Yesterday, Michael would’ve turned 59 years old.
I remember listening to Michael’s songs from a few neighbor’s boom box speakers, usually blasting loudly from a window ledge while the boom box rolled a cassette tape slowly in one mesmerizing circle letting out beautiful sounds. But for a girl like me, it was the safest way of listening to secular music-called the devil’s music by my father- without getting in trouble. To me, that devil’s music had a happy beat and made your body want to celebrate all day long- a stark comparison to the sad, serious and at times dreary music I heard in church. Being a teenager made Michael’s music that much more desirable. Not speaking English I really botched up the words, only to realize that mistake once my English improved greatly, here in America.
To me, Michael’s music will always remain on the “Top artists” category in my heart, with songs like: Billie Jean, Beat It, Bad, Man in the Mirror, Heal the World, Earth Song, They Don’t Really Care About Us and my favorite Black or White.
What a world we live in today. What a world I lived in yesterday. Why not heal the world? Why not heal the planet? Why bother with the color of our skin while completely ignoring the color of our hearts? I’ve seen pain. I’ve lived pain. I’ve went to the groceries with pain. I’ve joked with pain. I’ve eaten pain. I’ve looked in its eyes and it looked back at me. I saw it’s questions. I saw its despair. I saw its innocent victims. Nothing like the stupid causes I see today screamed out of overly spoiled and bored minds with too many privileges in their laps, causes linked dangerously close to Marxism and Communism, both systems from which tables I actually ate, a poor meal of poisoned foods well frosted with cruelty while void of human value.
Michael’s music videos speak a massage far stronger than most protests done on our streets. His style is uniquely genius. When I watch the “Black or White” music video I smile. There is a beauty- unless blind to it- in our differences. But hateful people choose to see potential dangers in this differences- most of the time dangers real only in one’s hateful and fearful mind- and act in the most cruel of way against its own kind.
Instead screaming your rights -and some are just down right ridiculous and silly issues- why not look around and see who’s in pain and do something! The world is tired of our opinions while starving for our mercy manifested in the action of love. Start with the Man in the Mirror and change will inevitably come. And stop giving power to hateful people with dark and empty souls.
Let’s start helping the ones in pain and we’ll start healing ourselves that way.
Mi sa adus la cunostinta azi un subiect interesant de fratele meu, Flesh, care este redactor la emisiunea: Radio Timisoara Vocea Evangheliei sau rve-timisoara.ro, la ora 8am, ora Romaniei.
“De ce fug romanii de romani cind sint in strainatate?” Citeva interviuri audio cu pareri bazate pe experiente personale a citorva din fratii si surorile mele printre care si a lui Michelle, nemtoica cu singe de roman, fata fratelui meu Sergiu. Este un subiect interesant din punctul meu de vedere, cu multe opinii:) In general eu am avut de aface cu romani cumsecade aici in America.
Interviurile sint cu Alin Damean, Michelle Damean, Delia Damean (Mal), Sergiu Damean si Carmen McKnight (Damean).
Voi reveni in viitor cu mai multe interviuri. Parerile voastre sint bine venite prin audio file:)
O zi buna tuturor Romanilor:)
In anii 1987-1993, cind eram copil, ne unitam mult la fotbal, adica echipa Steaua, care era stiuta ca echipa oamenilor de rind- sau cum Leo fratele meu zice “a oamenilor normali, usor fericiti si mereu ragusiti”. Dinamo, pe de alta parte, sau “ciinii rosii” era echipa “comunistilor, securistilor si oamenilor la care le placea tortura” ca sa cotez iara pe fratele meu, Leo:)
Zilele cind Gigi Hagi era admirat mult, si galeriile se auzeau print tot cartierul in timpul unui meci televizat au fost frumoase:) Eu preferam pe Belodedici- slabiciuni de adolescent- dar Duckadam mi-a umplut inima de respect. Am decenit portarita la meciurile noastre din fata blocului sau la scoala in clasa de sport datorita, lui Duckadam:)
Odata ajunsa in America, am realizat diferenta de bogatie intre un atlet in America si unul in Romania pe timpul “epocii de aur”. Diferenta mare. Dar imi aduc aminte cu drag, galeriile familiei si dicutii ca de exemplu: “Eu tin cu Hagi! Eu cu Lacatus! Eu cu Piturca!” Eu cu Belodedici. Gindeam eu in sinea mea cu zimbetul pe buze:)
Ma gindesc ca si voi ati avut jucatorii vostrii preferati, si va aduce-ti aminte cu drag de zilele glorioase a echipei de fotbal, Steaua.
