Alan Watts On Jesus

Alan Watts On Jesus

The House on The Hill

http://www.publicbookshelf.com/romance/house-hill/

http://www.amazon.com/The-House-Hill-ebook/dp/B003VS0IOQ/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1342281063&sr=1-2&keywords=The+House+On+The+Hill#_

Enjoy learning how romantic backgrounds can combine with history. After a visit with an old childhood haunt - the house on the hill - things would never be the same. Follow Jenna on her quest to save the old house and bring two lost loves together.
Contents

by Linda M Bartash-Dawley

Chapter# / Title
Dedication
Note From The Author
1: The Bright Womens Dictionary of Thought
To my parents, Richard and Joanne, who inspired my love of history through many visits to historic sites during my childhood;






— To Carol Anne, who is both my sister and best friend, and to her husband Bill and their son Matthew;





— To my brother, Paul, whose happy smile and laughter reminds me to enjoy the humor of life. And, that there is no such thing as disabilities —they are abilities in disguise;





— And to all my online computer buddies, friends, and relatives, who encouraged me throughout this process.





— To all those who support historic preservation, and with special mention to the Genesee Lighthouse and its dedicated volunteers in Rochester, N.Y., and for which I have volunteered as a tower guide for 10 years.





This book is in memory of Lily, who was the rabbit version of Jenna's cat, Lucy. In their own way, pets provide support to us, just as people do.





And Lily was my first.





























Note from the Author





I feel fortunate to be able to say it was my dad who taught me to read. However, I believe God inspired me with the talent and imagination to be able to write.

As children, my sister and I were forever making up stories, living through mysteries and adventures in our own special world. Our imaginations were bright and focused on fun. As adults, we unfortunately lose much of that spontaneity. Still, sometimes it seems to come alive through fiction. I just needed inspiration, and as fate would have it, my sister was the one who got me going again— unintentionally, actually.

One day a few months ago I began thinking about those things that single people—particularly young women—face in today's fast-paced world. Soon I began to create characters in my mind who lived through similar circumstances. A few days later, in a flurry of inspiration, I wrote forty pages, mostly about a character named Jenna, and her best friend, Colleen.

As once advised by a writing mentor, I simply allowed my character do her own thing. And that she did—very nicely. Suddenly, before I knew it, I found her working to save an old house —one of my own passions, but something I have yet to accomplish. And I began to admire her for it, almost as if she were a real person in my life.

It seems that more and more historic buildings are lost every day. Either they burn, they are torn down, or they otherwise succumb to some cruel act of fate. Six years ago, one phone call led me to visit an old historic house. When I arrived, I discovered a demolition crew already hard at work. They didn't seem to mind the extra attention as I watched two men taking apart a beautiful entranceway, which otherwise would have been destroyed. Afterwards, they went to work trying to save some fancy molding around the doors, perhaps with the idea of re-using it in their own homes. I began to wonder, Can someone demolish — yet still save — a house? So it seemed—at least, that day.

As sunlight glimmered throughout the old house, making even some of its now-dingy features seem still impressive, I noticed that the molding around the doors imitated columns. The knotty wood floor took on a warm, reddish glow, and the swirls etched into the wood along the staircase seemed most impressive in a shadowy picture where the sun's glow failed to wash out the many details of this soon-to-be-gone home.



For days afterwards, this haunted me —like a scar that wouldn't heal. I just could not put that last image of this old house out of my memory. And I felt guilty, primarily for not knowing what I could do about it. I could think of no way to save this piece of history. Fate had again been cruel.

As a child, I remember seeing many homes like this one—pieces of history that would eventually be lost. The place where my parents held their wedding reception has long since been demolished. And the last stop on the long-remembered trolley line would soon disappear too, as would the town hall in which I attended meetings for years.

Naturally, every reader will not be able to relate to a single, 20-something young woman, such as my main character, Jenna. But I trust that everyone will be able to empathize with some facets of Jenna's life and dreams. And most of all, I hope readers will be inspired the next time they see some historic site, at least to appreciate it more.

Although I have not yet saved anything historic, perhaps someday I will be able to do so, much as Jenna sets about to accomplish in the following pages. May you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.





















