A THOUSAND BLESSINGS (STORY OF THE RESURRECTION LETTERPRESS)

GIFTS of COME UNITY for your IN FORMATION and ENTER ATTAINMENT

Written by Dale Michels

    Many of us grew up with a limited awareness of natural community. I know I did.  I was raised in your average industrial model society, prefab housing, standardized education, mass media, fast food, with inoculations and antibiotics for all.

The idea of community beyond name alone seemed to me a dream possible only in some parallel universe!

    But with me… life’s circumstances tend to help me re-cognize my assumptions. So I found myself taking a step between worlds… I moved from Boston… to a small town in West Virginia. It was a place so deep in the sticks other West Virginians drove out there to abandon dogs.

    That is where I got a GOOD taste of what we have abandoned on out quest for consumer nirvana. Experiences I had there demonstrated to me how we can enjoy a more relaxed and related social economic order while being fully immersed in the drama of life. Like a time capsule unearthed it promises to reveal to the curious its treasures of yore. What are these secrets? Could they be the dormant seeds of an American Eden?

    I have changed place and personal names out of respect for the privacy and feelings of those in this hamlet I once called home. I invite you, as I do, to call her Mercy.

    Mercy had been bestowed with many blessings. Nestled in a beautiful valley with a small river meandering through, Mercy was a place time seemed to have overlooked.  Indeed she had been an indigenous community for a very, very long time. Stone tools dug up in gardens suggest people were living there BC.  She had everything a natural community could hope for, two year round springs, plentiful game, lush temperate rain forest, and a fertile flood plain situated on the wide bend of a river rich in fish and turtles. A slight high pressure system arose from a bend in the river at its confluence with a small stream at the center of Mercy. The high moderated severe weather which usually parted around Mercy. 

    However Mercy’s most significant blessing was a core of social skills, skills that may have evolved over many generations. Or, perhaps, in Mercy they simply never forgot how to live.

    By the early 1800s, Mercy had become a watering stop along the B&O Turnpike, one of two ridge top horse trails snaking through Virginia leading to the Ohio Territory. Some Ohio bound settlers from Baltimore, stopping to water their horses, are rumored to have exclaimed, “MERCY,” feeling they had found Heaven on Earth!  They put down roots and married into the village. Grain was grown on the flood plain and a stone mill built to grind it. Mercy’s first General Store was built in 1836; later a Post Office lean-to was added. A church and two room community school house were built on the hill, while a Grange Hall, blacksmith shop, hotel, a number of houses and a second general store sprang up along the flood plain. By 1880 Mercy’s building boom was complete and the town settled into a timeless rhythm of life orchestrated by the seasons.

    During this period there were no fences while children ran free through the village and were looked after by everyone. Each family had a garden of a half acre or less where they grew most everything they ate. When you garden on that scale, you get to know your plants, soil, and weather on an intimate basis. Your hands and feet become extensions of your heart as you commune with the elements giving birth to Divine nourishment. In Mercy household gardening was considered a prescription to satisfy both soul and stomach while putting a spring in your step and a twinkle in your eye.

    A fleet of punt boats pulled up on the banks of the river were available to anyone wishing to use one. When a boat required fixing several old men would turn it over, inspect the situation, discuss several cures, come to a consensus and make a repair…ALL in a type of open air workshop.  These and other happenings such as turtle catching and dissecting attracted the curious attention of young onlookers as they absorbed the rhyme and reason of real skills entertainingly passed on in this effortless fashion.   

    Garden surpluses were freely shared and large canning parties took place in the Grange Hall. The Grange also served as a site for pantomimes, box socials, dances and other opportunities for community merriment. When an idea was floated, if enough people got excited they just pitched in and made it happen. A lot in Mercy was done by pitching in.  Mercy had prospered for thousands of years without a money supply so the habits of pitching in and the favor economy were second nature. The favor economy in Mercy operated on a kinder, gentler social DNA that didn’t require an accounting system. If you were able and you saw something needed doing, you just did it. For instance when floods threatened, men and boys went door to door helping people move things up, to a second floor if you had one or on top of other things if you didn’t. In a favor economy life provides opportunities to appreciate your neighbor as a true blessing. Elders modeled COME UNITY SPIRIT as Mercy’s younger generations absorbed the social DNA naturally.

