Arabica

What does it mean when the word 'Qatar' induces an excitement in me, and a yearning for the very 'air' of that country?

I'm not a Qatari, and for all intents and purposes will never be one. Yet, I grew up in that land and to date have always felt a strong yearning for that tiny peninsula that is frequently in the news nowadays as it flexes its Foreign Policy muscle in relation to the ongoing events in the Arab world.

At present, I live the immigrant's dream in America; A position as a Project Manager in a rapidly growing Technology company. I have my American work visa stamped in my passport. Now a path has been set before me - live the corporate life and enjoy everything that America has to offer.

Yet, inside me, a powerful voice speaks. It's insistent that I set my sights on Qatar. It tells me to walk the dusty roads of Dukhan once again. Dukhan is my home, it will always be.

Qatar is far from perfect. In my 17 years of life there, never once have I had a meaningful interaction with a Qatari. The gap between expatriates and the locals is just that wide. However, the expatriate community creates a vibrant life while silently doing its duty tothat nation in exchange for a comfortable life (this does not apply to all expats).

I feel in my heart that i'm destined to go back. If anything, to be a mute witness to the land that i call my home. And I shall wait for the day I will. Leaving behind a career and propects for a bright future.

The Deed

On her knees, hands clasped in prayer
Tears streaming forth, eyes webbed in a crimson rim
Firm she knelt, clothed in velvet layers
Her purpose beholden to the tyrants’ whim

A son she has, one that faces the tyrant’s wrath
An infant she suckled, to whom she taught the right path
Through the workings of chaos, became he a thorn in the tyrants side
And now a terrible end awaited him, slave to the evil one’s pride

A woman she is, one that brought forth life
Alone she raised him, laying claim as no man’s wife
No earthly weapons does she bear, just a grim resolve
In the belief that through a mother’s love, will the blackest of hearts dissolve

“O feared one; thou have laid waste to the plain
Millions have perished by the swords that bear thy name
Land, gold, riches there is nothing I have that you cannot claim
Will the death of my son, add to your ever spreading fame?”

“Together we survived through the age of joy and malice
A life style so poor that we drank out of a single chalice
Happy was I to feed him his meal by the light of a small fire
For each of us, was the others world entire”

“And now through your strength shall you take everything
From one as Wretched as I, yet who has never begged for nothing
I beseech you O terrible one, to let him go
Or take me with him, on a path illuminated by your executioners bow”

Silent sat the court; a few of them in dismay
Many have begged for their lives, never once did the tyrant sway
By his wrath and ferocity, a thousand innocents have been consumed
Pity the Blackhearted did, this mother who the despot had doomed

Sat the Tyrant unmoving on his throne of bone and sinew
Mask concealing a face that no living soul claimed that he knew
Crimson light bouncing of his armor like a bladed prism
Eyes long since clouded by the machinations of nihilism

For Millenia have souls been consumed by the Tyrants will
The old and young, many have cried their voices shrill
Suffer the little children he was said to have once intoned
That was ages ago, before his voice died away, entombed

Beneath the layers of steel, blade and gristle
Fused together by the machinations of the purest evil
Sparked some thing, faint as a hound’s whistle
Smaller than small, as tiny as a weevil

A memory of one such as she who knelt before him
Image hazed by the tyranny of time and chaos
But the touch so pure it refused to dim
Through eons of warfare and malevolence

A young head cradled in her lap
Tears of anguish disappearing in her folds
Soft cries of her name, tighter her arms did she wrap
Happiness returning in the warmth of her hold

Through some work of fate or happenchance
This entity did forever disappear from his being
And with her did she take the last vestiges of his humanity
For only to hate now did he cling

Thus combined the will of the present and the memory of the past
Did the Tyrant decide not to let the young’un breath his last
Nary did a word but a finger rise to demand
The boy is to go free by my command

Thus did end the last good deed
Of one so evil his name spoke of in whispers still
Millions more did he slaughter, their prayers he paid no heed
To command and conquer such was his will

He finally met a violent end, in a field full of blood
Spitted by a hero who survived pestilence and flood
In his final moments, all he heard was delighted laughter
To mark the vengeance of the hero who bore him no quarter

As thus in Hades did end the final journey of his soul
Beings of terror, dragged him into a fiery hole
The flames never died but neither did he
Suffer in silence did the tyrant, never a plea