P.S. Dinamo in loc a practica tactici se ocupa de mismasuri impotriva echipei Steaua.
O zi buna va doresc si multe binecuvintari de la Bunul Dumnezeu:)
Soccer, is known as the #1 sport in Europe, and that includes Romania. It’s known under the name of “footfall” or “fotbal” in Romania’s case. American football is a completely different sport than that of European soccer.
In Romania, back in the 80’s when I was a kid, there were two major teams- it could be said there was only one major team but I won’t. Steaua, or the best team in the whole country and Dinamo, an inferior version. These teams represented something: the regular folk, something along the lines of LLC Joe Regular Dude, in the case of Steaua, and on the other side, LLC Corruption and Proud of It, also nicknamed “the red dogs” which included the police and all corrupt communists in the case of Dinamo.
Performance wise, Steaua leaded with flying colors. Dinamo, who never won a championship, preferred to spend their time sabotaging Steaua instead of actually practicing and getting better in their soccer playing skills.
My family, myself included, rooted for Steaua -well…at least most of us. Gica Hagi was a favorite to most of my brothers and Miodrag Belodedici of yours truely:) Helmuth Duckadam, however, earned my respect as the best goalkeeper of all times, and soon after watching him play I became a goalie in our childish soccer games played in or around the apartment’s courtyard if not at school during sport class.
These great national celebrities- Steaua’s soccer players, among some- in real life didn’t have the wealth sports celebrities have here in America. The socialistic communistic system didn’t allow it. (Nadia Comaneci came and settled in America and that was part of the reason). Fame, according to the system was just another tool to promote a political system, a system whom in reality didn’t work at all for 90% of it’s population.
But I can say without hesitation Steaua’s soccer team’s players during the 80s were hardworking and very talented bunch. With every game, waves of laud cheers were heard echoing throughout the city, a memory I’m fond of. I’m sure after you read these lines some of you will feel the same:)
While traveling a naive road, almost blind to the Romanian traditions or the church’s traditions, I always had very pleasant encounters with great people, such as sister Didina. Although far older than me- my mother’s age- any encounters with sister Didina were nice, polite and full of mutual respect.
I was baptized in her bathtub followed by a nice feast in her living room, organized and assembled 100% by sister Didina. Even the bouquet of flowers after words was purchased by her, a personal detail that meant so much to me.
During our wedding, she let us borrow her paper fan to cool Chet off a bit, who was not used to the hot and humid weather of Romanian summers, or the lengthy church service.
It’s the small things that make a difference in one’s life and it’s people like sister Didina, that bring rays of sunshine in ones life:)
I’ll be forever grateful for people like sister Didina:)
Nu ma intereseaza versiunile negative a altor persoane cu privire la sora Didina. Pentru mine, sora Didina a fost si va ramane o femeie cumsecade cu un aer de doamna.
La ea in vana eu am facut botezul. Ea a organizat totul: of de la mincarea foarte buna, prajiturile excelente, pina la buchetele de flori primite dupa botez:) La masa a fost o atmosfera placuta, cu umor si convorbiri interesante si am ramas recunoscatoare efortului sorei Didina pina in prezent. Desi copil, in comparatie cu sora Didina, intotdeauna mi-a vorbit frumos si cu respect.
In timpul nuntii, tot ea ne-a dat un evantai care a fost de ajutor lui Chet, neobisnuit cu caldura verii romanesti, cu programul lung de biserica si lipsa de aer conditionat.
O vad si acuma, cu parul scurt si cret, cu zimbet pe buze si gust frumos la imbracaminte. Realizez cit de putina cunostinta in domeniul obiceiurilor culturale sau bisericesti am avut (si inca mai am) la vremea respectiva si cit de mult a facut un cuvint frumos, o incurajare si un gest placut.
Ii multumesc Bunului Dumnezeu pentru oameni cumsecade, ca sora Didina.
Va doresc o zi buna la toti si Domnul cu noi.
I’ve been meditating and researching the details of this vision and I’ve come to the conclusion that it was not a positive experience. A lot of hidden negative clues have been splashed through the whole thing.
I am changing my original opinions on the vision. I had the choice of deleting the post or admitting I got this one wrong. I chose the latter. We don’t always get it right. In this particular case, I didn’t. The meaning is dark and has meant to frighten me and keep me in a fear zone, however, I refuse to be intimidated. This is a good case of seeing in the spirit realm, but dealing with the dark end of the deal, not just the good stuff.