     Generous terms of ownership extended to many useful items as well. If a chain was required to pull someone out of a ditch you didn’t have to ask to borrow one. You could just find one lying in the back of someone’s truck and use it. Of course, you put it back when you’d finished.  Mercy also boasted a small tractor brigade. If a piano or other heavy object had to be moved from one building to another, mysteriously, someone appeared with a fork attached to his tractor and provided door to door service. Word had a way of getting around to lubricate the favor economy.

    When evening’s glancing rays played across the front porches in Mercy, stepping out with an instrument in hand was an open invitation for neighbors to JOIN YOU.  How they loved to sing, dance, laugh and make music that echoed through the evening air. 

    Storytelling was another enter-attainment enjoyed in Mercy. They were fond of telling stories about themselves, the behavior of animals, their gardens, the virtues of a prize tomato seed, out smart’n authorities, and especially and ALWAYS … the weather. Storytelling in Mercy was hardly ever a solitary activity. Opportunities for banter or to graft a new branch onto the strong trunk of story made it a creative participatory sport. The following story will give you a taste of this style of storytelling.  It is a merciful tale, of a DEEP-deep sound sleep.

    Zedik, “Remember last fall… that storm that blew over the BIG OLD TREE?”

    Arch, “That was a BIG old tree... it took three of us stretching out our arms to reach clear round it.” 

    Jake, “That was a big OLD tree… it was OLD when I was a tadpole and first carved my initials into it.”

    Zedik, “I’ve heard say it was a MARKER TREE… from back in Indian days showing where the town started.”

    Jake,“ ‘Bout marked Todd’s END.”

    Zedik, “Indeed it did…You ever see anything like it? Tree took out the gutter… scraped down along the side of his house… and barely missed Todd as he slept sound as...”

    Jake, “Don’t you mean to say sound of… sound of a chain saw!”

    Zedik, “If you think you can read my mind… tell me… which do I find more entertaining, the chain saw or that hacking sound he makes when he’s coming out of it?”

    Jake, “I’d have to say the hacking sound.”

    Arch, “Chainsaw’s way more entertaining!”

    Pete, “Hack’n, Saw’n, whatever, he cut it pretty close.”

    Arch, “Wouldn’t want to get much closer…uh UH!”

     Zedik, “Bare inches of insubstantial spaces… all it was. What a BLESSING! And he slept right through it on his swing … didn’t even miss a wink. Still, you have to wonder…what if that BIG WIND had been successful blowing Todd into harm’s way?”

      Arch, “We’d have to make a marker…out of that tree.”    

      Jake, “That would have been fitting I suppose, seeing as it was a marker tree, Todd also probably appreciate our frugality if we made him a box out of it.”

      Pete, “Yes… but he was saved! - SAVED! - by his own BIG FEET… they sure anchored him in place.

      Zedik, “Speak’n of BIG FOOT look who’s coming now.”

      Todd, “You guys tell’n that story again?... You know they wouldn’t of BEEN SO BIG… sept’ I was too tired to KICK-OFF them CLAY caked boots.

       Jake, “Well if you hadn’t RISKED YOUR LIFE wading out to save them three foreigners, your feet wouldn’t be bigger than your head. What were those foreigners think’n anyway, trying to PART FLOOD WATERS… Merrrcy!”  

     Once everyone had an opportunity to nod a bit, wipe a tear or chuckle… winking, Zedik conducted the banter back round to sound sleep by asking Todd, “HOW COULD YOU HEAR the tree crash over your own SNORING? It was LOUDER than the storm… We could hear it CLEAR DOWN here.”

     “That’s right…Uh-hu…’deed we did,” chimed in the chorus of co-horts.

     “I AM a sound sleeper,” Todd had to admit, “Everyone knows that! What you may not realize is… and I haven’t told you this before ‘cause… well I just don’t know how you’ll take it.  But it’s true, I AM a POWERFUL DREAMER.  As it so happened, I was under the influence of one of my POWER DREAMS at the time… In my dream Ben Nazar, who you all remember, came to me surrounded by light and thanked me for saving those people. He handed me a SAW and pointed to a big tree. He said there would be ANSWERS TO PRAYERS. So I sawed and sawed away at THE BIG OLD TREE until it FELL…but did I miss a beat, did I stagger or falter…NO! Gentlemen, I kept on seeing what I sawed, you know, because the job ain’t done ‘til it’s ALL cut and stacked.”  