Each cell in his body died and was reborn again
Against his chains of thorns did he forever strain
And thus, In vain did he search for a respite
And thus, In pain did he live despite

For the thousandth time when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore
Lo and behold his finger shone through the blackness and gore
Touch his lips did he with the will to sustain
And a tendril of coolness washed away an iota of pain

And thus the tyrant who did not know the meaning of charity
Who Burned in Hades for the rest of eternity
Sustain himself with the touch of the finger
For through all his evils, it was the only good deed that ever did linger

The Union

Eyes tipped with Kohl
A diamond resting on her nose
A smile filled with delight
To fill the void in my soul

Our destiny spells a union
Written in the skies
One so powerful
In a future so colorful
To shake the deepest layer
Of the most able soothsayer

It is not without merit
For it has to be earned
Sacrifices to be made
Troubled waters shall we wade
But the Fruits of our labor
Shall be sweet forever
On it shall we grow old together

You are the final piece in my coming rebirth
Empathy to my Strength
Parvathy to my Shiva
Your presence will give my efforts worth

Together we shall blaze a trail
To protect the weak and heal the frail
Generations to come will whisper the saga far
Of great deeds done
Through the union of the Sun and the Star

An Ode to a Star

The beauty of her flow
limber limbs and muscle tone
Infused with the magic of sound
of chants to Gods and Beauty abound

There is a fire in her eyes
a furnace in the soul
it drives her forward
a spirit of defiance
tampered with a love for life

the music permeates the air
she grasps and whips it around
a shroud that wisps over her
and settles into the contours of youth

With each magic thrust
has the attention captured
of an audience enraptured
by the marriage of sound and limb
to create a timeless essence
of beauty effervescent

And with the final step
the shroud settles into a light sheen
she transforms into a statue of pure light
as if afixed by the gaze of an envious medusa

Thus in the realms of cosmic chaos
the god of dance proclaims himself hoarse
hear ye'all raised is the bar
A new year has been greeted
by the Dance of a Star

The Arms of the Almighty

When I woke up it looked to be late afternoon;

I have no idea what happened, I opened my eyes and I saw the sand sift with each exhalation of my breath. I was lying facedown in a shed ... or barn … something of that sort and for a moment I believed I was back in my hometown of Ruhe;

I smelt smoke…. Smoke from munitions; it's acid tinge was heavy.. There was death in the air.

Each step I took made me aware of my body’s highly weakened state, soon it was followed by an intense craving for food. Wearily, I stepped out of the barn into the gloominess and blinked rapidly, my jaw open. The scene outside was radically different from what I was used to in 3 years of incarceration at Sepuika bay. There was blood and bodies everywhere, somewhere in the distance echoed the sound of automatic weapons.

It took a while for my brain to comprehend that Sepuika bay had been attacked and that I was free in one sense of the word. FREEDOM; the word should have suffused me with elation but instead only filled me with a sense of nothingness, an all pervading nihilism that surprised even me after all those years of hell. I looked down at my yellow jumpsuit and at the serial IM890123 printed on my chest and the sight of the number triggered memories of the horrors of the tortures, the executions and the perversity of Sepuika bay.

Overhead, a Garuda fighter screamed and I looked skyward in a moment of panic at the prospect of an incoming bomb. Funny thing about a camp like this, optimism tended to be a rare quality in all but the staunchest of minds. Foodddddddd ; my stomach screamed at me and the thought of an incoming cluster bomb was replaced by a craving for nourishment. I quickly scrambled to what I remembered used to be the cafeteria and prayed that the Alliance’s offense had spared it or that the Nagas had in their rush to escape (or before they were incinerated whichever came first, I dimly hoped it was the latter) had made it a low priority in the nature of evidence.

It was left standing…………….

I shoved open the door and was greeted by a shower of falling debris, wiping the dust from my face I stumbled to the kitchen and looked at what used to be the kitchen for us ‘Shudras’ , us ‘untouchables’ and I prayed that I could find some of the rough stale bread that was a staple of mine and my comrades diet for the last three years. I then saw with some surprise that the door to the kitchen of the camp officers was unlocked…

Could It be??? I asked myself, I did not believe in miracles even after the fact that the camp had been attacked and I was potentially free.