~ 1 ~

The Bright Women's Dictionary of Thought





Sometimes I think perhaps life would be a lot easier for us all if we were born with instruction manuals. These manuals would not include tips on accomplishing the routine and mundane tasks, such as changing diapers and giving baths, but would instead lend us some assistance with understanding how we think. What exactly goes through our minds? And why? Why don't we all think alike? Why do we become angry at situations that are seemingly invisible to others? What are the real definitions of the words we utter? Of course, it's not always what we say that is so important, but how we say it.

Members of the other gender will never understand. It seems to be tradition: men cannot understand women, and women cannot understand men. In our own funny way, we try so hard to understand them, and then, in frustration, we simply give up and call them crazy. Or, as ladies, we tell the men they are from the planet Mars, which is a long way to travel without asking for directions.

But those instruction manuals were just not included. Naturally, there would be a mad rush to the bookstore if there were such a thing. And that would mean less stopping for advice—although I must admit I do enjoy stepping in occasionally to listen to people who need some. It makes me feel good to remember that no one is perfect and I feel less lonely in my quest for answers.

Every so often, my brother decides he needs to understand the opposite sex a little better. Of course, these moments are rare. Sometimes he seems to be fairly good at this skill of understanding us ladies, but at other times, he simply overlooks the obvious. This morning, he stopped by the insurance agency where I work, which is not a usual thing for him to do. I saw his face by the doorway before he noticed me, and his expression reminded me of a little puppy pouting. Something was wrong, and I imagined I could guess what it was.

"Wife problems?" I asked, smiling warmly. Being his sister, I always believed I was an authority on him, having grown up with this handsome, fun-loving, brown-haired, brown-eyed boy, who is now at least five inches taller than I am. This should be a piece of cake, I thought, as I said, "Take a seat."

My chair is nothing exceptional. It is a straight-backed, stationary, black plastic body holder — nothing more. There are only two extra chairs in the entire office. One is usually pushed securely against the wall, partly because the back part of the chair is ready to fall off. Of course, as my boss so often reminds me, there just aren't lots of funds for nice amenities such as new chairs. The insurance company where I work is staffed by just the agent and me—and from what I have been able gather during the nearly twelve months I have worked here, it doesn't seem do a lot of business—just enough to get by. Still, all in all, the place has a somewhat cheery feel to it, and the customers who come here seem very loyal. Apparently they think of their agent as a friend. And I feel privileged to be part of a business where we get to see pictures of our customers’ babies and hear of their family trips to Orlando, Florida and to the Adirondacks. This almost makes up for the awful chairs—well, almost.

Our second stand-by chair has wheels, which is the best part about it. It usually sits behind a vacant desk—the third one in the office, used mainly for storage and for customers to sign paperwork. When no one is looking, I sometimes sit in it, and cheerfully roll along, stopping at the copier, the bulk rate postage meter machine, and the microwave, which is perched haphazardly on top of a short file cabinet. The worst part about this chair is that it's made of hard, fake leather, which has several rips in it that electrical tape cannot seem to tame. Consequently, the thing pokes at my pantyhose and seems to scratch most everything with which it comes in contact.

My evaluation was that both chairs needed to be put to sleep, permanently. Where do sick chairs go, anyway? Must they wait curbside for their ride to destruction? Surely they must have been good chairs at one time. I often rationalize that perhaps my boss keeps them for sentimental reasons—certainly he doesn't keep them for their looks.

My brother, Ben, picked the chair with wheels. After rolling over to my desk, he began, "I don't know why she's mad—but she is!"

It saddened me to admit this, but Ben seldom visits me unless he wants a favor. And today it is obviously a little marriage counseling, which of course I should be great at, since I am nowhere near being married.

Putting his feet up on my desk, he knocked over a messy stack of mail that needed to have been sent yesterday. I laughed, and put my feet up, too. No one was around to mind my casualness. It occurred to me that I had spent more time staring blankly at the row of sunflowers growing in front of the cornfield across the street, than with customers. Of course, the fact there are cornfields right across from us says it all anyway: cheap rent, lots of parking, and no people in town. I often laugh to myself, thinking this must be the easiest job in the world.

"I was going to go out with the guys —got Buffalo Bills tickets and everything," Ben continued. "Then she got mad because it was on our anniversary. I thought our anniversary was the day after," he confessed.

I have to laugh at men. They seem to keep no recollection of birthdays or anniversaries, or people in general. My father asked my mother once why she was buying a big sheet cake. She responded, "It's for Jenna's birthday."