I wish I could pick only the good, but the truth is, I can’t. So I have to learn and ask questions and reach out to others that have had more experience and look at the obvious as well. Hidden spirits using the images of loved one is like an ultimate betrayal, in my opinion.
I’ll continue to research and learn so next time I’ll catch it right away.
Have a good day.
How do you kill death? By living. No, I didn’t say by surviving and being miserable. By living and living a contented form of happiness.
I had a night vision last night. It was so real, when I woke up I was deeply surprised the whole thing was a vision only. Very much so. All details of home and family were as they are in real life, down to colors, shapes and the floor plan.
When I don’t feel well I sleep in the living-room, on our gray futon. Last night, out of the blue I began feeling violent nausea waves (maybe from the heat). I tossed and turned- as one often does when not feeling at its best- only to fall asleep eventually. That’s when it came- the vision- real as it can be.
I was lying on the gray futon, very ill. Merrill, my oldest son came out of one bedroom- where he sleeps when he visits- dressed and ready to leave back to his place. (Not visiting at present). Bending down he gave me a big hug.
“Love you mom. So good to see you! Have a good day.”
“Help me, Merrill.” But my efforts came out like a blurred mumble. He made it to the door, about to leave but hesitated, then came back and hugged me again repeating his love.
“Help me, Merrill.”
“What’s that mom?” I had no strength left, so I gathered what little I had and said.
“Get dad.” Instantly my boy knew something was off. He disappeared through the master bedroom door while my other children walked in the living room and had a seat on my right, on the leather sofa. I began vomiting non-stop, a foamy white stuff, and kept vomiting.
Then I saw him- Fanu- my ten year old brother who died a few years back.
“It’s not a good sign.” I though. “I’m hallucinating.” But Fanu’s partial ghost (smoke vapor) like appearance changed. He became a solid and complete form, a ten year old, very healthy looking boy and took a seat on the side of my bed looking me in the eyes the way I did when he laid dying, suffering in his hospital bed. There was kindness there and just a certainty. He reached out and took my right hand and I marveled to the fact that after all these years I was able to feel my brother again. I held his hand and kept looking into his eyes. I knew. He was there for me.
“Chet- who by now came into the living-room and stood next to Merrill- Fanu’s here.” I said.
“Fanu, can you believe how much your brother (blood relation to my son Merrill) grew? Can you believe how much your sister grew as well? And you’ve never met your little brother, Alex.” Fanu looked at Merrill, Meleah and Alex then turned to me. He had a mission, he was there for me. He never let go of my hand for the rest of the vision. Supported by his hand I got up- my soul separated from my body- and floating only inches above ground, I let Fanu lead me away from the apartment through the exit door. I heard the sudden cry of my family behind me as they realized I just died, but never looked back.
We floated above ground along the hallways and all the way outside of the apartment building, down the sidewalks, passed stores and buildings into a foreign part of town/world.
“I still feel nausea, Fanu.”
“Your soul has the memory of your body. There’s an adjustment time. But you’re not feeling anything anymore. (Meaning no more pain).” All this was communicated without moving our lips. As we moved/ flew barely inches above ground I noticed how normal things looked, except the souls- dead people- that were quiet and minding their own business, dressed in clothes. The battered bodies were left behind on earth so they looked normal. We made it through a clothing wearhouse. Fanu picked a cell phone off the floor and tossed it gently on a pile of brand new clothes, waiting their turn to be moved onto store shelves. The action attracted attention of a living (body and soul), young lady with a small ponytail, and she began following.
“Do something, Fanu.”
With telekinesis powers he shut the door, shutting the girl behind as we continued our journey to…and that’s when I realize. I had no idea where Fanu was taking me. Then I woke up.
For some of you this is nothing short of an interesting event that happen, for other is a scary and somewhat hard to believe occurrence. Yet others may feel sad, thinking I’m going to die soon.
I’ll die one day, but not yet, not yet. The vomit is a release of illness/ toxic thoughts/ toxic emotions process. I was told that a curse of death was put on me, but God has other plans. Fanu, in my understanding was Jesus who showed up in a form I would not be frightened of, took me by the hand when I was too ill to stand on my own and is moving (along earth still, not up in the heavens yet) to another area/another destination.
This is how I understand- with the help of a few friends- God’s cleansing away all disease/toxins and helping me along to another destination in my life. If you have other insights to this vision, please don’t keep it to yourself but share it with me:)
Thank you God for your help and protection!!!!!! Love you!