinDesk on Instagram Crypto Radio Network Tiktok: @conversationswithevan Email conversationswithevan@gmail.com to claim your POAP (Proof of Attendance Protocol) with the secret word from the episode.

Listen to weekly sermons from Velocity Church in Lawrence, KS. Velocity is a vision-fueled and faith-filled community changing lives and transforming a city with the message of Jesus. For more information visit www.findvelocity.org

Listen to weekly sermons from Velocity Church in Lawrence, KS. Velocity is a vision-fueled and faith-filled community changing lives and transforming a city with the message of Jesus. For more information visit www.findvelocity.org

Listen to weekly sermons from Velocity Church in Lawrence, KS. Velocity is a vision-fueled and faith-filled community changing lives and transforming a city with the message of Jesus. For more information visit www.findvelocity.org

Listen to weekly sermons from Velocity Church in Lawrence, KS. Velocity is a vision-fueled and faith-filled community changing lives and transforming a city with the message of Jesus. For more information visit www.findvelocity.org