I walked in and saw what looked to be a cold pot of oatmeal and a plate with an omlette; I blinked twice…. This couldn't be I told myself. I ran to the table and took a big slurp of the oatmeal by the ladle; the omelets I grabbed like a tortilla and consumed 3/4th with one gigantic swallow. I kept swallowing ladlefuls of oatmeal until I remembered reading somewhere that after a period of starvation it was unwise to consume food in large quantities. Screw it!! I told myself and kept eating for what I assumed was a good one hour.

After washing down the best meal of my life with some water and tea; I felt a strange mix of renewed energy and foggy headedness. Draped over a chair was a hooded overcoat. I grabbed it and proceeded to walk out of the building.

Outside I heard explosions.. the ground vibrated; what happened here?

Birds of prey had swooped down to feed on the bodies and I looked at them with a dull detachment, Gajaman, Alexander, the annoying Rivera … they were all dead; their bodies riddled with holes. Many of the carcasses looked like they were in the process of being dragged into the 'cooker'; but something had interrupted the process. Intermingled with the bodies of my fellow 'Shudras' were the bodies of the camp guards and staff.

I should have smiled when I saw the bodies of the most savage bastards ever to live on this planet; men who shot our pregnant wives in the stomach while we pleaded with them for mercy, men who bludgeoned our elderly to death, laughing when hearing their frail bones snap. Men who used flamethrowers on the selected 'groups' to improve morale or 'remove' disease. These men were dead now and I did not give a damn…

Slowly I walked through the main gate of the camp; the sentry booth was charred, there was a lot of what looked to be semi solid blood and grey matter on the window as well as a bloody handprint. I gave it a cursory glance and continued my weary trudge outside.

I don't how long I walked the path; I just walked. There was no destination in mind, I just walked where the road took me. If I remembered correctly, Sepuika was on top of a hill and I knew eventually I would run into some sign of humanity.. Possibly our saviors.

Exhausted; I collapsed under a tree.

Saviors? Saviors for what? What was left in me to save? My family was dead, my girlfriend ….

Sasha! Dear Sasha.. Her large kohl streamed eyes.. Her long raven dark hair.. The gorgeous womanly scent of her that used to drive me wild …. Her laugh , full of joy and the mischievous half smile that always seemed to suggest she knew something you didn't. God I missed her; my heart lurched and I started gaining some feeling in the region, I was conscious of a stabbing pain.. like something had pierced my heart and wouldn't leave … Sasha was my everything, they had dragged her away from me and she did not cry! She didn't need to. She looked at me with those eyes, her jawbones pulsating with emotion and she kept watching until they pulled her into the transport. I remember screaming and then blacking out as a naga enforcer used his trishul to tase me into unconsciousness.

Sasha was dead; I knew it…….. False optimism was never one of my weaknesses ; The transport had been heading to Basilica and all the women there had been raped; at some point a mysterious plague had spread throughout the camp inmates and captors alike had been affected. The Nagas.. ...Ever efficient… had dropped a mini shunya bomb and killed everything within a 50 mile radius of the camp. The plague disappeared along with all souls; the news spread like wildfire in our camp.

This was one year ago; I remember that instance when I heard the news ... I was using a spade to do some unholy work for the Nagas when the news hit me; I died then….. Something collapsed in me and disintegrated into nothingness…. It was her face and the times that we spend together that had kept me going, kept me alive when the 'fever' hit our camp and wiped out about 40 % of us. It was her face that had kept me going through subzero temperatures braving frostbite and the thin pinpricks of shock all the way through my spine.

And she was dead. The vacuum in the innermost depths of my being was quickly filled with a vortex of hate; The promise of vengeance fuelled me and kept me alive now; I have always considered myself a passionate person and I could summon up emotions and keep them kindled to sustain me and give me a purpose and thus I lived. Those who weren't so adept died, either by exposure, with a bullet in their stomachs or the lucky ones took their own lives.

Me… I bided my time and I knew what I was going to do. I had managed to smuggle a list of the each camp official and their home addresses into my bunk. Once I got out; I was going to get each one of them. Kill their wives, their children, their fathers, their mothers, their brothers, their sisters. There were fifty of them and I visualized the carnage I would unleash again and again. The streets would run red with their 'pureblood' ; that DNA they fought so hard to preserve and 'purify' would spill into the gutters.

