Social Security? HOW to Discern Between the Church of GOD & the church of satan

Hello All:
We are approaching the time when the battle of forces between dark & Light, good & evil or the struggle between the forces that support the verb live against the reversed mirror image evil have a show down.
To begin with, for the atheist reading folks, I am asking that you view this article as a psychological analysis of Jungian archetypes & nothing more.
I have already laid out my basis for considering that, with or without a "belief in God", all intelligent life with any capability of reflecting upon the order of Nature can agree: there is an order; water, when it boils does not leak OUT of heavy metal & pour down a stove when heat is applied. That's the short refresher. So if every time the term God is mentioned henceforth, so it does not jar, substitute Universal Intelligence, the Tao, UI or whatever. The term remains merely a symbol as the Buddhists will remind us.
For ALL others I am asking that you consider laying aside partisan, & sectarian disputes for a brief moment.
And consider this; WHY does our government so vehemently oppose all other holidays of a religious nature to be celebrated within our public school systems with the EXCEPTION of Halloween?
Hmmmm, I wonder. Is it that we just love dressing up? So the fact that this particular holiday involves dressing up & candy & begging, we overlook the fact that it is traditionally associated with allowing for satan or the devil to have his one night to wreak havoc?
Yet you can not allow the singing of Hannukah songs to celebrate long nights with miraculously replenished oil in the darkest moments of the winter solstice in the northern hemisphere? Or Christmas carols sung about a little boy born in a manger amongst shepherds & farm animals?
IF you ARE a believer, ask yourself, why such tolerance for one, religous but pagan holiday OVER another religious or several religious traditions?
If we are to make progress as a HUMAN RACE it would be wise to pause these few days before the traditional night of dark forces before we blindly throw ourselves into the celebration of them.
Ask yourself, on a purely practical level?
Do I like the EFFECTS of celebrating Halloween? On myself? On my children? The sugar highs? The restless hyperactivity. The break in dietary discipline? Let alone the pranks that come with the older kids out on the prowl; the smashed pumpkins, toilet papered trees & lawns, shaving creamed cars with the paint messed up now, the threat of children being poisoned by the candy they get at a trick or treat stop.
And finally the worst of all, the rise in crime, the student; again female body, found mysteriously murdered out in the midwest?
I HATE those EFFECTS.
Speaking in purely humanistic terms here; I do not believe it does the collective CONSCIOUSNESS of humanity, that one Carl Jung wrote of, to open ourselves up to a mass celebration which allows for the shadow side, the UNconscious side of humanity's nature to come out to play.
It contributes to what Helen Caldecott originally, in the antinuclear movement, coined as a term: psychic numbing.
It numbs ordinary folk, regular joes & janes from the REAL consequences of deliberately assaulting & battering, stalking, haunting, & ultimately assassinating ANYBODY.
So I for one, think it is a lousy idea.
If you would like to contribute more LIGHT to October 31st when night falls, consider this; reframe your holiday with your children, family & neighbors.
Have a Harvest Eve party. Plan an event inside, in a safe place with supervsion. Use articles from the local farms to decorate with, yes. But lose the skeletons, the ghosts.
Play apple bobbing games. Dress up. And choose a personality you would like your children to learn more about; say Rosa Parks as an example Or Martin Luther King.
And if kids come to your door, do a little continuing education with them. Instead of handing out sugary treats, try going to the bank & getting some new nickels. With the old buffalo on them.
Teach about the transition which is part of the Grand design which you are transiting that night; from the harvest moon to the hunters moon. And brush up yourself about these ancient tribal traditions indigenous clans & tribes celebrated for millenia befor the "white man" "discovered " America.
A little home schooling. At your little home on the cyberprairies.
You notice I get my sermonette out there often before the main thrust of the article title. Must be that female brain, always working in the round.
Now to the question this article asks of the reader... Social Security???
You may have read my articles by now. If not, I would suggest you at least read the previous one as a synopsis of why I have to address the Social Security administrators on my own behalf in the first place. Got shot in the chest.
Still have a little universe of dirty lead pellets imbedded permanently in my own personal chest wall.
Recovering from this incident is taking time in divided doses.
I HAVE been "off duty" from my regular job as an Evening/Night Supervisor of RNs.
So, after the requisite time frames I naturally applied for benefits. Benefits I had lawfully accrued over a 27 year course in bona fdide straight up nursing. Any one can see MY track record. It is listed at my website in plain English. I did my time. I had the share of my wages that were accrued for just such an unexpected health crisis laid into my own personal SS account just like everybody else.
But when I applied for my own personal benefits, I was turned down. Not once, but twice.
In my life placed suddenly on the curb, I came to hear "on the street", on the bus, with the folk, that this was common. Not just there, but in regular State offices too. From social workers familiar with the drill; this is the essence of it; there emerges a "formula", which last time I checked, is HIGHLY ILLEGAL as a practice.
All insurance claims for health benefits, indeed, all claims in any court at law in equity, must be evaluated based upon the MERITS. Not put through a formula that wears a citizen down & can in fact lead to such stress that severe psychiatric illness results; depression, suicidal or homicidal ideation & in the most tragic of cases, premature death.
But , I bear you my testimony this is true, it is COMMON knowledge amongst tiers of aid workers & attorneys & doctors that:
roughly 85% of Social Security claims are turned down the first time. Ditto for the second round.
It is only the THIRD time around when "the odds" reverse. 85% are GRANTED.
Draw your own conclusions. I did mine.
When I was turned down the second time I wrote a personal letter to Manuel Vaz, the Regional manager for claims filed in the State of Vermont.
A discerning reader will "get" pretty much what his letter of denial said. Here is the letter reproduced in full. This was the letter that WON me my OWN FBI guys, who made a special trip just to see how I was feeling. Note the dates. The letter was sent in June. But it was not until after a hurricane or two that they showed up at my door.
Here it is:
Manuel J. Vaz
Regional Manager
State of Vermont
Social Security Administration
Office of Central Operations
1500 Woodlawn Dr.
Baltimore, MD 21241-1500
Monica King
General Delivery
Barre, VT. 05641
June 15, 2005
Mr. Manuel J. Vaz:
Upon receipt of your letter dated June 13, 2005, considering my REQUEST FOR RECONSIDERATION of my Social Security CLAIM:
case: Monica King SS# #####0718 I have one overall thing to say to you.
YOU ARE A MOTHER F#*#ER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
YES, I WILL BE TAKING THE NEXT LAWFUL STEP to continue EXERCISING MY CONSTITUTIONAL & human rights.
I WILL RETAIN an attorney or seven, with the continued Constituent advocate help in
Bernie Sander’s office.
GUARANTEED.
Within the next sixty days.
Between now & then however, I am taking you up on the “invitation” to go back to work using & exercising my native, maternal, nurturing INTELLIGENCE & EDUCATION.
Let me address you personally, point by point.
1. WHO MADE THE DECISION
“...your claim independently by a physician & disability specialist...”
Let me make this perfectly clear to you Mr. Vaz— YOU WORK FOR ME— I DO NOT WORK FOR YOU-----
It is NOT acceptable to ME that you begin your letter citing NAMELESS authorities in the field of medicine & disability “in a State agency...” presumably my birth State, Vermont.
YOU ARE A PUBLIC SERVANT NOT THE WIZARD OF OZ.
I EXPECT to be told in a PERSONAL LETTER to ME WHO
these individuals are. I want their names &
CVs. NOW.
2. HOW WE MADE THE DECISION
What is glaring here crucial notes from Doctor Donald Lacey, MD. You do NOT have a complete record to evaluate without his record of care.
He was the FIRST & most DECENT family physician I returned to after the abominable acts I was VICTIM OF October 28, 2003.
It INSULTS MY INTELLIGENCE that you have wasted 3 & ½ months “evaluating” my CLAIM when you are not competent enough to GET this record!!!!
What the hell have you been doing these past months, anyway?
“We realize you can no longer do any of your past jobs”.
You realize WRONG. At this point in time I am perfectly CAPABLE of doing any & all of the jobs within the nursing field I have held in the past AND FAR, FAR MORE!!!!!
But I WILL NOT REST, nor will I VOLUNTARILY return to work in a “gainful” capacity until I am COMPENSATED LAWFULLY & HONESTLY for every second, minute, & hour I have been recovering from this heinous & abominable set of CRIMES.
In the meantime, I have MORE THAN ENOUGH to do as CEO of INEDA, FREELY, voluntarily helping others less blessed with intelligence, & education & experience the Social Security Administration & physicians “in the medical field” routinely screw over, & FORCE into slavish & subservient positions.
YOU collectively have made a mockery of the very name of the Agency the innocent appeal to, called Social Security.
Your response DISGUSTS me.
The glaring INCOMPETENCE of your response reflects your clear inbility to weigh properly, judge, or discern any health or rehabilitation-related claim.
I WILL be taking every lawful step to see to it you LOSE YOUR JOB & YOUR PENSION for this response, along with EACH & EVERY individual who participated in the decision-making process.
Unless you change the determination ASAP & GET ON YOUR KNEES, & PRAY TO GOD for mercy on your soul. Because this is the prayer I AM PRAYING RIGHT NOW:
Dear God, Creator of the Universe, this beautiful earth, Father of Lights, Heavenly Father, through Christ, King of kings, Lord of lords,
Avenge me of the abominations being perpetrated within the Social Security Administration of the United States of America:
Beginning with Manuel J. Vaz, Regional Commissioner of this Administration in the fair & verdant State of Vermont.
Lord I pray you will bring this man to repentance of his evil works & ways swiftly, within his professional capacity within this vital, life-nurturing Agency.
Teach him, dear Lord, by the most effective means possible the EFFECT of his actions upon the poor, the lame, the meek, & the illiterate.
As a suggestion Lord, I would send him an experience which gives him empathy for those he serves as a PUBLIC SERVANT to the People of Vermont.
An experience which, in a male body might be analoguous to the suffering Your servant & disciple, Monica King, has suffered to this date since October 28, 2003.
As Mr. Vaz has amply documented his opinion of my age, education, & experience & deemed me fit to function & by omission has implied that in the period from October 26, 2003 to June 14, 2005 I WAS capable of functioning in “some work amounting to about 800 dollars or so per month” during this time period, AND since it is a well researched FACT that men in general are slower to learn than women, DOUBLE the period of time this man suffers, through no fault of his own, a near death experience at the hand of a psychotically crazed woman.
I might suggest that this woman be someone formerly near & dear to him, someone, someone he has known intimately, whom he shared his daily life with, trusted, & let into his heart.
Let this woman sit in darkness, in the pit of depression & grief, driven mad by losses which have driven her into a state of criminal psychosis so severe that she is obsessed & consumed with a plan to destroy him.
Before she actually does lure him to a place of vulnerability, make sure she spends at least a few weeks plotting how she will hurt, torture, maim, & NEARLY kill him.
Let her encounter him with instruments of torture & weapons designed to kill him. In a place he can not escape from. Let it be something akin to a cattle prod, electric fence or other instrument which regularly shocks his testicles, & rips open the head of his meatus.
Since these areas are normally covered by
professional white collar men in their ususal dress, make sure she wounds him somewhere on his chest, neck, or face where a visible ugly scar develops which may fade with time but never leave.
Please, dear Lord, make sure this encounter involves horrendous memories which haunt him day & night with both physical, mental, emotional, & spiritual PAIN.
Above all else Lord, whatever experience you bless him with MAKE SURE it involves EXCRUCIATING PAIN— unpredictable pain, pain that moves through his sexual organs like an unrelenting SERIES of thunder & lightening storms, twisters, relentless rain, & brings about a permanently upset sense of self-satisfaction, smugness, & superiority.
HUMBLE this man, dear Lord.
By Your Divine Hand alone, humble him within an inch no a millimeter of his life, until he sets this case RIGHT, & gives me, Monica King, the Disability Insurance money I worked for diligently & honestly over a 27 year career in nursing.
And, should all these experiences FAIL to bring him to his knees in repentance for the evil he is doing in his “gainful employment”, please Lord, just remove him from the earth through a slow & horrendously painful illness which strikes his sexual organs first, then eats his body up.
A wild beast, a poisonous serpent, a mysterious gastrointestinal ailment, any Divinely conceived retribution will serve.
I thank you GOD, for hearing my prayer & sending avenging angels to fulfill it.
However Lord, I certainly pray FIRST, that Mr. Vaz will come to his senses, repent, & walk the straight & narrow path of repentance, finding his way to You.
I pray these things in the name of the King of kings, & Lord of lords, Jesus Christ.
Sincerely, Monica King
General Delivery
Barre, VT 05641
Also on the web at the International Nursing Exchange & Development Agency for further education & awareness of domestic violence issues, prevention, & wellness counseling through reliable links to health-related resources.
Cc the Editors of:
The Washington Post
the Times-Argus
The Burlington Press
New York Times
LA Times
The cyberpen ROCKS! Peace.

