Over the weekend I finished watching on Netflix the new X-files episodes from last season, it bought back some good old memories of the original series.
Especially the one episode that talked about putting Alien DNA into humans via vaccines or other injectables. Years ago I had written about those same possibilities, and this new X-file continued to explore the real possibility that this could or has happened. It again looked at the Smallpox vaccine as the entry point of enough alien DNA to slightly change some of us and make us different from the vast balance of the human race. This could do two things, protect those from a coming plague or trigger at a critical point the sudden end of the target humans lives who were injected with the Alien- foreign DNA.
This Project/ Agenda could be driven by a group of aliens and or just a mad human group wanting to reduce the ballooning human population. Chances are this agenda is not what the vast majority of humans would consider good for the enhancement of the human race, but who really knows. In the face of over-population, climate change (global warming) and the constant need to create death and mayhem on a vast scale, the future of the human race is not looking bright and the stability of this planet has run past it tipping point.
Assuming for a minute this is an alien project it would make sense for them to try to make some of us more compatible to a hybrid (human/alien) population, a population that has been rumored to have existed for over 70 years. Many of us have something called Junk DNA in our Genes. I believe it’s not junk and these particles of strange proteins will change us at a critical time into either a new Earth Being or a lessor sub-species to serve the Hybrid race.
I think Chris Carter is a deep end experiencer of the Alien ways and his X-files series is providing entertainment and basic truths about our real reality.
Sleep tight – Junk DNA is more than junk and X-files is more than entertainment
At our January meeting of the NM UFO Paranormal Forum, we hosted the Lady from Durango, CO. She opened her heart to us all as she spoke about her amazing journey on the edge of human reality. Niara Terela Isley wrote a book where the core of the book was centered on a 3-month period of missing time. But she came to find out she had encounters most of her life and may very well have been part of a cosmic group called the Lyrans.
During Niara’s early years, she endured several brutal abduction scenarios at the hands of alien and military group working together to explore the amazing powers of the human mind and other human-sourced energies.
As you read the book, you deeply feel the intensity of Niara’s physical and emotional being as she explores the whys of this very strange journey. There are three chapters of her abduction hypnosis and one chapter with the famous (late) Budd Hopkins.
The book includes the negative world of the human abduction, but Niara has showed us a path to heal and embrace the new reality, the new earth, a new path.
The journey in this book covers a vast area of knowledge such as alien lover, strange pregnancy, mind control, military experiences, dangers to human freedoms, Star Wars, an alien invasion, politics, cosmic spiritual, mainstream religion and many more topics that prove what I have said for years, it’s all connected. Our reality is truly not what it seems and it’s a totally layered existence, make up of sad, happy and really amazing. Her book is three books in one, 498 pages of small print, great reading and a must read in my world.
Sleep tight, for there are people out there who are figuring it out.
October 8, 2012
‘Ancient Knowledge’ is a mind-blowing film series that explores ancient mysteries encoded in the symbols we see all around us.
This segment deals with Consciousness, Sacred Geometry and Cymatics, an alternative healing practice using a distinct form of sound therapy, based on the assumption that human cells, organs and tissues have each a natural resonant frequency which change when perturbed by illness. (Needless to say, this modality is not accepted by modern medicine).
Here is a Full List of the Series and all of the FKTV URLs where the episodes can be viewed:
– Ancient Knowledge Part 1
Consciousness, Sacred Geometry, Cymatics?and the Illusion of Reality (Rare Footage)
– Ancient Knowledge Part 2
The Fibonacci Sequence, Golden Ratio,?Phi in Nature, DNA and the “Fingerprint of God”
– Ancient Knowledge Part 3
Pyramids, Monuments and Megaliths, Ley Lines?and Earth’s Energy Grid
– Ancient Knowledge Part 4
The Real Secret Of How The Pyramids Were Built & Coral Castle
– Ancient Knowledge Part 4.5
Scientific & Historical Misconceptions, Suppression and Manipulation of Info
– Ancient Knowledge Part 5
Summary: Magnetic Forces, Sacred Sciences, Anti-Gravity
Uploaded by KilluminatiTheMovie
January 17, 2012
Solving ancient mysteries Part 1. “The Ancients” knew much more than given credit for regarding Life, The Universe, Astronomy, Advanced Mathematics, Magnetism, Healing, Unseen Forces etc.