    “Darn if you’re not MORE efficient sleeping as you is AWAKE,” Jake observed, “You managed to fell that big old tree just right so it missed your head, cleaned your gutter and scraped all that old paint off the side of your house too.  I’d be crazy to disturb you if I found you under the influence asleep on my porch.”

    The cadence of story telling slowed on occasion while multiple threads and new branches were nursed along a bit at a time. Ordinarily, a story like this could be stretched out over days, even weeks. However, due to the prophetic element of Todd’s POWER DREAM, folks would be praying more, keeping an eye out for answers, and making installments to this tale for some TIME TO COME.

   Todd’s mention of his power dream is what’s known as ‘telling one on yourself’ (where you share something about YOURSELF not generally known).  In Mercy, telling one on yourself is a highly respected activity.  

    You might say storytelling never stopped.  It functioned as a kind of community bio-feed-back. Since the stories were all based on the experiences, observations and creativity of community members, their stories created an organic identity, a mutual mythology revealing and containing the unique qualities of the community and its members.  Everyone in Mercy enjoyed the most palatable form of fame, being truly and lovingly known. With this organic social glue, people are free to be themselves. A wide band width of thought and temperament are entertained without need of narrowing conformity.  Natural communities like Mercy more easily maintain their equilibrium, to evolve and to overcome challenges by having a wider set of human responses available. One can imagine COME UNITIES like Mercy doing just fine if the oil dried up or if industrial society went the way of the dinosaur.

    This related lifestyle, an amalgam of Indigenous and European community, flowed on in Mercy undisturbed until the mid 1950s, when the road was paved and electricity came in.  The period prior to this would be remembered in Mercy as B.E., before electricity, a kind of golden era, a Heaven on Earth.

    With electricity came radios, and soon people were staying inside listening to professional musicians and serialized dramas modeling life in the mass culture.  Gradually, fewer and fewer voices, strings, and outbursts of laughter were heard echoing through the valley.  After television arrived, the valley fell into a silent twilight as flickering blue shadows flashed and died a thousand deaths upon the pains of solitary windows.

    It was a quarter century ago I first discovered Mercy. I soon moved my family and business into one of the two old general store buildings. At first, I had no idea what had been lost!  Old men still held open air seminars for the curious on fishing, stone moving, lawnmower repair, weather watching, and more. Every day community members gathered around Zedik’s General Store swapping news and stories as they “waited” for the mail to come in. Zedik was the unofficial Mayor of Mercy. They also enjoyed games of extended perception. Comparing notes on where the mail truck was and who the mail carrier had stopped to chat with was a counterpoint woven into the fabric of daily observation. Some were bold enough to elaborate on the subject of the mail carrier’s chit chats while still miles away. This game continued all down the line until he was predicted to come into view around the bend… moments before he did. When a natural lull occurred it could be transformed into a pregnant pause. With a twinkle in the eye and a question or observation made, the ball of yarns got sent rolling again.

    Several “haunted” buildings in Mercy excited my desire to explore. The old hotel was the first I poked my head into.  Grey and weather-beaten on the outside, it seemed to beckon come hither as ragged ends of lace curtains fluttered sweetly from open windows.  I was also stimulated by curiosity to trudge up the hill to the abandoned school house.  Someone was storing hay in the corner of one room.  Several jagged pieces of black slate hung from the walls and the windows were all broken.  At the front of both rooms, above where the black boards had been, the letters ‘BYB’ were neatly painted. I wondered what that meant.  Birds and other small creatures had taken advantage of the opportunity for shelter and the place echoed of dreams long ago ceded back to nature. 

    I continued on up the hill to the old church, which was still in use and kept neat as a pin.  I was wandering around the graveyard in back, reading old stones, when I came across an odd marker.  The broken arc of an iron wheel stuck out of the ground and seemed to point over the horizon.  There was no inscription to indicate WHO it was for or where it pointed. 

    My next dozen years in Mercy is a book in itself, but for the purpose of this story we’ll skip ahead twelve years…

     It was a crisp Fall morning when I met Friend Stewart. Friend was demonstrating a treadle operated letterpress at a farm festival in Southern Ohio.  I was soon bitten by the antique printer’s bug. Friend found a 1902 Chandler and Price old style letterpress for me in Dayton, Ohio. The press had belonged to the widow of a letterpress restorer.  She told me her husband had found the press in West Virginia; that he had replaced the flywheel and ink platen, but the treadle had also been broken and he had been running it with a belt and motor.  Friend knew this and had also located a replacement treadle for me.  We winched the press out of the widow’s basement and carried it by trailer back to Mercy.