Behold a Pale Horse; two roads diverged in a yellow wood

Hello all! Here is the book that will open your eyes. Once you read it, you will never see politics the same way again. On campus, produced by Hollywood, or in Washington, D.C.

This tale of two cities is about a secret society. One they do NOT want you to know about. The author, William Cooper had TOP clearances & credentials in the U.S. Navy. After this book was published, he was mysteriously killed in a police shoot out.

Not before his evidence was published in this book however.

He shows in it, the CRUCIAL difference between Judaism, or legitimate, worshipful folks espousing a belief in God, & Zionism, the nefarious shadow of Judaism. The evil shadow of a legitimate religious path.

As William himself wrote; it does not matter that MOST thinking, compassionate people of faith would reject such preposterous notions; it DOES matter very much at this juncture in time that YOU understand there is that tiny percentage that actually DO.

The key to unlocking many mysteries is in discerning these crucial differences. Now more than ever.

Peace.
http://hiddenmysteries.com/xcart/product.php?productid=16289
It can still be ordered online. Google the name. Here is one place to buy it.

Another source of legitimate news; rense.com
Let the reader discern for him/herself here, some is "out there", but....
Now declared by this Administration as the enemy number 1 of "disinformation " websites. Sounds a little well, Orwellian doesn't it?

Here is a regular poster who appears on rense.com:

Nervous Neocons Lashing OutBy Wayne Madsen10-26-5

Nervous neocons are lashing out. In light of revelations that Dick Cheney was intimately involved in the outing of CIA covert agent Valerie Plame and facing certain indictments of their key leaders, the neocons are furiously lashing out at all those who helped bring the nation to the brink of rolling up their networks of influence and exposing their foreign ties. Ambassador Joseph Wilson is attacked in today's Washington Post by two "Judy Millers in pants": Dana Milbank and Walter Pincus.

Not coincidentally, Republican Senator Norm Coleman of Minnesota, the chairman of the Permanent Senate Subcommittee on Investigations, has trotted out previous charges that George Galloway, British Respect Party MP for Bethnal Green and Bow, personally benefited from oil vouchers from Saddam Hussein. Coleman is now threatening to have Galloway prosecuted for perjury for his testimony before the committee last May. At the time, a number of observers concluded that Galloway successfully stood up to the baseless charges from Coleman.

Coleman's subcommittee, like John Bolton's US Mission to the UN, has become a neocon satellite cell operating in tandem with Vice President Cheney's office and the Pentagon's Office of Special Plans.

Coleman's charges against Galloway were based on forged Iraq Oil Ministry documents that are reminiscent of the crudely forged Niger "yellowcake" documents.

The forged Niger Foreign Ministry document. The Niger Coat of Arms was crudely hand drawn. The actual coat of arms is on the left, the forgery on the right.

After being criticized by certain New York elitist neocon circles for being "the son of a doorman" and a "doorman" himself, Special Prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald is now coming in for more personal attacks. The following quote from a "White House ally" of Bush appeared in the neocon-run (Mort Zuckerman and friends) New York Daily News: "He's [Fitzgerald's] a vile, detestable, moralistic person with no heart and no conscience who believes he's been tapped by God to do very important things." The statement is an obvious slur directed against Fitzgerald's Jesuit high school education in New York City and his Roman Catholic faith.

http://waynemadsenreport.com/
Prosecuted for perjury.... liar, liar, pants on fire! That's what I say! Go fighting Irish!
Lying under oath, & later covering it up, now THAT'S Obstruction of Justice.

Folks bear in mind these are NONPARTISAN legitimate issues affecting the American public's HEALTH!!!!!!

Be a part of the SOLUTION, not the PROBLEM

Got a tip? a lead on any other corrupt influences at Dartmouth? On the campuses either in Hanover or at the DHMC campus in Lebanon? Had your own trouble with "authorities"?