Encoded knowledge is information that is conveyed in signs and symbols and we can find this knowledge all over the world. All these ancient sightings and geometric patterns (Sacred Geometry) symbolize unseen forces at work. We are being lied to by the media. Modern archaeologists don’t know what they’re talking about. “The Ancients” were not stupid or primitive. We just failed to decode this knowledge conveyed in signs, symbols and ancient artwork. This kind of information is kept hidden from the public.
Scientists don’t know what holds the universe together, the answer is sound and unseen forces. Matter is governed by sound frequencies. There is much more to life than we can perceive with our 5 senses. The question then becomes “who or what governs unseen forces?” What is behind the symmetry throughout nature? (Golden Ratio, Phi, Fibonacci Sequence etc.) It simply cant be just coincidence, in my opinion there is an intelligent mind / consciousness behind all this that keeps it all together.
So where did the important stuff of the U.S. UFO crashes go? Well of course it went to the Blue Room located at the infamous Wright-Patterson AFB. The famous Roswell, NM crash , which was probably in the Corona NM area a ways away from Roswell, resulted in three corpses and one alive being. Originally, the three corpses were quickly flown to Wright-Patterson AFB and stored in a large refrigerated warehouse, some called it Hanger 18. It has been rumored the power for the facility was from a mini- nuclear reactor. The three corpses were badly burned and partially destroyed by the crash. The being that was alive was first brought to Kirtland AFB in Albuquerque but eventually ended up in Los Alamos where it was studied and a few efforts were made to communicate with the being. However, because of its (the being’s) great mental capacity there was a great concern it would mind control its guards and integrators and try to harm the Lab and the people in it. So they killed it/him.
This body, in excellent condition, was flown to Wright –Patterson to join his dead comrades in Hanger 18, which was also call Building 22 at times. Barry Goldwater had tried several times to get access to the facility. Barry had a top-secret clearance ,was a U.S. Senator and a Presidential candidate, but never got inside even though his good friend Gen Curtis LaMay was in charge of the facility. Barry was totally frustrated and pissed off; he had always been interested in the UFO phenomena. This warehouse was also to be called room/area 248, super cipher locked and rarely entered and heavily guarded, by best robot military police specialists. The military unit that worked in and around this area was part of a group called the Interplanetary Phenomena Group- so the rumor goes—neat name.
Now my addition to this Blue Room Story; a relative of mine had a close friendship with an administer in a hospital in the southeastern part of the U.S., after years of a close friendship they started talking about UFOs and other paranormal stuff. The woman finally confirmed with my relative that she was the assistant to a high-ranking official at Wright-Patterson. Before her boss retired he showed her a strange being that was preserved in a large glass beaker in a refrigerated building on the base. She got a two-minute look, but this viewing has forever changed her, for now she knows the world was not what it seems.
Sleep-tight and dream hard.
Of all the subject matters, whether we choose our parents or go with the luck of the draw is generally speaking, a worldwide question. For some cultures, karmic conditions are considered to be the cause of the parents you inherited. Is it a random situation or did we just get lucky or unlucky?
Parents and their blood ties to us in this lifetime set the stage for the acts we are going to play in this lifetime. In studying the mystical teachings of the ancient mystery schools and from the years of studying Numerology as well as personal knowledge, here are some thoughts for your consideration. Whether you believe in reincarnation or not, you may want to think about them. First of all, every lifetime or incarnation is specifically arranged or structured prior to arriving into the body. What type of body you will use, what lessons you are to learn, what karmic corrections you will be making, the color of your hair, skin, what destiny you would strive towards, the personality you will use while you are here (what people will see and experience), what talents you will bring with you from prior lives and above all what life path or learning lesson will be the focus of this life are just some parts of the structure for your stay. Along with these, we have time frames and individual cycles that operate within this structure. It is pretty impressive and if people only recognized and worked with their programming, their lives would be much more successful and easier. Alas, we mainly focus on the outside stuff and hardly the inside “stuff” where the workings are going on. We operate, for the most part, out of fear and worry and guilt. We push ever harder and ignore our original programming. What a shame!