    When Pete, who worker for me part time, first saw the press, it was as if he had seen a ghost.  He stood back, speechless, and unable to believe his eyes. He approached it gingerly and stroked the smooth surface of the flywheel. Then he leaned into the treadle, with his eyes closed and head turned up. The press was soon flying while Pete murmured to himself, “B,Y,B…B,Y,B.”  The great gravity of heavy metal moved in smooth synchronicity like orbiting planets.  “You know,” Pete said after he’d stepped back from the press, “We used to have a press… just like this in the basement of our school.”  He then proceeded to tell me this story…

    “Not long after we got electricity, Miss Andrews, our old school teacher, wanted to retire.  Zedik found a young man from Salem, Missouri, who was graduating from teachers college.  His name was Ben Nazar. His Paw was a preacher and so was his PaPaw.  On graduation his Paw gave him the press that he and his Paw had used to establish their churches.  Ben drove it here on the back of an old farm truck.  Everyone turned out to help, or witness, the resurrectionists’ press being unloaded into the basement of our schoolhouse.  Zedik ran the hotel back then and put Ben up in the sunny room with lace curtains.

    Ben taught us kids how to hand set type and run the press. I remember the DAY he showed us our first piece of TYPE. It was the UPPER CASE, I.  He passed it around so EVERYONE COULD FEEL IT.

‘EACH ONE OF THESE… IS A BLESSING,’ he professed… ‘To be at ONE with your TONGUE understand THESE… and one day you will give birth to A THOUSAND BLESSINGS.’ 

He had us write compositions on our experiences and observations on the blessings of life in Mercy.  We set our stories in type and printed them in our own newspaper called, The Mercy Citizen, which we produced monthly.  We easily sold over 600 subscriptions, twice the population of Mercy, owing to kin who’d moved away.

    With our subscription money, Ben took us on a field trip once a year to Washington, D.C.  We stayed a whole week, eating in restaurants and rooming in fancy hotels.  It was a time FULL of blessings. My mother’s most cherished possession is the issue of The Mercy Citizen where my interview with Jennings Randolph appeared. Once, while on a White House tour, we saw Jackie Kennedy, we did, and she smiled and waved. Made us feel like part of history.

    Some of us were winning spelling contests on account of learning to spell forwards and backwards setting type.  After we’d set an article and proofed it, Ben went over it for   spelling, grammar, or punctuation errors.  If there were any mistakes he’d mark the proof then dump the type so we would have to set it all over again. He was a strict teacher and editor, he said, because he was always looking to bring out our best. And you know… we loved him for it.  Every morning, he’d point to the letters BYB he painted above the board and ask us what they stood for?

    We all called out with glee in our hearts, “Be! Your! Best!”

    Edna Zinn, Zedik’s niece and our part time postmistress, also loved Ben.  She used to bring a basket up the hill with lunch in it everyday to share with him.

    Mercy, we just couldn’t be HAPPIER!

    However, in Powers Crossing, the county seat, where the county commissioners, judges, lawyers, doctors, sheriff and others who considered themselves better than us lived… things were not so happy.  Their sons and daughters were not winning spelling contests and had to sell candy door to door to raise money to ride a bus to D.C. (and back THE SAME DAY!) 

    Our success was resented… especially since they considered us half-breeds.

    A late night county commission meeting generated a document.  The next day, the Sheriff with a car load of toughs drove out to Mercy.  When they got to our school the Sheriff nailed the paper to the door.  Then he came inside.

     “Everybody GET OUT!” he ordered, “This building is CONDEMNED!” 

     We all just stared at him in disbelief. Our beloved school was the pride of our community and well cared for. How could it be condemned?

     Exasperated at our non-comprehension, the Sheriff grabbed Elmer Mooney who was sitting in back and shoved him out the door.  Shock began to turn into panic but Ben quickly organized an orderly evacuation.  As we filed out into the yard, we saw the toughs resting against the Sheriff’s car.  They were pick’n their noses with the ends of their sledge hammers and wrecking bars just to show us HOW TOUGH they were.  When we were all out, the Sheriff gestured with his arm and the toughs ambled into our school sarcastically smiling and waving.

    No child should ever hear the sounds that came from our school! Heavy crashing thumps, shattering slate and glass, cracking and splintering wood, mingled with demented laughter and rude shouts, assaulted our ears all at once.