Drop a dime on them. Contact the FBI TIP line:
The white hats are coming to town to sweep out the bad guys. It's a show down time!

Simply point & click; read & write. They are ON the case!
https://tips.fbi.gov/
Peace through REAL Justice in our time. Monica

Constitutional Protection: Living in a Land with the Rule of LAW
"Whoever, having or having had authorized access to classified information that identifies a covert agent, intentionally discloses any information identifying such covert agent to any individual not authorized to receive classified information, knowing that the information disclosed so identifies such covert agent and that the United States is taking affirmative measures to conceal such covert agent's intelligence relationship to the United States, shall be fined under title 18 or imprisoned not more than ten years, or both."

If Bush and Cheney walk, the failure or the refusal to uphold the law against the top GOP leaders demonstrates that rule of law has vanished, and with it, US democracy has vanished.

For the complete story where these quotes came from today I refer you to;
http://www.vheadline.com/readnews.asp?id=46498

May Peace Prevail Upon the Earth.

My Sister & Me
Today is Monday, the start of the week, & traditionally, at least in the fulminating environment of an academic setting, the time of the year when it always feels like; to me anyhow, that people; young adult students, graduate students, & faculty at college campuses really begin to settle in. In the northern hemisphere.

The first long three day weekend has come & gone.

At Dartmouth, the first ancient ceremonial lighting of the bonfire & homecoming pilgrimage has happened.

We are here. We have arrived. I got my pad & course load all worked out....

Purposely, in my own maverick world, I had set my own "walk to the beat of my own drummer", graduate student sights & sites on furthering a free lance writing career. This fall of 2005.

One of the priceless teachings I personally have received on the campuses of Dartmouth College, was my introduction to email. Much to the dismay of many of my peers in the same location.

Because, at the insistance of the ever uniquely creative professor of music, Jon Appleton, email when I first began at Dartmouth, was the wave of the future.

He insisted our class in electroacoustic music production at the Breggman studio get "interactive".

His grasp of the APPLICATION of technology to the INSPIRATION of the creative genius, whether musician, poet or scientist of one flavor or another, & the insistance that we engage these two worlds & integrate them in our quest for personal self expression, was the type of exemplary teaching I had signed up for through the M.A.L.S. smorgasbord of course offerings, & the flexibility we could exercise in picking & choosing them.

My own inner drummer beat was a passionate move of Spirit to continue to apply technology to music & healing. For me, I often referred to my course choices layered upon a solid nursing degree from Simmons College in Boston, (in my day we earned also rather uniquely a B.A in nursing, rather than a B.S., reflecting again a deeply resonant understanding theat ultimately nursing is a healing ART) as the "Thoreauian degree".

It was the type of further education one could seek which allowed for a very broad (pun definitely intended, ahem!) transcendentalist perspective on all the ills & suffering of humanity as a WHOLE.

I came to Dartmouth because I had a very ill husband at the time who landed us both there. He in the CCU, I in a hostel. While visiting him back & forth, from the small neighborhood near the Howe library, walking across the campus to the old Mary Hitchock hosiptal, the "Hitch", I kept pondering, in my own internal dialogue with me & my Wise mind...I know what he is doing here, but what is MY higher purpose?

And the walk strolling from one end of Hanover across the green to the Upper Valley Hostel would provide for a walking meditative time, as it still does daily & nightly now for so many.

I had dropped out of Harvard divinity school in 1982, after pursuing a year in the D school as it is called, after spending a year pursuing a Unitarian Universalist degree for ministry.

I got what I wanted there from the school of the prophets, some very interesting courses preparing me for preaching, public speaking & the ability to lead nontraditional worship services such as sacred dance groups & the like... but Harvard really did not have the next layer of what I felt was necessary to complete that which was moving within. That beat of my own inner drummer.

I had gone to Harvard back then also for a purely pragmatic reason as well. It was commuting distance from our own little farm house home in Concord where I was living at the time with a mathematics teacher husband & two cookie crunchers. A boy & girl.

We had done a lot of traveling together as a young family. We are Outward Bound types, loving wilderness trails & the company of "free world travelers", & had completed a tour around the globe while a young son was small enough to stuff in a back pack, & daughter still "in the oven" to return home to a Concordian house-bound for me existence.

Then had our daughter, resulting in a very short time a transition in this small shelter from being a foot loose twosome to a bulging nest of the paired eagles & two eaglets. I felt I needed a bit more stimulation.

So I started going to our local Unitarian church. Mainly to get in a few hours of mentally & spiritually inspiring conversations with fellow & sister transcendalist groupie type seekers. Which our local congregation consisted of then. I could sit for a blessed hour each Sunday morning in a plain meeting house to hear myself think!

And what I was thinking was: the bigger questions.
Why am I here? I mean on the planet? Were we really doomed to "lead lives of quiet desperation?" My then husband & father of my cookie crunchers favorite Thoreauian quote, or was there something more to it than that?

In our free world globe trotting year, we had the chance to meet in person many, many people from all different cultures & races & belief systems of a religious nature, along with different systems of health care delivery. the result of following the directive of one of my favorite classical authors, Mark Twain; that travel was fatal to every form of bigotry & prejudice... a loose paraquote.

Hence our churching ourselves in the plain UU meeting house.

And it was in those days of early motherhood I received some spiritual promptings I could hardly ignore to pursue this transendentalist quest.

You don't call Spirit; spirit calls you!

I had sat at the bedside of those being born & those dying, more than a few times by now. Had had the experience of birthing myself. Again in some cross cultural settings; New Zealand & Concord.

It was these experiences that spurred this further questing. That & feeling trapped suddenly with small children that were repetively demanding, with work not being renumerated. Having had the joy of knowing a decent wage for work that was demanding but satisfying, I thought...well is this all there is???

So the restless mind actually occasionally cracked open my old Bible I had been given at a traditional confirmation in a traditional Episcopal church earlier still, when I lived as a young girl in Lincoln, Mass.

Tracing back the journey's path gives insight to the ushers in our lives: those critical searing moments in a life which mark for each of us that moment in time we made important, really important decisions which adjust our course. Usher is a term Carlos Castanedas uses to describe such. Usher events are our spiritual milestones. Soul journey markers.

So these are few of mine, leading me to cross the Hanover green thinking about the meaning of yet another usher event. The sudden & scary & demanding illness of another husband in another chapter of my own fantastic glorious life.

Because see here, two paths diverged in a yellow wood. Mine & the path of my children's father. I did NOT believe we were doomed to a life of quiet desperation & told him so. No! I was a living breathing Pippi Longstocking with my two wanted & beautiful natural child-birthed boy & girl. I had achieved the vision I had actually pictured for myself at that point in my life. And was bored, restless. There had to be more to it than this.

So I sought that answer in books, in meetings, in prayer. And the answers came back from the universe in mystical ways. In the experience of listening to a woman preacher for the first time ever, preaching on the subject of "the wounded healer". In the quiet stirring of the glowing embers of my own wood stove in our little kitchen. Walking distance from Authors Ridge. In communing with nature, walking alone & with my wee ones the very path Thoreau himself had, & attending the same church he had, where I had permission to answer his own directive, spoken from the pages of the 18th century; the disciplined search for Truth.

I had developed my own hypothesis by that point in time about the calling of the healer. Beyond nursing, with the travels of an odyssey under my belt, my theory went like this; people are truly healed of all illness through the POWER OF THEIR BELIEF SYSTEMS.

The placebo effect. Give someone a sugar pill & tell them it is a pain pill & the power of that belief will in more than simply chance occurrences, heal the pain. Believe in the power of the laying on of hands, this too will effect healing.

Music, dance & ritual were likewise powerful modes of healing & of shifting belief systems which in my view were limiting peoples' abilities to heal.

So responding to this calling at this stage of my own life, allowed me to add to the traditional knowledge & experiences of working in hospitals & homes to care for the sick, usher in new life, & compassionately see life leave to the beyond, I did make a disciplined search for that truth Thoreau whispered to me in the winds & natural settings around our creche, to do.

The source of most pain also could be found in those limiting belief systems. This was crucial also for me personally to understand what antidotes were required.

I did not need to espouse the various religions of the world myself so much as UNDERSTAND what they were so I could apply the relevant antidote.

U.U. gatherings always were great forums to find these far broader forums & open places & spaces to do just that.