To that, he replied, "Jenna? Ohhhhhhh—Jenna. Is her birthday coming up?"

"Don't you remember me pushing you aside to drive to the hospital, because I thought you weren't going fast enough," asked my mother, who was beginning to get annoyed.

The mention of the drive finally brought back his memory. "Oh, that eighty-five-mile ride! Yes, I remember that!"

Car stuff; of course, men will remember that. Talk about anything else, they act as if they've just met you.

"So, I asked her what she wanted me to do about it," my brother continued, "and she says, 'Oh, nothing'. So that means I'm off the hook, right? — maybe? Please say that's right."

I realized that this was what Ben wanted to believe — that she had let him off the hook. He just looked at me, waiting for some affirmation that what he hoped was true.

"Ummmm, let me see. What is the definition of nothing? Should I look it up in the dictionary of Bright Women's Thoughts?" I replied. This is my little-sister attitude. I suppose it's not my best feature. I am just annoyed that my brother, being five years older than me, still needs explanations for some things that he should have figured out by now. I brought my face a little closer to his. I couldn't believe I had to explain this to him. "Nothing means that she would like to turn you upside-down and shake you. Maybe at least a few twenty dollar bills would fall out—or maybe your wallet, which would be even better. Nothing means that when you come home, your pillow and blanket will be in the garage."

I reached across, shaking him a little for effect, but more just to tease him. After all, isn't that what little sisters are for?

"So, what do I do?" he asked, obviously ready for any advice.

This was finally my cue, where I could step in and help. I didn't hesitate. "You have to skip the game, of course. Sorry. I know how much you like football, but this is more important. Go shopping. Yeah, I know you hate it. Most guys do. You have to do the typical stuff—some flowers, candy. Take her out to dinner. Spoil her," I said, feeling a little like an advice columnist. But I couldn't resist adding, "Then she'll move the pillow and blanket out of the garage. Well, probably..."

Then I stopped talking and grinned. Being a sister was way too much fun.

"Okay," he replied, acting as if a chore had been handed to him. Of course, I really think he knew in his heart what he should have done, even before he came to me.

I tried to add a nice gem of conversation I had heard —I thought from him —to soften him up. "Didn't you tell me once that you loved Rachel so much that you hoped you would never make her unhappy?"

"Well..." he said, thoughtfully.

I thought a little myself, and then realized it wasn't Ben who had said that. It was one of my male buddies from high school, whom I had seen when I stopped in at the supermarket around midnight the other night—the one night I didn't want to see anyone. I had gone to the store looking as if I had just gotten out of bed—probably because I had just gotten out of bed. I was looking for some over-the-counter pills that might knock out a hard-hitting headache that refused to go away. Imagine my surprise at running into someone I knew at that odd hour. And, of course, it was in a moment where I was totally deprived of makeup. Oh, well. He didn't scream or anything, or run for cover, so maybe my face had some saving features.

The conversation seemed to make my brother feel some better. At least now he had a mission. Was it really that impossible a task? I knew deep down that he and his wife were inseparable—or as they say in the movies: MFEO (made for each other).

I also hoped he had thought of talking to me because he missed his little sister. As we both rose, he hugged me and said, "Thanks, sis. You're the best! What can I ever do to repay you?"

"Well, if I ever get married, you know I'm coming to you for man advice, and you better be able to give good advice," I said, with a laugh.

Affectionately, he rubbed his big hands on my head, in an effort to mess up my long blonde hair.

"Well, get back to work!" he said, saluting before closing the door behind him.

I returned the salute, finally remembering that I was still at work.

















~2~


Neighbors





Work almost always goes well. The question is, will it be as good when I get home?

I live in a 1940's apartment complex that was recently permanent-sided in a dull gray color. There are twenty identical buildings in a circle, and rarely ever enough parking. The newest resident is a commercial trucker, who tends to bring his big 18-wheeler in and park across a whole line of spaces, apparently just to say "hi" to his family and get a nice send-off and some food before he goes on his way to and from work.

Ten people live in my building. They are a mix of retired and early 20-somethings. Even though, at 25, I am a mid-twenty-something, I don't feel as if I fit into any particular category.