    Some, no, most, actually ALL OF US … began crying. We covered our ears and faces trying to shut it all out, but no matter what we did, we could still feel the thuds in our bones.  Every window, blackboard, and desk was broken.  Then, the Sheriff came out and headed around the side of the building where the basement door was. 

    Ben turned to me and said, ‘Pete, you’re the oldest.  Keep the kids together and under no circumstances let them go UNTIL I RETURN.’ 

    He then dashed off after the Sheriff. The Sheriff had the sledge heaved up over his head ready to smash the door when Ben grabbed hold of its business end.  Neither of them was letting go as they spun around in a kind of stumble dance.  Edna, who was bringing lunch, saw them and ran up the hill. Then she began whacking the Sheriff about the head with her basket. Several toughs joined the fray and a wrecking bar came down on the back of Ben’s head. 

    They were in the basement knocking over type cases when Ben staggered back to his feet.  Edna tried to hold him but he was determined to put a STOP to BAD BEHAVIOR.  When the Sheriff and the toughs emerged from the basement, they hurriedly got into their car and drove off in a cloud of dust.

    Ben hadn’t come out.  Edna called… and when she didn’t hear back, she ran in.  We heard her screaming and crying but I kept the kids in the yard as Ben told me.  Soon, Zedik, Jake and Todd ran up from the store. Zedik went in and brought Edna out. Then, Jake and Todd carried Ben down to the hotel.  Doc Rogers was sent for, but it was NO GOOD.  Ben had passed.  We buried him back of the church.  A piece of the broken press served as his memorial.  We all suffered but I believe Edna took it the hardest. She never married. 

    Later, Zedik sold what was left of the resurrectionists’ press to a hobbyist from Ohio. No one thought he’d have any luck as the Sheriff done a pretty thorough job of it. He made DAMN SURE no one would ever print with that press again. He busted the flywheel, ink platen and treadle.

    We were all then bussed to school in Powers Crossing.  So if you ever wonder why some of us aren’t quite right, keep in mind we were and are subjected to merciless torment and bullying while so-called teachers and administrators look the other way.

    Pete’s story had a profound effect on me. I knew shared triumphs can merge our hearts. I then realized it’s the floods, the fires, the tornadoes… the EMERGENCIES both natural and man made, that may forge some of the strongest bonds of COME UNITY.

    Did you feel YOURSELF in that class room, Citizen of Mercy? America once was made up of many small rural communities just like her.

   After hearing Pete’s story I also felt passionately, there HAS TO BE some way we can live peaceably free of fear.  As if in answer to my passionate quest a man came into my life who handed me a book, The Holographic Universe, by Michael Talbot, which contained amazing information about people who had actually found such a way.

    During the darkest days of the Inquisition, several groups enjoyed safety from all attempts by morally bankrupt authorities to do them grievous bodily harm.  They could not be SHOT, NO they could NOT! They could not be cut, stabbed, burned by fire or acid, smothered, drowned, battered, poisoned, hung or beheaded. In fact, the more anyone tried to hurt them the more ecstatic they became.

    The experiences of these people were widely known and well documented. This phenomenon went on for decades and was witnessed and written about by most major thinkers of the time. Why our histories make no comment on these highly beneficial states today is probably due to the fact that science had no explanation. Meanwhile, the church predictably categorized it the work of the devil.     

    How could these people heal the sick? They weren’t priests or doctors. Why did they enjoy complete IM UNITY to harm of any sort? Why were they so happy, indeed ECSTATIC? Didn’t they know that there was an Inquisition going on? They were supposed to shudder with fear and terror like everyone else, and suffer when oppressed. What was their secret?

    What we can’t explain often gets the censure of history. However, today we can entertain the notion that the 97% of our own DNA, what some scientists call junk, may in truth be our dormant DIVINE NATURE AWAKE. When triggered, can this DNA reconfigure our substance to a higher octave not susceptible to physical causation? When this phenomenon appeared it showed up in groups of two or more people and was sometimes noticed to be contagious. Innocent by-standers could be instantly healed and caught up in the ecstasy just by being close to the revelers. This speaks to a field phenomenon, whether you choose to call it a morphic field, quantum field, or spiritual field. The revelers were pulling more current, and experiencing a higher capacitance. Their fields could act like wireless jumper cables connecting others through resonance, and induce a flow of energy with enough current to power up dormant DNA.  Subsequent realignment into order/health and ecstatic Divine Love flow could then occur.   