Now when, as a healer you go about consciously effecting & facilitating change at the deepest, most sacred levels, be prepared for some real shifts in circumstances. This sort of perspective meant questioning for both my husband & myself some deeply cherished dogmas.

To reveal some of the discontent he felt which, being raised a preacher's kid, were attached to his own personal ushers. Tap roots of resentment & bitterness in inheriting a parentage which was constantly out in service to others, & not necessarily attuned to his own needs in that family. To now be faced with a wife who was pursuing this path was painful to him. We split in the process.

I explored a musical calling which likewise was as much a part of the spiritual prompting as was the call to go to Harvard. I traveled to Santa Monica to respond.

And the music carried me eventually into Jon Appletons' class.

As the answer in my walking meditation to "what am I doing here was"..."continue your search for truth & meaning" in your own lay, now, calling within the larger universalist faith.

That is the short version. But what Dartmouth held for ME personally at that particular juncture or usher was; gateways open to being able to play with engineering stuff; the Breggman studio in particular, the creative video studio for another, where I would be able to master the technology to produce the vision for media & music I was receiving in the fertile bed of my very active imagination.

Dartmouth afforded me a wild beautiful, rural place to get what I wanted; this access to the playthings, the toys the guys had in the engineering realm which would allow me total control & mastery over my own unique creative productions. And these productions were my response to fulfilling this sacred calling of Spirit to heal. In the modern era.

Now, you see the fruition today. Jon's insistence that we get comfortable with email, & staying in touch was the usher into an explosively growing last wild frontier: cyberspace. Also a very practical tool to send messages, from simple text to eventually what we see today, broadband video productions engineered in the language of zeros & ones.

The frontier where the visionary could marry the old, the ancient, with the new, the cyber pulpit, theater, syndicated press.

That journey from then to now was an adventure. Filled with all the high drama of the arts & explosive scientific findings in the expanding & evolving frontiers Dartmouth was pioneering out ahead of the other Ivy leagues in my humble opinion. It afforded creative & visionary teachers to "reach out & touch" millions & millions from the safety & familiar security of home; wherever one chose to call home. Marvelous!

But NOT without pitfalls. In times of fulminating change great passions are stirred, deep memories shaken to the surface of consciousness. Accepting the creative calling of simply "change agent, mediatrix", was my own true spiritual call. And this has led to an encounter in the wilderness, with the greatest passions of human nature, the ultimate titanic struggle for wresting with the value of life & death with one of my intimate partners in this journey. The fulfillment of, for me, what the crest of Dartmouth says; voice crying in the wilderness.

My hybrid education led me across the country several times, criss-crossing from old style Ivy league to southern California to an enclave of media producers, actors, writers of this modern age. Through a class in screenwriting with Maury Rapf, to attempting to apply his teaching sitting on a Santa Monica bay shore.

Finally realizing MY voice was one mainly, as he told me in his course evaluation, as a writer of prose. A journalist. an author, a writer, a musician from Concord, the town of the transcendentalist writers.

So, to finally wing back around to the title of this post, my sister & me. Jen picked me up today to have a little outing together.

By now all our far flung traveling family remains in touch primarily through emails. It is more precise in some ways. Certainly more flexible. And QUIETER. I have learned to "yell at them" when moved with large fonts. And as many of my peers will tell you at Dartmouth, I certainly have learned to yell at THEM too with large fonts. Creative cyber yelling.

Jen says; "hey Mon, I got this email, with the address from you, but with a message to Suzanne. I'm confused. Did I get it on purpose, or by accident?"

So thinking her response is most likely a typical one you all have too, the answer is;
yes, Jen, that most personal letter, to my dear friend in California, Suzanne, the friend who inspired the song "Suzanne" by Leonard Cohen, one of my all time favorite folk song writers, was purposely sent to you.

Likewise to all of you too.

I have been gorging myself on New York Times best selling murder MYSTERIES.

To study this style, this genre of writing. And to emulate it.

One of the literary devices I find to be so effective in getting ME to turn a page in one that truly grabs my attention is this style of switching back & forth from perspective to perspective; teasing the brain to wonder what I missed in the tantalizing gaps.

My letter, my now open & publicly published letter to Suzanne contains the content, the stuffing, the meat stuffing of a saga that has involved me, my travels to & from Dartmouth in the context of a larger journey, which Suzanne is an integral part of. A dear, cherished highly creative, passionate, loving friend. Whose home has been my roost when I perch on the cliffs of the Pacific Palisades to contemplate the magnificent awsome beauty of this particular wild part of Santa Monica bay.

Suzanne, also a homemaker & devoted mother to a highly unique & creative son who has actually come to sit for one memorable & I am sure trying for Jon, class where he indulged my request to allow me to troop in my own little brat pack of three to have a glimpse at these incredible technological inventions. A little cloud of three irreverent, farting preteens for one day to get a glimpse of the life of "higher education", to let them see what Mommy is doing here.

This same threesome was also indulged by Michael Hanitchak in his own creative video class. Were allowed later to run rampant in the computer labs. And with later still their own video cams & 4 track studio equipment to write their own productions & stories as they too evolved.

Now you know a bit more about "the rest of the story" as Paul Harvey, a favorite master story teller of mine used to say in his weekly broadcasts.

Bless you both gentlemen for the longsuffering. I believe it has paid off. That brat pack survived into their midtwenties now, as has Mom, & we all weave a part of the outposts offered on the world wide web. Along side, interconnected with all of you; still.

Bless you all with an abundant peace. Monica

P.S.- Mom's cyberoutpost, INEDA, is where I weave my cyber first aid station for these times & my globtrotting family.

It is a free cyber resource we offer you too; as you follow the beat of your own inner drummer. I think it is nice to have a map.

Live Free or Die: The Height of the Struggle for LIFE!

Dear Suzanne,

This is specifically for you to disabuse you & shake you FREE of any of the lies Daniel has told you at all concerning this episode in the wilderness.

NOT ONLY did he plot & plan this for weeks , as I mentioned before, but when he lured me up to Fools Paradise, it was purportedly to meet this contiguous land owner Bill French. He never arrived.

YES, in hindsight I certainly wish I had heeded that little alarm that went off in my head when we passed the dark house he was supposedly coming to meet us at. But again, I like you, will bend over backwards to give a hurting unit the benfit of a doubt.

It seemed, on the face of it, a perfectly reasonable delay. Bill was coming. Bill was coming he kept telling me...
These are details however that ARE in the court transcript for his trial which you certainly may check for verification anytime.

We started that afternoon by sitting down at our picnic table together. He across from me. He had brought two cans of "ice cold gingerale", you know how he is about serving food. He canmake a hot dog sound like you are getting filet mignon.

Jovial, cheerful, upbeat. We chatted awhile, I don't know, maybe about 45 minutes, but I was getting nervous because Bill was not coming down the path. Still being sociable & cordial though, he carefully quizzed me one last time.

You know how he can come off as detective dudley doright. At any rate, we went through this as I answered the burning questions; are you still planning to go through with this? Areyou SURE you wouldn't rather go with me to California again in this nifty campertruck? Are we really splitting up? Is Jave still in your life, & the little boy?

And through that interview I answered affirmative each time. Yes I want the divorce. I am not angry, I sincerely hope youget on with your own life now. I am glad other women have expressed an interest in you.

He then went into the camper & got a piece of paper & a felt tipped marker.

"Would do do me a favor then?" he said. "What is that," I said. "Would you write down a statement for me for thedivorce."

I said, "O.K., what is it you would like me to write?"

He said, "Write, I, Monica King am an adulteress...."

"Whoa now Daniel you know that's not true. We have been separated. I am NOT an adulteress. I began seeing Jave AFTERI left you," but it was at this point that he became very agitated, & began grabbing at me, pushing me into the camper. He is strong, & since it was still light out, I thought Billwas coming, I resisted, but then went along with him, as I thought perhaps in letting him have this "confession" it would relieve some stress. It was bogus anyway. It was being gotten under duress, but someone had been coaching him to do this.
Some "authority" he apparently contacted. An attorney. Not a voice in his head. A real flesh & blood attorney.

There was a little kitchenette in there, where I shrugged him off & said, "Alright Daniel, you can HAVE your stupidconfession, but I am telling you, this will never hold up in court. It is a forced confession". There was more struggle, he had ripped my sweater, & drawn some blood off my writing hand which spilled onto the paper. I said, "See Daniel, nobody will believe this was written freely. You have drawn blood."