It is No Accident
Along with this original planning came the choice of which Soul group we would be born into. It is no accident that we landed with the parents we inherited. Why would we do this? Remember, we are made from intelligence, the Universal Intelligence, so we do know what we are doing prior to arrival. We may not act very intelligently once we arrive and we may arrive with handicaps but we do know what we are doing. The parents can come in a variety of forms, we can be adopted, arrive by a set of parents and be transferred to another set to be raised, we can be in a foster parent home, we can arrive and be abandoned or be raised in an orphanage or by our aunts, uncles or even strangers. There are so many scenarios for the set up. Nowadays our birth can be through invitro fertilization and we can then be raised by parents of the same sex or surrogate mothers–the list goes on. Nothing is an accident here on the earth plane. We just can’t explain why things happen so we call it an accident. If you could follow the trail that can go back years or lifetimes, you will understand why the arrangement was made.
We Choose Carefully
Our parents are chosen very carefully for assistance with our life paths and destinies and karmic corrections. Here are two examples. Let us say that I am going to be born with a number one life path or learning lesson. This would mean my lesson includes learning to stand on my own two feet, being innovative, taking the initiative, independent, being competitive, be courageous and unique. This is the path of Steve Jobs. If you have the one life path, which is a better beginning for you easy, soft parents who protect you or a more harsh environment, abandonment, adoption and a set of parents who encourage independence? How about the person who is coming into a number five life path or learning lesson. This is the lesson of change and adjustments. Having to move quite a bit, adjusting to new environments, classmates, letting go and constructing a new life, living by your wits and to learn to make change constructively. A good set of parents for this child would be a military family who moves around all the time or the child gets moved from foster home to foster home. Perhaps the child who needs to learn compassion for the human condition will be born into a family where they are regularly marginalized as children–ignored but fed and clothed. The child learns very early how people suffer and as an adult can be a wonderful source of comfort and understanding for those who suffer from diseases of the human condition, including mental disease and loneliness.
The Types of Arrangements are Endless
The types of arrangements are endless but they all have a reason. Even the child born to addicted parents. There is always more to the story than we realize. Many times Souls are born to a set of parents who are quite unaware and not conscious of anything other than the basics of life. This child can be the spark of knowledge and enlightenment for the parents and be much further advanced than the adults.
Remember roles change all the time. Soul families change cast of characters according to what is needed at the time. At one time an agreement was struck that you would join with these people as your parents to correct, learn, teach and grow. Some of the experiences are very harsh, some wonderful, some loving and some not very loving. Always remember to Bless and Release them to their highest and best good so that you all can move forward and finish up old issues.
Happy 2012. I told all of you that I would only be writing newsletters when I felt an important subject was up for review and that I could offer helpful advice on moving elegantly through the shift this year. This is the first of those newsletters. I hope you like it and that it is helpful for you. Please let me know how the shift is going for you. I love being a part of your manifesting.
My Life Update:
I’ve been hermitting quite a lot and spending time in the inner levels visioning my highest and best future and the world in which I want to live. I’ve also been chauffeuring a friend who just had cataract surgery and cannot drive until both eyes heal. The time spent with my sons this past year has been wonderful as well, to be friends as adults and to relinquish the parenting role is thrilling but difficult. Holidays with all three of my children including my daughter were the best yet. My writing projects are progressing and speeding up. I am now being paid to do what I love. That’s all my personal news, but I do have another subject that is the real purpose of this newsletter.
New Paradigm Chakra Exercise:
I receive loads of blogs and newsletters from other spiritual writers, and I have identified an aspect of spiritual practice that is limiting how much power we can claim. It involves an exercise that I have participated in for years, and it’s a good one for making an initial shift, but it’s rapidly becoming outdated.
When we do a chakra balancing and energizing, we usually open the crown chakra and bring energy down through each chakra, or we open the bottoms of our feet and pull energy up through our chakras. Both work, and both are useful, and here’s the new key: this exercise still assumes that the energy is outside of us, that it comes from somewhere else and we have to draw it into us. If we are expressions of the god energy, then finding that energy within and radiating it may be the highest expression of our god self. Nothing needs to be added to us to make us whole. We only need to find the oneness that is our true nature and be what we already are.
This is not a new idea. I’ve heard it before from other people, occasionally, but those same people often use these same separationist exercises, like I did. Unaware that they are perpetuating a myth of separation, they set up an internal conflict that keeps them locked in an old paradigm.