In 5 months; the inferno of vengeance in my soul died; I witnessed more tortures, bizarre medical experiments, 'scientific' rituals, the Nagas at the height of their insane delusions believed that they could 'create' God and we became scientific experiments. I saw my comrades become guinea pigs and come out as hideously misshaped and grotesque apparitions, I saw them being driven insane by the nature of these experiments.

I saw one comrade implode.

And yet the Nagas lived and partied and laughed.

That was when vengeance became a dull ache and then a wispy memory. I became a zombie, there were only 60 of us left with no hope for the future. I do not know why I didn't take my own life those remaining hellish days. I have no idea what I was doing in the barn and why I was unconscious. I was a free man now , but what was there to look forward to? Why did I suffer so?

I realized I hadn't blinked for four minutes. The world was empty for me;

I started walking towards what I believed was the ridge.

There was no honor in my final walk. My head was down, my feet shuffled, my shoulders stooped and my arms were slack. I passed a field, flowers blossomed, but to me they had no color, no charm. Their smell was artificial to me and their sickly sweet odor that was somehow noxious, I couldn't care. I walked

A couple of minutes later I came upon something that froze me in my tracks.

Lying with his back to a tree, busily tapping into his PDA device was the Captain himself.

It couldn't be??? But there he was, I would never forget the steel gray eyes, the face that looked like a skull that had been seran wrapped with skin. The intelligence in those eyes not betraying a hint of the insanity that existed… It had to exist… how else would this man signed orders that sent hundreds of begging and crying souls to their dooms. How else could he authorize the 'specialized' tortures and the mass 'flaming' cleansings. He was different, he never laughed like the other guards, he never smiled. Without any emotion he picked out the ones that were to die … slowly. He did not stop the guards and their sadistic actions, to him we were roaches… the 'Shudras'…. The untouchables.

And this man was alive, his Naga uniform was blood stained and next to him lay a Tercer Assault rifle he seemed oblivious to my presence. His brows were furrowed in concentration while he examined the PDA

Something sparked in me.

Without knowing quite what I was doing, I looked around for an object…. Any object that I could use as a weapon .. There was none. He was less than 30 feet from me.

I walked silently, my shoulders and spine straightened. I expected him to hear me somehow, but I felt powerful, immortal in spite of my highly weakened state. It must be madness… well fuck it!.. I kept walking , I was barely three feet away from him. When he turned.

His eyes registered surprise and with one quick movement he grabbed the rifle with one hand while dropping the pda with the other.

Calmly…….I felt like I was moving in slow motion…….. I stepped on the assault rifle and pinned it down. Being in an awkward position that he was, there was no room for him to maneuver, I laced my fingers together and drove it into his throat.

He fell back choking and wheezing; I followed the thrust with a kick that took most of his nose off and damaged his pretty face. There was a lot of blood.

I picked up the assault rifle and aimed ; waited for a second and shot him on both knee caps.

He screamed… an unearthly piercing yowl. Satisfied that he was not much of a threat I looked around and picked up the PDA and put into my over coat pocket. I waited for him to stop screaming; he eventually did and we looked at each other. Master and Captor, he did not recognize who I was… but he knew 'what' I was and where I came from.

Both of us looked at each other unblinking for what seemed like 5 minutes. It had started raining.

There was nothing to say, what words would suffice for this moment. I did not know what to do with this man or why I had crippled him so. I should feel angry, I should have felt rage.. A couple of months back I was prepared to kill entire families of this cursed coalition.

But now I didn't feel anything, I did not want to kill this man. What would be the purpose of killing him ? What would it achieve?

A shadow of confusion passed through his face; he was expecting death and was wondering why it had not visited him yet. I walked away; the assault rifle by my side.

And then I remembered my people; the thousands of staunch men, crying women, confused children and resigned elders who had perished. I had always wondered whether there was a meaning to their suffering ? That meaning had escaped me the day Sasha and my parents were carried away.

But they deserved Justice... An alien word to me and one that I haven't conjured up for many years. Vengeance was a familiar companion, vengeance was finding some gasoline and setting the man on fire or devising some other method of his slow death.

But no.. Justice… For the innocents that had died in Sepuika bay all in the name of 'cleansing'. There was no anger in me, no sadness, no emotion and this was the best state to make decisions. I have never felt this clear headed in all my life.

For all of them.

I walked back now to the Captain; with a purpose. He must have seen the expression or lack thereof in my face. And for a moment through the pain, the monster's face betrayed what might have been regret.