NOW, frankly that was the point of no return & I knew I had a full blown emergency on my hands.

And at this time of year, the exact sequence of when, in this struggle in & out of the camper, that he disappeared around the corner of the camper to reappear seconds later with that gd rifle I could not tell you, without referring back to the tapes I did with Claudia. I hope you will forgive me for thispart. Somewhere between his change in demeanor & the effort to get this "confession" he did do that though.

He had hidden goodies all over the place. In closets, shelves, plastic bags. But all of his goodies were no longer picnic items. They were ALL retrieved & are a part of the EVIDENCEpresented to the jury & judge hearing the case.

They were; a huge roll of duct tape. A set of professional grade hand cuffs. Carefully contained in a velvet purple bag with a golden cord for a drawstring. Family heirlooms. Bags &bags of birdshot shells.

He already had the butcher style knives at the camping area. And he attempted, in that 4 hours long seige, to "capture" me with every single item he brought with him to the "picnic". I am so GLAD I had taken self defense for women in L.A. & again in Littleton, New Hampshire. And had been trained as alifeguard, to keep a drowning victim from you with as much open space as could be maintained as possible around me. Been trained in defusion tactics.
Attempting over & over again to humor him, snap him out of it, get him to sit with me, & read Bible passages together. He would calm down a bit but never let go of the rifle. He certainly DID attempt to tie me up, handcuff me & immobilize me. He was anxious to see if, in this passionate "display ofaffection" I wanted ot pause & "make love". He waved the butcher knife repeatedly in the air at me. No it was no "accidental shooting" Suzanne.

I reasoned with him. I spoke sharply to him. I NEVER,EVER once gave into panic which would rise & have to be pushed down fiercely in order to save both of us. I had to outwit him to get us both out.

I suggested we go down the hill together & call Dr. Novelli right away. I knew he trusted her, the psychologist who we had seen after Marilyn's death. I asked him to consider our children; both Jonathan, & Syd, AND Daniel the third & his little heiress in Maine, another beautiful, beautiful daughter he has by a crazy peer of mine, Melinda Monks. Megan who is in her early teens. Still technically my step-daughter.

I used memory recall. I asked him to remember how HE had felt the day we both were notified that Marilyn had commited suicide at this same landing. How in agony he was. Because somewherein those long, long, hours, which truly is no exaggeration, I was clearly seeing that he had in fact planned this for months probably.
This was Daniel's swan song. HIS Italian soap opera. HIS final exit up to heaven strategy. Kill me first, then himself, leaving our children to anyone who cared.

It WAS outrageous. All the training I had received was about meeting this ultimate challenge. All my finest acting skills,negotiating skills, dealing with a homicidal/suicidal terrorist, this was no dress rehearsal, this was the REALDEAL.

I kept trying to outwit him, in & out of the camper. Let's go Daniel, You drive. I'm right with you. No honey I cooed, I'm not mad at you. I understand. Everything will be alright if we can just BOTH of us, get to see Dr. Novelli together. I will go with you. I can see you are still having a very hard timeemotionally.

To; cut it out Daniel. Cut the crap. Put the gun down. We can not study the Bible with you holding a gun like that across your knees. It does not go with missionary work.

He had highlighted passages about adulterous women & held me at gunpoint forcing me to read them.

He certainly attempted to clap the cuffs on, I tried in a countermove to clap them on him, as then I would have had the upper hand & he could no longer attempt to shoot me. He threwme down on the ground & DID aim the shotgun directly at my pelvis. He used it as a baseball bat & peppered my head & shoulders with blows. He did everything he could think of to gain mastery over my person, & take me by force wherever he wanted to.

I fought the alternate waves of fear & RAGE, I was so mad at him, & I truly did not want to do anything more than get us both out alive. I was afraid just as much of my own rage, as Iknew if I allowed myself to go Viking berserk, I easily could have been the one who killed him, & knowing how many times women who fight back & wind up standing over a dead body, stilllost later in society & court for doing so, I kept that in check too. I thought of Princess Diana. I thought of Lacey Peterson. I thought of Nicole Simpson.
"This ones' for YOU, ladies" I was saying in my mind. "I will win this titanic struggle for YOU." I now knew the terrror they must have faced with those who did them in... my clear goal remained. Get out alive, get him out alive. 4 long hours of this tango Suzanne.

Finally, in the struggle, it was getting dark. The Bible in the struggle had fallen to the ground open. We moved closer to it. I had already yelled the Our Father prayer at the top of my lungs. Nobody was coming. Nobody had known we were there.
Just the way he planned it. The first shot into the air was his warning shot. Meant to scare me. THAT was the first shot.

I thought of the people who went down in the aircraft that did NOT hit the pentagon. I wondered when my strategy needed to shift. Diffusing is a technique. Keep them talking. Meet force with just enough force to counteract, but not become theaggressor yourself.

He was always positioning himself between me & the path to other people. All that time I had those flashbacks, thinking, well Lord, I know that technically I have done my duty here. I have raised my children to adulthood. So what is it YOU wantme to do now?

No answer from heaven, but I happened to glance down at the scriptures laying open. A passage of Matthew jumped out at me from the page.

The one that says, "take therefore, no thought for your life".

That one to me was the "let's roll" call. It WAS do or die at that point. Live Free or Die. The New Hampshire motto on every license plate.

So it was then, as the sun sank low in the back of the trees, I knew with certainty I would have to draw his fire. He was not backing down. His eyes were as dark & cold as any I have ever seen on the face of anyone, ever.
What spark of light, what generosity of spirit I had ever known in him was now TOTALLYgone. Nothing but a dark, menacing killer stood in front of me now.

"Please, please, let me VENT some more, please" he sobbed, begging me.
I, in my no nonsense voice said "the venting is over now Daniel. I have given you at least three hours of ventingtime. It is over. You lied to me. You brought me up here on false pretenses. Bill is not coming."

"I am going THAT way." I squared off facing him. I stood as firmly as I could manage, & pointed with NO uncertainty toward the path leading out directly behind him. It WAS do or die. I WAS prepared to die. In fact I KNEW I WAS going to die.

But not as a coward. Not shot in the back. My pride simply would not allow it. These were the final moments of my earthlyexistence I was CERTAIN now.

I looked up into heaven again. He did too. He cried out, "Oh I LOVE you woman!", in anguish, but then as coldly as any mafia thug, turned back toward me, raised that rifle, aimed itDIRECTLY at my heart, & said, "But your GONNA DIE."

Of COURSE I thought I was going to. I had vision after vision though of all the children in my life, my niece & nephews,another chunky Matthew who was a Wolf clan miracle baby now a young teen, image after image of my kids. I wondered at the meaning of martyrdom, & how that was going to serve us all. All these thoughts cascaded through me Suzanne.

I looked him square in the eyes & prepared.
Something in my heightened state of awareness must have seen the trigger moveso that I turned just slightly, slightly enough, so that when the shot hit me, & it was a BLAST of pellets all at once, it was my right breast that absorbed much of it. But the gun barrel itself was only about 9 inches from my chest. The surgeons who examined the records know this is true. Theballistics guys do too. It was the nearness of the blast which blew the top of the gun barrel open. It is a twelve guageshotgun that he had loaded.

You KNOW how much I know about weapons. That is what I learned later.

But I had not expected to live. I really did not. I thought it would be one clean bullet. He couldn't miss!

But yes, you refer to his "warning shot." He had done that earlier in the struggle to get me to FEAR him. That was the whole larger issue. He could NEVER got me to fear him! It isimportant when a murderer, a rapist is attempting to get his way that they establish dominance with fear & psychologicalcontrol first.

He never got that.

SO, the next thing was, "Hey I'm still alive" I am saying in my mind. "I can't believe this! I am still here!" THAT stunned me. Ready to play harps in heaven I was still earthbound. Theactual PAIN of all those lead pellets splaying my chest open was, in that immediate hindsight..not THAT bad, considering I was still here. It felt like a major knee burn like you get when you get dragged down asphalt falling off a bike. Thousands of stingy feelings.

I looked down at my chest. My sweater blown open by the blast. My right breast simply hanging open, so I could see all those anatomical details I wrote about.

But, what was this also? He is not all over me right now. I can breathe, still. That does not hurt. I did not EVER once get off the heels of my feet, I simply crouched lower, always still looking to scan a way to escape.