Also, we usually think of chakras as balls of energy spinning in a clockwise or counterclockwise direction, depending on their polarity. In this new age, we are releasing the need to have a polarized reality. That’s why we see so many polarizations surfacing these days for us to recognize how much it does not serve us to polarize issues and people. Focusing on the good of the whole is the new paradigm.
I was shown chakras that are like gyroscopes, with a clockwise and counterclockwise spin that, together, generate energy. It resembles how we illustrate nuclear power. Our bodies become perpetual motion machines, constantly recharging our energy, and making more as needed to share with others. The new paradigm model is like mother’s milk, the more the infant nurses, the more milk is generated to fill the need. This also applies to sharing love and good will with others. The more we share, the more we generate love and good will.
All the workable systems in the new age will work on the mother’s milk principle, thereby eliminating lack if we embrace the Aquarian model of the water bearer who has a pitcher that never empties. I know to many this sounds like a pollyanna philosophy without a basis in reality. I’ve been shown several new systems that function this way, including a ‘new’ water system that is now being unveiled. Watch for more on that coming soon all over the internet. We have everything we need to solve all the challenges we humans have created if we give up our separationist fear-based philosophies and embrace our universal abundance.
You can begin to embrace this philosophy by connecting with your inner power and radiate outward into the world a wave of love and abundance everywhere it flows. Let the flood gates of love be open and flowing to erase the illusion that prevents the manifestation of our highest and best reality. A reality in which all can thrive, not just survive. You can recognize that your nuclear chakras are already generating everything you need to step into this new reality. The choices have been made by our collective consciousness.
It’s time to begin living your new reality. It’s time to be who you truly are – who you came here at this very time to be. Who are you?
Blessings for Being … Sandy Penny
A Sister’s Eulogy for Steve Jobs
By MONA SIMPSON from the New York Times
I grew up as an only child, with a single mother. Because we were poor and because I knew my father had emigrated from Syria, I imagined he looked like Omar Sharif. I hoped he would be rich and kind and would come into our lives (and our not yet furnished apartment) and help us. Later, after I’d met my father, I tried to believe he’d changed his number and left no forwarding address because he was an idealistic revolutionary, plotting a new world for the Arab people.
Opinion: The Genius of Jobs (October 30, 2011)
Even as a feminist, my whole life I’d been waiting for a man to love, who could love me. For decades, I’d thought that man would be my father. When I was 25, I met that man and he was my brother.
By then, I lived in New York, where I was trying to write my first novel. I had a job at a small magazine in an office the size of a closet, with three other aspiring writers. When one day a lawyer called me — me, the middle-class girl from California who hassled the boss to buy us health insurance — and said his client was rich and famous and was my long-lost brother, the young editors went wild. This was 1985 and we worked at a cutting-edge literary magazine, but I’d fallen into the plot of a Dickens novel and really, we all loved those best. The lawyer refused to tell me my brother’s name and my colleagues started a betting pool. The leading candidate: John Travolta. I secretly hoped for a literary descendant of Henry James — someone more talented than I, someone brilliant without even trying.
When I met Steve, he was a guy my age in jeans, Arab- or Jewish-looking and handsomer than Omar Sharif.
We took a long walk — something, it happened, that we both liked to do. I don’t remember much of what we said that first day, only that he felt like someone I’d pick to be a friend. He explained that he worked in computers.
I didn’t know much about computers. I still worked on a manual Olivetti typewriter.
I told Steve I’d recently considered my first purchase of a computer: something called the Cromemco.
Steve told me it was a good thing I’d waited. He said he was making something that was going to be insanely beautiful.
I want to tell you a few things I learned from Steve, during three distinct periods, over the 27 years I knew him. They’re not periods of years, but of states of being. His full life. His illness. His dying.
Steve worked at what he loved. He worked really hard. Every day.
That’s incredibly simple, but true.
He was the opposite of absent-minded.
He was never embarrassed about working hard, even if the results were failures. If someone as smart as Steve wasn’t ashamed to admit trying, maybe I didn’t have to be.
When he got kicked out of Apple, things were painful. He told me about a dinner at which 500 Silicon Valley leaders met the then-sitting president. Steve hadn’t been invited.
He was hurt but he still went to work at Next. Every single day.
Novelty was not Steve’s highest value. Beauty was.
For an innovator, Steve was remarkably loyal. If he loved a shirt, he’d order 10 or 100 of them. In the Palo Alto house, there are probably enough black cotton turtlenecks for everyone in this church.