I walked behind him, aimed for the back of his head and pulled the trigger.

His 'pureblood' sprayed over my untouchable body.

I turned around and walked to my original destination, satisfied that my life's purpose had been achieved , something had destined him to be in my path and I had carried it out. There was nothing left for me anymore.

I walked closer , it was sundown and it had stopped raining.

The air seemed clean somehow; fresh. I shook my head to push away any conflicting thoughts.

And then it happened.

The sun came out the clouds; it was majestic in all its brilliance. The formation of the clouds was such that the rays shone through in a dazzling amber light .. Enveloping me in its arms…. His arms

The Arms of the Almighty and they had a message.

Standing there on the hill, with the hood of my overcoat over my head and within seconds of ending my life, an act of nature had stopped me. The brilliance and the beauty of what I saw flooded through me when I had my epiphany … I believed that my purpose was over… my meaning in life fulfilled by killing the captain, that Rakshasa.

But no; the magnanimity of the spectacle I saw whispered to me that there was something bigger out there for me. Something that gave meaning to the deaths of Sasha, my parents, my friends … my comrades. Something that qualified me for a bigger task ahead. My life was never mine to take; There was a higher power and I would not understand his ways but he had a message for me...

The PDA beeped.

I picked up the PDA and looked through the mini feed in it. The Shakti coalition had pierced the western front and there were 45 more 'secret' camps out there, their GPS co-ordinates all laid out in the pda. It took me a while to grasp the enormity of what I was seeing in my hand. No doubt the captain was looking to escape to the next closest camp. I knew if I could get in touch with somebody from the Shakti coalition and give them the coordinates we would be able to liberate those camps and their survivors.

We would have to build for a better tomorrow; I was determined to do so. The only way what we went through made sense was because we were only thinking about ourselves, the present generation. The pains and agonies so many of us suffered was so the future for our people, our children could be assured. Never again will we allow for such an event to happen to our people … ever. We had to earn this security from the lessons learned …. For the future……….

For the child that Sasha and I had were going to have.

I walked away from the ridge and found the path. I put the PDA in my pocket, cocked the rifle and walked towards the setting sun. Towards the arms of God...

The Journey of Viktor Frankl: Man's search of meaning in the 21st century

“We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms -- to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.” - Viktor Frankl

When we look back to the last 10 decades and ponder about that one cataclysmic event where mass 'genocide' took place; most people I know immediately comes up with the answer 'The Holocaust', an event where millions of people suffered loss of life, family and possessions. The most unimaginable cruelties where imposed on men, women and children and humanity still looks back and wonders about the two categories of individuals who were players in the event: The victims and the aggressors. How do people suffer so and how can one human being impose such suffering on another ?

Viktor Frankl is a Jewish psychiatrist who was sent to a concentration camp and lost his entire family in the holocaust with the exception of his sister. There he suffered unimaginable tortures and bore witness to many more; instead of losing hope however, he used the experiences and events he witnessed to come up with his theories of the human psyche and explain the actions and mental states of those people who survived or made a difference even under the harshest of conditions. He attributes this goal as the reason he survived the holocaust. He gives us an account of his experiences in the Stellar work; "Man's search for meaning"

When we are no longer able to change a situation - we are challenged to change ourselves.” - Viktor Frankl

The branch of psychiatry that Frankl pioneered explains that most on man's neuroses and conditions are a result of the "lack of meaning" in his/her life. He uses the example of the 'Sunday neuroses' to explain his theory, the 'sinking feeling' most people get on sundays when they are relatively free of most work and get the blue's thinking about the week ahead or just from laying around inactive. He reasons that we are not powered by our instincts or drives, rather our primary motivation is to find a "meaning to our lives" ; How many of us can foresee ourselves lying on our deathbeds wishing we had more 'fun' or more 'pleasure' , More often than not most of people's underlying wants and needs are because they cannot rationalize what their existence on earth means, they are afraid of death because death means the termination of their soul on this earth without leaving any lasting legacy! They hate suffering because they cannot grasp the reason why suffering is imposed upon them. Making sense of prevailing crisis's results in the questions many human beings struggle with and more often than not some tend to take actions which in retrospect to themselves are not in sync with what they truly want "their innermost values or principles"

"He who has a why to live can bear almost any how " - Friedrich Nietzche


Viktor Frankl argues that man should not ask life what his existence in this planet means, but recognize that it is he indeed who is asked BY LIFE and the burden of responsibility falls on his shoulders. Indeed the phrase "God helps those who help themselves" has stronger connotations than that which is initially apparent. It is when we recognize that our existence in this planet is for a purpose great than 'OURSELVES' do things make sense to us. But this is were Frankl comes up with his most important observation that is relevant to us in this world.

