Recently I wrote about my brother-in-law receiving a “sign” from his wife on the day she passed away, letting him know she was safe and that he could move on with his life.
I’m a big believer in things like this, even though I’m not what you’d call a religious person. See my post “The Orthodox Agnostic” for the particulars. Even so, I do believe we are connected to the spirit world.
I used to do Tarot card readings by email years ago and had close to one hundred of them under my belt before I took down my shingle, not because I wasn’t helping people but because too many folks had become dependent on me for advice.
The cards weren’t “powerful” or “magic.” My view of them is they’re similar to a search engine. You ask your questions and the answers pop into your head while you look at the…
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I have been thinking a lot about diaries – especially the old, hand-written ones. In our local news, there have been several recent articles about a Civil War diary that is being examined by local historians. It chronicles the daily life and struggles of a young Union soldier as he passed through this area. The story is fascinating, but for me it is even more remarkable to look at the images of those pages … his handwriting on the old paper, the scribbles in the margins, the entire personal image that is captured not only by his words transcribed, but by the physical pages themselves.
It made me contemplate my own journaling and diary-keeping. The mark of my pen, the paper and the books I choose to write in, the ink, my penmanship. While I know there are many distinct advantages to maintaining a digital record – and there are…
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Now that the pixels have settled a bit on the iOS 7 release (which, despite some early detractors, is turning out to be one of the more successful releases in the company’s history), let’s look at what all this signifies about Apple as a brand, and what branding lessons we can take away from the industry and user chatter.
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It was after 1984 when I read the novel of the same name, hiding under the covers, reading by the dying light of a 50-cent flashlight as Winston and Julia performed more unspeakable acts under their own sheets; Winston apprehensive of Big Brother’s all-seeing eyes, me fearful of mother coming in to ask why I was reading something so vulgar at such a young age. When asked what I thought of the book, it didn’t take a bucket of rats to make me cast Winston aside…instinct alone inspired me to decry the book as “all right, but the sex was pointless and unnecessary.” And life continued as normal, the irony of my betrayal reduced to nothing more than an uncomfortable rattle at the back of my mind that has never left me to this day.
But forbidden fruit and verboten vegetables leave an aftertaste in the back of the throat…
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