I like the older people better. The twenty-somethings, at least the ones in my building, seem to be very much into drinking and loud music, and whatever else they feel is dangerous. So, of course that often means seeing the flashing red lights of police cars outside the building. Sometimes I secretly wish to myself that the police would do what I've always hoped for—take them away. At this point I really don't care where they go. But the bars where they belong should be vertical and not horizontal, like the places where drinks can be purchased.

Three nights ago —early morning actually, at 3:15 a.m. — one of my twenty-something neighbors rang my doorbell. Eleven times. I'm not joking. It woke me from a good, solid, dreamless sleep. My first thought was, "The building is on fire!" as I pulled on sweatpants and a sweatshirt, grabbed my cat, which was the only one of us truly awake at that time, and ran to the front door.

"Hi there," greeted the young neighbor, with such a slurred voice that I was surprised he could even stand. But his stance was crooked, anyway. "I bet I can break your heart," he stated matter-of-factly.

In spite of being tired and barely conscious myself, I quickly replied, "Well, I bet I can break your legs —both of them! Want me to?"

My cat looked at me a little strange, squinting her eyes as if in disbelief. And then I realized what I had said. Do others ever have that problem? We say things, and then think to ourselves, well, I surely would never do that. And, then we wonder: where do these words come from? Mostly it's just my strange sense of humor (which I inherited from my father) that gets released from its cage once in a while and is aimed at unsuspecting people.

Anyway, for that moment, I was faced with a very drunk man whom I did not trust. Seeing that my apartment door and the main entrance were both open and vulnerable, I knew I was not going to let this man in, even though he did live in the same building. So I narrowed my eyes and said, "Did you hear what I said?"

He looked at me just as strangely as did my cat. And he sauntered off, apparently forgetting that he lived there.

Two days later I saw the guy limping back on crutches and with a black eye. I heard from another neighbor that our sweet 80-something neighbor, Betty, in the building next door, heard about a dozen rings on her doorbell. Then seeing him at her door, trying to flirt with her, she and her roommate, another 80-something lady named Viola, attacked him with canes and purses. I guess instead of threatening him, I should have warned him against the neighbors next door.



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2: Neighbors
3: Cordless Phones and Dumpsters
4: Three Times a Bridesmaid
5: Houses
6: The Haunted House on the Hill
7: Invisible
8: Caffeine Withdrawal
9: Adoption Days
10: Plain Jane
11: The Single Girls Guide to Kitchen Duties
12: Dating
13: High School Dares
14: Shoes
15: Pen Pals
16: The Right Reason to be Star Struck
17: Talking to Strangers
18: The Wrecking Ball
19: The Tool Belt
20: The Little Things
21: Doorbells
22: Rooftops
23: The Ring
24: That Look
25: Love
26: Boyfriends
27: The House
28: The Ring
More Links

Aldous Huxley Interview part 1

Alduous Huxley The Doors of Perception

First of all your a COMPLETE MORON. AND deserve to be a slave or an indentured serf for the rest of your life and your familys life... Do the research on what the so called elites have done to the common people through out history. By the way Aldous huxley was a member of the Tavistock society and had great disdain for the common people.. To answer you question on why its a problem to be an elitist... You have to be a MURDERING SOCIOPATH...


 So little really changes over time, we are no closer to finding and actually following through on universally beneficial solutions to hunger, poverty and violence, despite all our technology, money, resources, laws, rules, schools, we are stranded still in the miseries of Huxley's decadant brazen World. Now worse, we spend more on milititary and police projects and less on education today, in reciprocal arrangement to spending during Orwell's Days. (Video 2)


 Huxley came from a famous family but elitest, he hung around in intellectual circles of whom most believed in a form of socialism.. be it unlike Orwell they were'nt living with the great unwashed, also its the Bloomsberry Set not Tavistock Set, he then went to America + again associated with fellow writers intellectuals in America but elitest, he could have lived in the family pile but lived fairly humbly considering his family background.  (Video 3)

Sybille Bedford Biographer

Alduous Huxley The Doors of Perception

Alduous Huxley The Ultimate Revolution

Aldous Huxley author of Brave New World speaking at U.C. Berkeley in 1962. Aldous Huxley uses this speaking opportunity to outline his vision for the 'ultimate revolution', a scientific dictatorship where people will be conditioned to enjoy their servitude, and will pose little opposition to the 'ruling oligarchy', as he puts it. He also takes a moment to compare his book, "Brave New World," to George Orwell's "1984" and considers the technique in the latter too outdated for actual implementation.