I'm weighing the odds now. If I quietly, with this change in situation simply, S-L-O-W-L-Y get up again, walk quietly now silently now toward the way out, maybe, just maybe he is toodistracted to get down on top of me again.

I could not see what he was doing but he was over to the left of my field of vision. Rustling with those infernal bags, RELOADING the shotgun I realized. So, I gradually gained momentum, gaining speed, & distance away from him until he finally had done what he was doing, reloaded, & came running after me AGAIN, Suzanne.

This time though I was further up the path to safety, made it to a more visible juncture in the pathway, where he came at me again. Because he was panicked now, & truly was only interested in finishing me off, he was almost wild with fear.
I knew what he was thinking. My heart did not bleed out though. My lungs had not been hit. MIRACULOUSLY.

But he caught up with me again. Had the rifle & instead of shooting me this time, bludgeoned me with it over & over again. THIS time I faked it. So sorry Walt, but I did.

I had a flash of a vision of one of those mother terns who lays her nest on the ground & fakes a broken wing to distract predators from her nest. This time, as he was beating me, yah,I fell down. I was holding my breast, the one I had wondered about putting the glove on for.

THIS time I said in my best Helen Hayes acting style, "Daniel, I am feeling so faint, so faint, I can feel the life blood draining out of me, Daniel, HONEY, I KNOW you love me, soPLEASE sweety, I am begging you dear, please go back & get the camper so we both can get to the hospital."

He growled. He yanked at me. But I lay on the ground, dead weight against his efforts. I faked fainting. I did not move. I acted dead.

After that, he finally left me alone. Beat it down the path again to get the camper. This time, I waited. Held my breath, listening, until I knew I had enough distance between us to make the final push, to get to the nearest neighbor. This time, I did make it too. I beat it out of there, got as far asa small maple tree for cover, as the leaves were falling & there was less cover, to hug next to, moving carefully around it, as he swung back into view now driving it wild-eyed out of the woods toward the first rural road, into the populated but rural little neighborhood he emerged into. Once he had goneby, I then raced, jumping through brambles & thorns to get to the nearest neighbor's house. Fortunately Wayne was outside,hammering on a rooftop of a shed he had been building.

I yelled at him.

"Wayne" I said, "I have been shot. Daniel shot me, & he is in his camper looking for me right now."

He came off of his ladder. He came running toward me. "What,what ?" he said.

He took me in, wild looking, sweater blown open, blood, boob hanging out.

"Oh my God "he said," Monica! " He came running up to me & led me gently into his home, to his dining room floor.

He said, "Monica, I don't know what to do! You're the nurse, what do I do?"

I said, "Tell your kids to get inside & call 911." He promptly ordered his two teenaged girls to come inside, lock all the doors & windows & dial 911. They did.

He told them. "Do NOT open that door until a police car or an ambulance crew shows up!" Then what?

"What do I do now?"he said. "Get me a bag of frozen veggies from the freezer, Wayne, & apply them. It will help to have something cold on the wound." He came back fast as a Jack rabbit, & a little overzealously applied it to my chest.
"That's good, that's good" I said. "How about I hold them now, O.K?"

He let go, & within minutes the rescue team had arrived & was in the door. With police back-up.

I felt like Dorothy in the wizard of Oz lying there with all my neighbors, my first responder friends encircling me now, doing the right things. Taking my blood pressure, starting an IV. I heard one say bp? The one taking it said 130/94.

I laughed with relief. "That's pretty good considering" I said.

And then I said to them, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, over over again..."for rescuing me".

By that time the Fentanyl they had given me IV push was working its magic. I felt calmer, more relaxed & relieved. I was going to make it to the hospital now.

At that moment they all just stopped for a beat. One woman looked into my eyes & said, "Monica WE didn't save you! YOU saved you. If you had not made it out of those woods, NOBODY WOULD HAVE FOUND YOU. You are the BRAVEST woman we have evermet."

So, Suzanne, that is the truth. The REAL rest of the story.
Not the fig newton of Daniel's twistedimagination. Go figure.

I love you, Monica

NOW do you understand that, while I can forgive him it is hard to forget? That I KNOW for a fact that he can never get out of his own miserable state UNTIL HE MAKES A FULL CONFESSION, & owns up to WHAT he DID? It is like Silence of the Lambs. You have to understand the delusionary nature of the CRIMINAL mind in order to understand the path to healing FOR DANIEL.

And for me too. The TRUTH sets us all free

Arrest by Appointment; a Hanover PD "invitation"...

Hey kids! How do you like this one for an agency charged with the mission to "protect & serve" in your fair township.

Arrest by appointment.

That is what your fine men in blue actually asked me to do, to follow through with a frivolous charge of trespass because I was sitting quietly, minding my own business by a small water source up in Etna.

You like that one? Routinely your local attorneys tell their poor clientele that Miranda protections are no longer relevant, so don't bother getting bent out of shape when their officers don't read them or if they make a false report stating in the press that they HAVE read them when they have not. No don't let that one bother you. Don't lose any sleep over it.

Just, please come in, & be "arrested by appointment" now.

Too damned lazy to run after you rich kids to bust you ourselves when you are smoking an illicit joint somewhere harming NOBODY...(new research suggests that in some small quantities it may actually STIMULATE the GROWTH of brain cells, now we can't have that can we? Outbreaks of smartness happening all over a college campus...)

Check it out. It is all there. They actually asked me to do this. Come in to Chief Ciccone's power offices & be "arrested by appointment".

Come on investigative reporters. This is your chance. It was ALL, all of it, "caught on tape".

That is what they wanted me to do instead of picking up rings for my son's wedding quietly preparing for a wonderful & lawful celegration on the seacoast.

No PLEASE, stop doing that & come on in, get arrested "by appointment".

Dream on..... I don't THINK so guys!

The Dean & the Graduate Student

dean ( P ) Pronunciation Key (dn)n.
An administrative officer in charge of a college, faculty, or division in a university.
An officer of a college or high school who counsels students and supervises the enforcement of rules.
Ecclesiastical. The head of the chapter of canons governing a cathedral or collegiate church.
Roman Catholic Church. A priest appointed to oversee a group of parishes within a diocese.
The senior member of a body or group: the dean of the Washington diplomatic corps.
[Middle English deen, from Old French deien, from Late Latin decnus, chief of ten, from decem, ten, or from Greek deknos, chief of ten (from deka, ten). See dek in Indo-European Roots.]
deanship n.


coun·sel·or also coun·sel·lor ( P ) Pronunciation Key (kouns-lr, -slr)n.
A person who gives counsel; an adviser.
An attorney, especially a trial lawyer.
A person who supervises young people at a summer camp. See Usage Note at council.

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The Tale of Two Cities involves a clarification of what the general assembly of those who are reading these posts considers a standard. A reasonable standard concerning these two terms & these two responsiblities on a college campus. One which is an Ivy League college campus.

Presumably, they are high. Presumably they involve the Honor Code, because I, as a graduate student matriculated at both Harvard & Dartmouth, was required to swear to uphold one. An Honor Code.

So I am going to toss out a general question here to my readership; do you think it would be honorable or fair to lock a student out of her home while she was away on a trip to help a patient out; far from home, 3000 miles away actually, at the calling of a very ill friend?

I took an Ethics class at Harvard Divinity where we spent time considering, what is ethical, what is fair, what is moral. I think it is worthwhile taking time to consider issues like this. Myself. That is why I was there.

When I came to Dartmouth later, to study the use of many of the amazing technologies available as a student, to APPLY them to my chosen field of nursing, I was faced with just such a moral & ethical challenge. I was in point of fact, locked out of my own home, by my own spouse, who, at the time WAS a dean. In fact a Dean of the Tucker Foundation.

I learned dutifully about both the Tucker Foundation & William Jewett Tucker, the man for whom the Tucker Foundation is named after. I understood, as many students like myself did, in fact we celebrated a significant celebration concerning the founding of this Foundation within a college setting at the time of my on campus residency as the Dean's wife, that Dr. Tucker was concerned about the importance of providing in a balanced liberal arts education a MORAL aspect of that education.