He didn’t favor trends or gimmicks. He liked people his own age.
His philosophy of aesthetics reminds me of a quote that went something like this: “Fashion is what seems beautiful now but looks ugly later; art can be ugly at first but it becomes beautiful later.”
Steve always aspired to make beautiful later.
He was willing to be misunderstood.
Uninvited to the ball, he drove the third or fourth iteration of his same black sports car to Next, where he and his team were quietly inventing the platform on which Tim Berners-Lee would write the program for the World Wide Web.Steve was like a girl in the amount of time he spent talking about love. Love was his supreme virtue, his god of gods. He tracked and worried about the romantic lives of the people working with him.
Opinion: The Genius of Jobs (October 30, 2011)
Whenever he saw a man he thought a woman might find dashing, he called out, “Hey are you single? Do you wanna come to dinner with my sister?”
I remember when he phoned the day he met Laurene. “There’s this beautiful woman and she’s really smart and she has this dog and I’m going to marry her.”
When Reed was born, he began gushing and never stopped. He was a physical dad, with each of his children. He fretted over Lisa’s boyfriends and Erin’s travel and skirt lengths and Eve’s safety around the horses she adored.
None of us who attended Reed’s graduation party will ever forget the scene of Reed and Steve slow dancing.
His abiding love for Laurene sustained him. He believed that love happened all the time, everywhere. In that most important way, Steve was never ironic, never cynical, never pessimistic. I try to learn from that, still.
Steve had been successful at a young age, and he felt that had isolated him. Most of the choices he made from the time I knew him were designed to dissolve the walls around him. A middle-class boy from Los Altos, he fell in love with a middle-class girl from New Jersey. It was important to both of them to raise Lisa, Reed, Erin and Eve as grounded, normal children. Their house didn’t intimidate with art or polish; in fact, for many of the first years I knew Steve and Lo together, dinner was served on the grass, and sometimes consisted of just one vegetable. Lots of that one vegetable. But one. Broccoli. In season. Simply prepared. With just the right, recently snipped, herb.
Even as a young millionaire, Steve always picked me up at the airport. He’d be standing there in his jeans.
When a family member called him at work, his secretary Linetta answered, “Your dad’s in a meeting. Would you like me to interrupt him?”
When Reed insisted on dressing up as a witch every Halloween, Steve, Laurene, Erin and Eve all went wiccan.
They once embarked on a kitchen remodel; it took years. They cooked on a hotplate in the garage. The Pixar building, under construction during the same period, finished in half the time. And that was it for the Palo Alto house. The bathrooms stayed old. But — and this was a crucial distinction — it had been a great house to start with; Steve saw to that.
This is not to say that he didn’t enjoy his success: he enjoyed his success a lot, just minus a few zeros. He told me how much he loved going to the Palo Alto bike store and gleefully realizing he could afford to buy the best bike there.
And he did.
Steve was humble. Steve liked to keep learning.
Once, he told me if he’d grown up differently, he might have become a mathematician. He spoke reverently about colleges and loved walking around the Stanford campus. In the last year of his life, he studied a book of paintings by Mark Rothko, an artist he hadn’t known about before, thinking of what could inspire people on the walls of a future Apple campus.
Steve cultivated whimsy. What other C.E.O. knows the history of English and Chinese tea roses and has a favorite David Austin rose?
He had surprises tucked in all his pockets. I’ll venture that Laurene will discover treats — songs he loved, a poem he cut out and put in a drawer — even after 20 years of an exceptionally close marriage. I spoke to him every other day or so, but when I opened The New York Times and saw a feature on the company’s patents, I was still surprised and delighted to see a sketch for a perfect staircase.
With his four children, with his wife, with all of us, Steve had a lot of fun.
He treasured happiness.Then, Steve became ill and we watched his life compress into a smaller circle. Once, he’d loved walking through Paris. He’d discovered a small handmade soba shop in Kyoto. He downhill skied gracefully. He cross-country skied clumsily. No more.
Opinion: The Genius of Jobs (October 30, 2011)
Eventually, even ordinary pleasures, like a good peach, no longer appealed to him.
Yet, what amazed me, and what I learned from his illness, was how much was still left after so much had been taken away.