"There will be, in the next generation or so, a pharmacological method of making people love their servitude, and producing dictatorship without tears, so to speak, producing a kind of painless concentration camp for entire societies, so that people will in fact have their liberties taken away from them, but will rather enjoy it, because they will be distracted from any desire to rebel by propaganda or brainwashing, or brainwashing enhanced by pharmacological methods. And this seems to be the final revolution." -- Aldous Huxley, Tavistock Group, California Medical School, 1961

Alduous Huxley video enslavement of the Future

Thank god for aldous huxley... he really tried to warn us... But not because he was a genius. He knew what was around the corner through his secret society The Fabian Society. Orwell came from this place too. They knew what was on the agenda by the powers that be and their families, who are sadly the same ppl today shepherding us and our opinions.


ilsy74 1 month ago

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 I'm afraid I don't think Huxley gets at all specific enough in his criticisms of the United States. I see where he's going but he still remains very general. I wouldn't say this is a great interview by any means and it's not Mike Wallace's fault. He really puts Aldous in the spotlight and Aldous doesn't really come through with sufficient details.

cutis1000 1 month ago

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Excellent insight into the evolution of more and more refined (and less and less coercive) types of totalitarian states

atrios28 1 month ago

ET's manipulating our perceptions of them

http://wwwmacsufonews.blogspot.co.uk/

Of course, the stubborn, mule-like old geezers of Ufology who are forever stuck in that “ET is visiting us in metal ships to steal our DNA” mentality will tell you that the beliefs of the ancients – concerning the perceived nature of the phenomenon: fairies, demons or whatever- was based on their inability to grasp that they were really seeing visitors from the stars. So, they incorporated the encounters into their existing beliefs relative to the likes of demons, goblins, trolls, fairies, djinn, pixies, etc.


But, here’s the important thing that so many of the old geezers forget (or refuse) to address: what if we, today, are doing exactly what those people who came before us did, all those centuries earlier? That’s to say: what if we are perceiving the phenomenon as extraterrestrial purely and simply because the notion of ET is as plausible and acceptable to us - and on a large scale, too - as demons and fairies were to the people of the past?

Maybe none of us – whether 3,000 years ago, 500 years ago, in the 1950s, or whenever - have ever really managed to fully understand the true nature of what is in our midst and what it wants from us. But, many have valiantly tried to come up with solutions. And here’s the most important part of all: the phenomenon clearly seems to understand that human perception and belief changes over time, and, as a result, it manifests in forms suitable for, and relevant to, the people of the day.

Not only that: it provokes encounters to encourage and bolster the then-current trend of belief. Presumed random events along the lines of (A) a motorist coming across an “alien scientist” scooping up a bit of dirt at the side of the road; or (B) someone who “gets lost” in the woods in 16th Century England and ends up taken to the “Fairy Kingdom” are anything but random.

They don’t just smack of, or suggest, careful manipulation. That’s exactly what they are. Something is out there and it wants us, today, to dearly believe it is extraterrestrial in origin. In much the same way that it wanted the people of the past to believe it was relative to their own theories and ideas concerning supernatural entities.


Saucers of Manipulation Pt. 2
By Nick Redfern
In Part-1 of my Saucers of Manipulation article, I noted: “The late Mac Tonnies – author of The Cryptoterrestrials and After the Martian Apocalypse – once said: ‘I find it most interesting that so many descriptions of ostensible aliens seem to reflect staged events designed to misdirect witnesses and muddle their perceptions.’ Mac was not wrong. In fact, he was right on target. One can take even the most cursory glance at ufological history and see clear signs where events of a presumed alien and UFO nature have been carefully controlled, managed and manipulated by the intelligence behind the phenomenon.”


And, I further added: “But, why would such entities – or whatever the real nature of the phenomenon may be – wish to make themselves known to us in such curious, carefully-managed fashion? Maybe it’s to try and convince us they have origins of the ET variety, when they are actually…something very different…”

So, if “they” aren’t alien, after all, then what might “they” be? And if the non-ET scenario has validity, why the desire to manipulate us and convince us of the extraterrestrial angle? Let’s take a look at a few possibilities.