"The meaning of life always changes, but it never ceases to be " - Viktor Frankl

We are a society confronted with change in every sense of the word. Change is very much like an organic entity; its tendrils weaving itself into every sphere of our life. Frankl observes that we can still find a purpose in our lives by three avenues

1) Creating a work or doing a deed
2) By experiencing something or encountering someone
3) By the attitude we take towards unavoidable suffering

Think of an event like 9/11 that resulted in soldiers went to foreign lands to fight for what they believed in; firefighters that gave up their lives and families, the inspired works of creative art (books, poems and movies) that were published and resonated with us 8 years after the event.

We then remember that each of us are unique; physically, mentally and even culturally. It is God's gift to us we take this uniqueness and make our existence in this world mean something to someone else. Self actualization should not be a goal in itself but rather a natural by product of our actions; too often life gives us clues that what we yearn for comes to us when we are not actively searching for it . Indeed self gratifying rewards are a by product of actions for a cause greater then the object of our yearning. It is also a testament to the uniqueness of each of us as individual human beings and the strength of our survival in this era.

The Craving

What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.”
Lord Byron (English Romantic poet and satirist, 1788-1824)

“Fame is a bee. / It has a song / It has a sting / Ah, too, it has a wing.”
Emily Dickinson (American Poet who has been called the New England mystic, 1830-1886)

If you come to fame not understanding who you are, it will define who you are.”
Oprah Winfrey (American television personality, Actress and Producer, b.1954)


Three generations of quotes about fame, each insightful in its own little way. “But what does fame have to do with Maximum Human Potential and my own life? “ You ask. “I’m not famous”

The quest for fame is internalized in a human being when,For e.g he buys a Lamborghini because he craves the attention he gets from it. Not because it’s his way of GENUINELY rewarding himself for his success born out of HARD WORK and his way of showing RESPECT TO HIMSELF/HERSELF for his/her ACTIONS.

The quest for fame encompasses many of a human’s internal defects on the quest to evolve or achieve happiness. A ‘bad boy rocker’ who associates the articles on his drug habits and womanizing ways with the attention he gets from other people is .... for all his apparent arrogance … putting his SELF ESTEEM and therby his character in the hands of those millions that seek to know more about his life. A consequence is that sometimes his music that he devoted endless hours in his parent’s garage perfecting suffers too and take a backstage to his fame.

A controversial celebrity example might be the relatively respectful attention the public gives to the ‘Brad Pitt-Angelina Jolie’ team. A duo who seem to love their profession and devotes attention to causes that are not ‘themselves’ including raising an international brood from impoverished nations and social activism. Although their social activities generate considerably less interest than the curiousity to the ‘super baby’ the ‘genetically gifted duo’ brought into the world. They conversely are referred to with more ‘respect’ than a Paris Hilton or as of late Britney Spears.

We are all ‘dopamine addicts’. The ‘rush’ we feel when we get a promotion/trophy (bf/gf)/ flashy car and gives us elevated status or ‘fame’ in our organisation/peer group/family and addicted to that rush we start to associate these to the strength of our character.
Addicted we crave bigger and better versions of these to protect our fragile inner selves that siphon its strength from the fuel of other people’s energies. But like the principle of weight lifting aptly show’s us “For bigger muscles, you need more weights/protein/carbs etc”
The point is that during this process (when fame becomes the foundation of our life) we are not happy. We instinctively know that the secrets to happiness are PRINCIPLES. Correct Principles that prophets strived to instill in us, our parents (depending on their own strength of character) passed on or tried to beat in to us. The folk who say that all individuals are essential born good tend to be mostly correct. The principles of happy and effective living are ingrained to our very body and soul.

I’ll detail in the upcoming blogs what these principles are. But think back to that sinking feeling you got whenever you indulged in an action that you KNEW without any doubt was not in tandem with these principles and try to figure out what those correct principles you knew for most of your adult life are.