The visionary Dr. Tucker saw that it was as important to educate the mind with a concern for the callings of the heart. Dr. Tucker wanted the student body to leave as well rounded students understanding that the training of the mind alone, without considering issues of CONCIENCE was a hazardous affair.


con·science ( P ) Pronunciation Key (knshns)n.
The awareness of a moral or ethical aspect to one's conduct together with the urge to prefer right over wrong: Let your conscience be your guide.
A source of moral or ethical judgment or pronouncement: a document that serves as the nation's conscience.
Conformity to one's own sense of right conduct: a person of unflagging conscience.
The part of the superego in psychoanalysis that judges the ethical nature of one's actions and thoughts and then transmits such determinations to the ego for consideration.
Obsolete. Consciousness. Idiom:in (all good) conscience
In all truth or fairness.
[Middle English, from Old French, from Latin cnscientia, from cnscins, cnscient- present participle of cnscre, to be conscious of : com-, intensive pref.; see com- + scre, to know; see skei- in Indo-European Roots.]
conscience·less adj.

Honor, nobility, moral development; giving opportunities for students to learn about right-minded, rightly guided behavior.

It would seem obvious by the time a student gets to college.

It is actually to my mind fairly simple to understand the basic precept by the time someone finishes kindergarten. Like the popular pastor who wrote the book, Everything Important I Learned in Kindegarten, something like that:

Pick up after yourself. Don't lie. Don't steal. Don't bully people.
Naps are good after lunch. Warm chocolate chip cookies taste good with ice cold milk.

The BASICS.

So, I hope the reader can understand my frustration & perplexity when I discovered that the man I was married to at the time, did this act. Called Safety & Security & asked them to change the locks on our shared home, containing my own office & files for nursing & INEDA, video production equipment, my family photo albums, cold weather clothing, all the things a wife usually thinks they can leave SAFELY in the care of a spouse at an Ivy League while traveling to minister to another.

Walk a mile in my shoes friends.

What would YOU think about that?

Would it make you HAPPY or SAD? PEACEFUL, TRANQUIL, or ANGRY?

This really did happen.

In the middle of February. Of 1995.

Your fearless leaders in Administration do NOT want you to know about this.

Usually that indicates to me as a mother they are not PROUD of what they did. That they had to hide it. But I am a nurse & one of the MOST important things we do is write; date & time records of care. Thank you Simmons College for teaching me this vital discipline. Nurses are inherently journalists. We write logs of our patients progress. We are counted on by our patients, their family members, the doctors we work with & the general public to do so. Or else we do not stay in nursing.

Nurses in every State & in every nation are required by law to function within the law.

A law which is in every one of those states & nations is a law called the Nurse Practice Act.

OUR Honor Code. Look it up. There is one in New Hampshire. I still comply with it.

Have I got your attention now?

There is no saving grown men from the ACCOUNTABILTY the law requires of us ALL.

Even if they live in fancy houses. And have done so for a very long time.

No, a fair & just judge weighs the merits of every case presented before that justice.

As an exercise of continuing education online, to build upon the incredible gains the Dartmouth community as a whole has made in integrating the offerings within the undergraduate school, the schools of Engineering, Medicine, Business, & last but most definitely NOT least, the Master of Arts in Liberal Studies program, let me throw this moral & ethical challenge out to you NOW.

What would YOU have done in this situation? How would YOU have felt, to return to the campus in midwinter, with one suitcase filled with a few light summery bits of clothing, no car, to find you had been locked out?

Ponder this moral dilemna.

Then begin your search in Grafton Superior Court.
Look up docket # 94-M-495, James P. Breeden v Monica W. King
By the way, I have no middle initial W., but it WAS me, the defendant.

Then look up Rockingham County Superior Court docket #97-E-84
This is called a Writ of Certiori, a special & extraordinary writ.

Proceed from there to the New Hampshire Supreme Court, & ask the Clerk of Court to show you yet another Writ of Certiorai
King v. Breeden & Freedman as officers of Dartmouth College.

Finally go to the U.S. Supreme Court, same case name: King & INEDA v. the Jameses; Freedman & Breeden. INEDA v. Dartmouth.

Because truly, this is an extraordinary tale.

It has been truthfully documented in a civilized manner, walking, driving from one court to the next.

STILL I FAILED. I failed to get my degree granted that I had started.

I failed to get justice, in my humble opinion, which would minimally have been to have my M.A.L.S. degree granted, & my family's home restored to us.

Because, correct me if I am wrong here, it DID NOT SEEM FAIR.

Now it's your turn. You decide.

Oh, & as you go, please investigate you Chief of Police who remains sitting at his desk in Hanover. With an Italian last name. I am truly perplexed & wondering WHY he is still at his job. Isn't he supposed to PROTECT & SERVE?

Or am I the one confused.

I thought that police were supposed to read those they take into custody their Miranda Rights.

I also thought that when the police have video cameras in their cruisers, they were supposed to have a consistent POLICY for their use.

Because I was told by two of them "we turn them whenever we FEEL like it."

I don't know about you, but I do not believe that is clear policy. But I am glad they are encouraged to get in touch with their feelings since being a cop IS so stressful.

Yes, any & all interested journalists, students, & members of the Dartmouth community may PRINT OUT this BLANKET PERMISSION from ME, Monica King.

You have MY permission to examine ANY video, computer record, transcript or other source of data with MY NAME ON IT, in any department of law enforcement & any court in the land.

In fact, I urge you to do so.

It just mught be enlightening. You clinicians may see some of the root stressors contributing to an "emotionally troubled" woman. The Social Security Administration also may gain some insight as to why I continue to appeal my claim for disability.

Peace. Monica King

Coyote & Road Runner: a tale of two cities at Dartmouth;
truth comes to roost in the millennium

This is a true story. The fact that I can write it now is a testament to my further higher eduction at Dartmouth College in Hanover, New Hampshire. To all of those who shaped my experiences there, I owe you a huge debt of gratitude. Both who taught by example & shone for me their own unmitigated brilliance & perseverence at remaining on the campus & faculty, & also to those who functioned as a collective "coyote", a shadowy predatorial force that haunted & hunted me for years from the time I was forcibly exiled from my home at 29 Rope Ferry Road.

Your lessons were tougher.

But if you are an organic farmer, or farmer's daughter, you observe that, when planting & nurturing seeds & life, the strong plants develop strong roots, stalks & branches by being subjected to the winds of adversity. The winds that will, if you are a weaker plant or seedling, knock you over & do you in.

Both the nurturing encouraging forces of nature; the sunlight, the fertile soil, adequate rain in season, & the sudden snap chills of autumn, a gust of wind across a field or a campus serves to strengthen you if you do not fall into the pit of despair over what would be considered on the face of it, not your usual or traditional academic course load.

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I just completed a series of articles which appear on the syndicated online journal the American Chronicle. You may access these articles by clicking through to them on the right hand side of this blog. They are entitled:
The Second Shot Heard Around the World

Were I to consider this an online continuing educational forum, I would suggest that the reader begin with these as foundational group for a core of this curriculum.

For those who are NOT acquainted with American history, the title infers there was a First Shot heard around the world which is correct. The first shot heard around the world was the shot fired that began the American Revolution & initiated the bloody struggle that ensued to birth our United States & what we fondly regard as our own American Constitution.

Believe it or not, there are many United States citizens today who would be unable to tell you that.

Someone just write to Jay Leno & ask him to do a person on the street survey, a roving interview with his Tonight Show camera crew as he is apt to do, & you will see what I mean.

We have a far smaller percentage of our own citizenry who know anything about our basic history than other educated groups all over the world do. Sadly, it's a fact.

As an example, take a look at the voter turnouts in Iraq. Well over 50 %, in a country filled with martial law & soldiers from all sides including our 0wn intense presence there, filling their streets, monitoring the election booths to make sure no suicide bombers hit them, while brave citizens march to create their first ever Constitution. They APPRECIATE the struggle that began with that first shot heard around the world & are willing to brave possible death or maiming to get to the polls & take matters finally, at long last into their own hands.

We in contrast, having grown complacent & mesmerized by our increasingly consumer-driven society, showed up at well under 50% of the registered voters. It is unclear, truly as to whether any majority voted our current administration in in the first place. With scandals involving chits in Florida & recounts in the Midwest, who knows?

Was it real democracy or a facsimile, a FAX???

People with a conscience may be having trouble sleeping these days thinking about these things.

We DO know that the media is the predominant force in the majority of households however. This should be abundantly clear.