Now, before people get their blood-pressure all out of control, I am the first to admit that what follows amounts to theories on the part of those that have addressed them. The fact is that when it comes to fully understanding the origin of the UFO phenomenon…well…there aren’t any facts! What we do have are ideas, theories, suggestions and beliefs. Anyone who tells you otherwise is 100 percent wrong, mistaken, deluded or lying. No-one in Ufology – ever – has offered undeniable 100 percent proof that any theory is correct beyond all doubt. And provided we understand that theorizing, postulating and suggesting do not (and cannot) equate to proving, then there’s no problem. So, with that said, read on.

Let’s first go back to Mac Tonnies and his cryptoterrestrials. Regardless of whether or not Mac was onto something with his theory that UFOs might originate with a very ancient, impoverished race that lives alongside us in stealth – and that masquerades as extraterrestrial to camouflage its real origins – at least he admitted it was just a theory. He didn’t scream in shrill tones that he was definitely correct. And he didn’t suggest that if you disagreed with him you needed to be ejected from the ufological play-pen. So many within that same play-pen – for whom, for some baffling reason, shouting louder somehow means: “I’m closer to the truth than you!” - could learn a lesson or several from Mac.
 
Rather than originating on far-off worlds, Tonnies carefully theorized, the cryptoterrestrials may actually be a very old and advanced terrestrial body of people, closely related to the Human Race, who have lived alongside us in secret – possibly deep underground – for countless millennia. In addition, Mac suggested that (a) today, their numbers may well be waning; (b) their science may not be too far ahead of our own – although they would dearly like us to believe they are our infinitely-advanced, technological-masters; (c) to move amongst us, and to operate in our society, they ingeniously pass themselves off as aliens; and (d) they are deeply worried by our hostile ways – hence the reason why they are always so keen to warn us of the perils of nuclear destruction and environmental collapse: they are grudgingly forced to share the planet with us, albeit in a distinctly stealthy and stage-managed fashion.


Moving on from beings of the past to entities of the future, Joshua P. Warren, investigator and author of numerous things of a paranormal nature, has addressed the highly controversial angle that the UFOnauts are our future selves: Time Travelers. And, in doing so, Josh has focused deeply on the mysterious matter of the macabre Men in Black.

Josh asks of their odd attire: “Why do the MIB dress like this? Why do we call them the Men in Black? Well, if a man puts on a black suit, with a black hat and walks down the street in 1910, and you see that man, you would probably notice him. But, would you think there was anything too extraordinary, or too out-of-place about him? No: you probably would not. And if you saw a man walking down the street in 2010 wearing a black suit and a black hat, would you notice him? Probably, yes. But, would you think you think there was necessarily anything too extraordinary? No.”

What this demonstrates, says Warren, is that the outfit of the black suit and the black hat is flexible enough to work within the social context of the culture of at least a century or more. And so, therefore, if you are someone who is in the time-travel business – and within the course of your workday, you’re going to go to 1910 to take care of some business, and then a couple of hours later you’re going to be in 1985, and then a few hours after that you’ll be heading to 2003 – you don’t want to be in a position of having to change your clothes three times. So, what do you do? In Warren’s hypothesis, you dress in an outfit that is going to allow you access to the longest period of time within which that same outfit may not draw too much unwelcome attention.


“And that’s why,” suggests Warren “in and around the whole 20th Century, it just so happens that the black suit and the black hat will work for them.”

And, if you don’t want to give away who you really are, encouraging the idea that you are extraterrestrial, goblin-like or supernatural - rather than future-terrestrial – would make a great deal of sense. If, of course, the theory has merit!

Then there is probably the most controversial angle of all: UFOs are from Hell…

Dr. Nelson Pacheco – a former Principle Scientist with the Supreme Headquarters, Allied Powers, Europe (SHAPE), Technical Center – and Tommy Blann, of the U.S. Air Force, said of the UFO controversy in their book, Unmasking the Enemy: “…we propose that the ‘reality’ behind the UFO phenomenon…is due to a manifestation of non-human preternatural consciousness…the purpose being to slowly condition our minds through subtle deception to accept a false belief, while undermining our rational thought processes and our human spirit.” Indeed, Pacheco and Blann were clear in their belief that UFOs have nothing less than demonic origins. And others concur.