I remember my brother learning to walk again, with a chair. After his liver transplant, once a day he would get up on legs that seemed too thin to bear him, arms pitched to the chair back. He’d push that chair down the Memphis hospital corridor towards the nursing station and then he’d sit down on the chair, rest, turn around and walk back again. He counted his steps and, each day, pressed a little farther.
Laurene got down on her knees and looked into his eyes.
“You can do this, Steve,” she said. His eyes widened. His lips pressed into each other.
He tried. He always, always tried, and always with love at the core of that effort. He was an intensely emotional man.
I realized during that terrifying time that Steve was not enduring the pain for himself. He set destinations: his son Reed’s graduation from high school, his daughter Erin’s trip to Kyoto, the launching of a boat he was building on which he planned to take his family around the world and where he hoped he and Laurene would someday retire.
Even ill, his taste, his discrimination and his judgment held. He went through 67 nurses before finding kindred spirits and then he completely trusted the three who stayed with him to the end. Tracy. Arturo. Elham.
One time when Steve had contracted a tenacious pneumonia his doctor forbid everything — even ice. We were in a standard I.C.U. unit. Steve, who generally disliked cutting in line or dropping his own name, confessed that this once, he’d like to be treated a little specially.
I told him: Steve, this is special treatment.
He leaned over to me, and said: “I want it to be a little more special.”
Intubated, when he couldn’t talk, he asked for a notepad. He sketched devices to hold an iPad in a hospital bed. He designed new fluid monitors and x-ray equipment. He redrew that not-quite-special-enough hospital unit. And every time his wife walked into the room, I watched his smile remake itself on his face.
For the really big, big things, you have to trust me, he wrote on his sketchpad. He looked up. You have to.
By that, he meant that we should disobey the doctors and give him a piece of ice.
None of us knows for certain how long we’ll be here. On Steve’s better days, even in the last year, he embarked upon projects and elicited promises from his friends at Apple to finish them. Some boat builders in the Netherlands have a gorgeous stainless steel hull ready to be covered with the finishing wood. His three daughters remain unmarried, his two youngest still girls, and he’d wanted to walk them down the aisle as he’d walked me the day of my wedding.
We all — in the end — die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories.
I suppose it’s not quite accurate to call the death of someone who lived with cancer for years unexpected, but Steve’s death was unexpected for us.
What I learned from my brother’s death was that character is essential: What he was, was how he died.
Tuesday morning, he called me to ask me to hurry up to Palo Alto. His tone was affectionate, dear, loving, but like someone whose luggage was already strapped onto the vehicle, who was already on the beginning of his journey, even as he was sorry, truly deeply sorry, to be leaving us.
He started his farewell and I stopped him. I said, “Wait. I’m coming. I’m in a taxi to the airport. I’ll be there.”
“I’m telling you now because I’m afraid you won’t make it on time, honey.”
When I arrived, he and his Laurene were joking together like partners who’d lived and worked together every day of their lives. He looked into his children’s eyes as if he couldn’t unlock his gaze.
Until about 2 in the afternoon, his wife could rouse him, to talk to his friends from Apple.
Then, after awhile, it was clear that he would no longer wake to us.
His breathing changed. It became severe, deliberate, purposeful. I could feel him counting his steps again, pushing farther than before.
This is what I learned: he was working at this, too. Death didn’t happen to Steve, he achieved it.
He told me, when he was saying goodbye and telling me he was sorry, so sorry we wouldn’t be able to be old together as we’d always planned, that he was going to a better place.
Dr. Fischer gave him a 50/50 chance of making it through the night.
He made it through the night, Laurene next to him on the bed sometimes jerked up when there was a longer pause between his breaths. She and I looked at each other, then he would heave a deep breath and begin again.
This had to be done. Even now, he had a stern, still handsome profile, the profile of an absolutist, a romantic. His breath indicated an arduous journey, some steep path, altitude.
He seemed to be climbing.
But with that will, that work ethic, that strength, there was also sweet Steve’s capacity for wonderment, the artist’s belief in the ideal, the still more beautiful later.
Steve’s final words, hours earlier, were monosyllables, repeated three times.
Before embarking, he’d looked at his sister Patty, then for a long time at his children, then at his life’s partner, Laurene, and then over their shoulders past them.
Steve’s final words were:
OH WOW. OH WOW. OH WOW.
Click On –