    Which came first, Our Divine Nature or the Human Condition? Is our human condition a step down frequency?  When we entertain this possibility it’s fair to wonder what keeps us in the stepped down frequency of the human condition. Could it be thoughts like fear and loathing vibrate at frequencies too low, or out of phase, to POWER UP our Divine Nature and Awake OUR SPIRITUAL KNOW-BILITY? 

    Coherence is an amplifier of frequency as anyone can demonstrate to themselves with two tuning forks. So, when our thoughts CO-HERE with fundamental structures of reality and truth, VIBRATING at a high LOVE frequency, we may find ourselves stepping into an overlapping parallel universe.

    As I contemplate the POTENT POWER of Divine Coherence I am reminded of a repeating dream I experienced as a boy. This dream returned every few months for almost a year. In the dream, I was a skinny filament floating through space, drifting aimlessly. Slowly, I became aware that I was traveling a bit faster toward some great gravity in the distance. As I was drawn closer and closer, faster and faster, I began to experience panic. My fear and panic was exactly the same every time I had the dream. I feared that as I hurtled toward the surface of this bright star, I would loose my small identity and be destroyed!

    Suddenly there was a flash and all was calm… I had awakened at the end of my daze. I had fused with a huge body of all knowing and I knew everything! Anything I chose to know I knew easily and in such a COMPLETE way, it was ENTIRELY BEAUTIFUL.  I had not lost myself… I was not destroyed, I was totally and entirely complete, joyful, and strangely… STILL MYSELF. 

    This dream ring came to an end when, after the dream’s final repetition, a deep loving voice professed to me, “I AM YOUR GOD… BE IN WONDER!”

     When I think of this state of Divine Coherence, the words VIRTUE ALL REALITY come to mind.  The knowing I absorb from it, I call my SPIRITUAL KNOW-BILITY. Some of us may require an extreme EMERGENCY (verb transitive of EMERGE) to release our tight grasp on limited identities, I have been through a few of those myself. We have grown too clutching of limited ideas about ourselves. Quite the opposite of our fears would seem to be the truth. Dear life itself may depend on our graduating to a more comprehensive self definition.

In my POWER DREAMS, I was provided a saw and have seen the tree of good and evil fall in the garden of VIRTUE ALL REALITY. We have everything we require to power up our higher frequency DNA.

We will enjoy many RE-CREATION-ALL ACTIVITIES when we AWAKE in COME UNITY at the END OF DAZE… where some, no, most, actually ALL OF US… will enjoy the trinity of our simultaneous identities, I AM… THOU ART…WE ARE ME OF GOD.

Identity is the KEY that has kept us locked in our boxes. When we embrace the truth of our Divine Quantum Identity and when we embrace each other as aspects of our own greater selves, WE ARE FREE. Since we have been blessed with free will we can strive to attain our personal experience of the Holy Grail sooner… or later… Do we choose to allow fear to continue holding us back?

Will the circle be unbroken?  Seeds of MERCY are now cast far and wide.  They shall find fertile minds to take root in and grow into A THOUSAND BLESSINGS.

In my determination to share this story and the seeds of social DNA it contains, I have looked into support tools for FERTILE MINDS and COME UNITY co-creators.

The RESURRECTION LETTERPRESS is the Resurrectionists’ Press that passed through the hands of three generations of Spirited Men. It is the same press anointed by the blood of a righteous man and teacher (some still wait his return). The press resurrected by the LOVING RESTORER is indeed, the same press Pete beheld. It is THE press that is at the heart of our small letterpress print shop located in the Southern crook of the Appalachians near Blairsville, Georgia. On this press we print BLESSING BONDS, INS TRUE MENTS of LOVE to re-seed our social DNA.

Soon you may find yourself becoming aware of opportunities to pitch in. When you start participating in the favor economy, you can begin to feel as if it has ALWAYS BEEN. You may even feel prompted by your own DIVINE GUIDANCE SYSTEMS to play the role of a Wizard of AHHHS.

Recognize acts of LOVE, GENEROSITY, BEAUTY, COURAGE and INTELLIGENCE as you bestow A THOUSAND BLESSINGS with BLESSING BONDS. For more in-formation on RE-CREATION ALL material being produced by the RESURRECTION LETTERPRESS, keep checking

 WWW.WONDERWORKERS.COM

or call 706-745-8202.

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