It seems there IS a growing healthy level of skepticism about it all though. Because the PAIN of what is happening is growing, & PAIN, if nothing else will spur anyone into action. Into some form of reflection, questioning, because we do not LIKE it. It does not feel good.

We LIKE pleasure. Now that feels good.

The Creator apparently, or the universal intelligence which knit our human bodies together, has built right in to each & every human body the capacity to know both.

This, I have come to learn is in order for our souls, the part of us we identify with a name, a mind, a character, distinct from the packaging on the outside, the color of our skin or the sex, the gender, to be able to evolve greater & greater levels of DISCERNMENT.

dis·cern·ment ( P ) Pronunciation Key (d-sûrnmnt, -zûrn-)n.
The act or process of exhibiting keen insight and good judgment.
Keenness of insight and judgment.

It is an indispensable faculty these days. To develop it can mean the difference between life & death. Literally.

There are most definitely different styles of teaching; different modes, & many, many institutions to access in the quest for knowledge now, the world over. More & more gateways have opened to online education, this INEDA blog being one of them.

This blog is dedicated to teaching, to heightening the faculty of discernement. To help the reader to develop it for him or herself.

Back to Dartmouth. Back to learning & teaching.

One of the many seminars & classes I attended there, a KEY offering I was fortunate to attend, was a talk given by a UCLA professor of psychology on the subject of long term learning; long term memory.

He had done research on this subject as he was keen on training disaster response personnel, first responders in the L.A. area for catastrophic events. He trained nuclear power plant employees, whom we all would like to know are properly trained in the event of a potential problem in those plants; the police, firefighters, & those who wanted to improve their tennis game, along with those who wanted to retain a working knowldege of a second language, Spanish in this instance.

His findings were these: that in the usual undergraduate campus setting, with the traditional academic loads, what students have been doing for a few hundred years, cramming for exams the night before, staying up all night, drinking coffee & Jolt (this past century, the Jolt), eating chocolate & granola bars & showing up for the exam the next day worked to get higher marks.

HOWEVER, if you were to go back & reexamine these same students for knowledge retention even one month later, overwhelmingly, most of them would not be able to recall the majority of the specific knowledge they had been tested for!

One of the nuggets of wisdom that makes you go hmmmm, or at least it did me. I sat up in my chair.

These types of preparation obviously work for a specific event. Like say, prepping for a news conference with our chief of staff, an "open interview" type of scenario. If you have a preparation team going on ahead of our chief commander & choreographing a session, a question & answer session with him, & a director coaching you, intensively prior to the cameras rolling, well, you will get a high degree of performance, especially when those who are being interviewed are being interviewed by their boss. There is also an INCENTIVE to please him, isn't there? A paycheck.

In the case of an undergraduate class there is likewise an incentive; passing the course & moving on to the next one, in academic pursuit of the dream which is to complete a degree.

What you want when you have been out there awhile however, in the day to day working world, is an education that is more serviceable for the long haul. One that will serve you when under stress. One that might save your life & those of others, say your family & loved ones. Now that is a good bit of learning to do.

And this professor showed us, with all the academic authenticity a rigorous scholar needs to hear, that in training disaster relief workers, it is a better principle to NOT cram everything into a marathon session. Such as an 8 hour day long seminar. Because, while they will have that for a short time, they will have only a small percentage of it when it may truly be needed.

What is needed instead, is for the brain to develop new pathways over time which ARE developed by less frequent feedback loops. Also that the brain needs riddles to solve, gaps in information to put together.

Here are some of the examples he gave.

With the tennis pro it was dicovered that it is better to give a student some feedback concerning the swing 1 in 15 strokes. To give the student more tries in between the feedback to self-adjust.

With the Spanish student it is best to give a lesson twice a month, rather than 4 times a week.

He backed this research up with graphs & other evidence that showed, the brain actually kicks in a makes these long term channels for knowledge better with this change in frequency. He also showed us examples of questions he used in information processing which were those typical word puzzles where you gave a student a sentence with a blank in it, & the student had to fill in the blank. The learner had to actively think about what word belonged in the context of the sentence that fit. Those "match the word" parts of an exam, where you are given a series of sentences with a matching number of words at the bottom in random order. The student selects the appropriate one & pops it in.

It STIMULATES brain pathways. it creates new ones, which will be there, when needed. In the area of the brain where LONGTERM memory is stored.

The Romans said it simply; experientia docet. I said that a few times in the Second Shot series, quoting the one little snippet I do remember in a class we were required to take in 4th grade in my elementary school. Now at 50, I look back to see that, somehow that one snippet of a "dead language" made one of those long term memory channels in my particular brain.

In pausing to reflect about this, I would hazard a guess that, applying my own learning about that particular goal, as a Red Cross instructor myself, I was motivated to retain the knowledge.
Saving lives is important to me.

What I also recall now, so many years later, this qualifying it as long term learning then, is the actual setting where I learned that phrase. It was in a small area of hallway where a small group of us students were sitting around a shared table.

Me & some guys. I was a real tomboy then, & I prefered their company, so there we were, with this Latin book we were all supposed to be studying, about a dead language.

What bugged me about it, was that it was being billed as such. Why bother? I thought. Learning about something that is dead?

But we were flipping the pages, conjugating verbs, & just sort of got to giggling & cutting up about the whole stupid project. One of us wiseacres, probably Peter Selfridge who was always doing outrageous things in class, had pulled his chair up to the ceiling & removed a tile from it, revealing that there was a black cavity hidden above that ceiling.

Another classmate intoned, "niger cavum" or something like that which meant black cave in Latin. Which evolved into a silly dialogue about piglatin until we were all laughing & trying not to get detention.

Finally we all agreed it was a great discovery & we could probably stash candy in there.

"Experientia docet" someone noted. There, it was not a dead language after all! We did realize at that tender age, experientia docet! Experience teaches. I never forgot it.
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Good mystery stories are like that. The page turners. The New York Times best sellers. Here is a recent example; The Rule of Four.

Check it out. Written as a collaboration between two guy Princeton students. Obviously successful now, as they have published a New York Times best seller.

And it is a page turner too, if you love to study the ancient civilizations & histories we have as a legacy. And if you like Ivy League campuses. Like I do.

I picked it up & read it for similarities I could find with my own experiences at Harvard & Dartmouth & found some startling parallels. With both fine schools.

I will not tell you what they all were though, because I am truly hoping you will develop some long term pathways in your own brain & memory. I am going to tease you instead.

In broad strokes it is about a group of four students who became friends while there.

About one in particular's major focus & quest.

As the reader discovers, this is a fascinating quest, & you find this out because as it is being told, you are seeing the campuse & culture of Princeton right at the turn of the millennium. The main characters are targeting a graduation in the late 90s. So from my perspective it was interesting since I was a student in the Dartmouth Master of Arts in Liberal Studies graduate program during that era.

They obviously learned something there. They gained many experiences.

This book details their own coyote/road runner chases, through an underground system of ducts & passages most are unaware of. Of a shadow side of campus life that is rarely ever surfaced in the catalogues or the regular press or media which is carefully crafted for the public image.

But for those who are at Dartmouth now, studying, who want to know the "untold stories" that do not make it into the Valley News or the Dartmouth online I will point the way.

Go to the Supreme Court in Concord. Find out what Writ of Certiorari means. And ask to read the court documents that contain my name vs. James Freedman & James Breeden.

Then follow those documents to the U.S. Supreme Court.

Those are the main characters.

You figure out who is the road runner & who are the shadows that make up coyote.

You do the heavy lifting. It is all contained in public records but you have to look.

And if you do not understand who coyote is, take a class or two in Native American Studies, or ask Michael Hanitchak. He knows many legends about coyote & other Native American wisdom stories. You could consider him a wise tribal elder.

Happy hunting grounds!

Peace, Medicine Who Flies Far
AKA Monica King

The INEDA blog is the latest new shoot of an international charitable nursing agency originating from Dartmouth College, where the organization was founded in 1994. Devoted to global healing through education, humor, & literacy.


May Peace Prevail Now

Through the use of humor, intelligence & the
English language.

"The power of the cyberpen is mightier than stupidity."


Hugs are better than nukes.

What's up with all those manic marching Korean men anyhow?

Greetings & welcome all!

INEDA is expanding & building her first blog site.
Check back soon for her new look. As always, we are evolving & expanding.

May Peace Prevail Upon the Earth.
Blessings & hugs, Monica King, CEO, INEDA