Message of love or a sad heart
Words that bind us or tear us apart
Beautiful words the pen will create
Words that mend and those that break
Poets create and write from the heart
Their feelings pour forth, no plot from the start
Stories of journeys through life’s moving sand
Stories of a poet living in far-flung land
I write this especially for the back cover of my new poetry book that will be published in July and available through Amazon.
A short story from LITTLE GEMS, my book of short stories available on Amazon
Professor Devereux looked pleased with himself, and not without good cause. The interview went well and tomorrow’s papers would carry the story. The abolition of capital punishment was a long way off but still gathering momentum. His views were well-known nationally, and after several months of hard investigative work, he had achieved the near impossible. He was instrumental in proving that the State of Alabama wrongly executed a man convicted on circumstantial evidence of murder. Devereux was a cause celebre.
Unfortunately, he attracted many enemies along the way including police officers who openly threatened him. Hate mail filled his post box daily. Several times on T.V. the D.A’s office ridiculed him and dismissed him as a crank. He was used to that. The more they threw at him, the more he liked it. They were on the defensive.
Devereux had held center stage at the interview. With overwhelming evidence showing incompetence on the part of the prosecution, the District Attorney admitted that his office got it wrong.
Making his way back to his dressing room, Devereux reflected on his success. The only regret was that Chantelle, his wife, was not with him to share in his triumph. She was a lifelong supporter of abolition, but just as recognition started to come his way, she died, sadly, of cancer, just eight months after diagnosis. It was sudden and a great shock to him. Heartbroken, he retired from his law practice and became reclusive.
It was three years later that some of his old friends insisted he take up lecturing again on the university circuit. His knowledge of the law and the criminal mind made him one of the most respected authorities in his field. After deliberating for a month, he decided to start campaigning again and was soon being quoted throughout mass media.
He sat in a chair in front of the mirror in his dressing room while the makeup assistant, Dana, attended to his face for a few minutes, cleaning off the cream and powder.
“You ought to get a good night’s sleep,” she said, her big brown eyes studying him in the mirror. “Those lines under your eyes are ugly.”
Devereux picked up a comb and held it out for her. “I know, but at least I do not have to look after my good looks, do I?”
She laughed. “Well, I don’t know. You look very distinguished to me.”
“That’s another way of saying I’m going bald and gray.”
They laughed as he got up from the chair.
“Here’s your coat, professor. I think you’re gonna need it tonight. The weather forecast warned of rain.”
After saying goodnight, Devereux made his way downstairs to the reception area. He stood for a moment at the main entrance before deciding to walk home through the park. The exercise would do him good, and in any case, the T.V station was not far from where he lived.
Walking down the steps outside the studio, Devereux felt several light spots of rain on his head. Opening his umbrella and then his stick, he stepped to the edge of the sidewalk and paused, listening for traffic.
Born blind, he was used to getting around the city he had been brought up in. Always preferring the little folding stick to a guide dog, he could travel around Birmingham as quickly as anyone else. The rain increased.
Passing traffic hissed in the downfall. Devereux walked across the road carefully. The Town Hall clock chimed the hour, eleven o’clock. Thinking that he might be in time to catch the eleven-forty newscast, he hurried to be in time to listen to it.
Reaching the park gates, he turned into the pathway that led through some trees to the playground and beyond. The wind blew in gusts, pushing the swings back and forth. They squeaked noisily above the rustle of the leafy trees that surrounded the playground.
A dog somewhere in the distance barked. An impatient driver amongst the night-time traffic on the other side of the park hooted a horn.
Birds rose and flapped out of a tree in front of him, startling Devereux. He stopped and listened intently. Then he heard it. Clearly audible above the blustery wind there came a muffled cough followed by the flip top clack of a Zippo lighter being snapped shut.
Devereux started to walk again and passing the trees at the end of the play area, he smelled smoke. Curious, he wondered why someone would want to stop and smoke in such inclement weather. Perhaps, he thought, it was just a kid.
After another fifty yards, the path sloped gently downward and evened out as it reached the edge of a small lake. Many years before, when Chantelle first brought him to the lake after their engagement, they walked every pathway while she described the beauty of the trees, the flowers, rockeries, and lakes. They sat by the lake many times during the years that followed, eating lunch and relaxing. Now, during Spring and Summer mainly, he sat in their seat by the lake, remembering.
Devereux’s thoughts were ended abruptly. Someone was following. He could not mistake the sound of heavy footsteps on the gravel a short way behind. Whoever it was seemed to be keeping pace with him. He felt a little uneasy and slowed to allow the stranger to catch up and pass. He listened, aware that his heart was beating faster. The follower had stopped. The only sound above the wind was the rustling leaves.
Since childhood, one thing always frightened him. Being followed. Standing quite still, he heard someone cough. Worried in case he was being followed by a mugger, he walked on quickly, tapping his stick from side to side more urgently.
Footsteps crunched on the ground behind him again. He felt like shouting out but thought better of it. If he shouted, he might be attacked before he reached safety. There again he might make a fool of himself. It could be some kid playing around.
Trying hard not to act scared, he hurried on to the park exit opposite the all-night shopping mall. If he could make an exit, he would be safe among the shoppers and late night diners. By now his heart was pounding against his chest, and despite the cold wind, his shirt was becoming damp.
His stick touched the bin near the end of the path. He breathed with relief. A few yards more and he would be at the exit. Relieved at the moment and lost in his anxiety to reach safety, he forgot the protruding stone base of the drinking fountain the other side of the bin. His foot caught the base, and he fell heavily. Grabbing for his stick, he felt the umbrella fly away, captured by a gust of wind. There was a loud cough. He froze, panic welling up inside him.
“What do you want?” Devereux sobbed.
There was no reply. He sat sobbing for a few seconds and then picked himself up. Soaking wet, he rose unsteadily to his feet and made his way through the exit to the safety of the sidewalk. No-one followed him.
Across the street, the mall was busy, mostly with people using the precinct as a shortcut and shelter from the rain. Devereux decided this was the safest thing for him to do. The mall was well illuminated, and once through to the far end, he would be just two blocks from his apartment. From the far end, he could hail a cab.
Breathing heavily, he crossed the street. His clothes were wet with mud and sweat was running down his forehead. Some grazed skin on his hands stung. He stopped just inside the mall entrance and felt a little safer. He brushed his coat and wiped his face with the back of a hand while trying to compose himself.
The thick aroma of burgers filled his nostrils. McDonalds was open and by the sounds of things, very busy. He remembered something and smiled. There were some telephones just inside the restaurant. He would call the Sheriff’s department and get them to send a patrolman to see him home. There was sure to be a squad car nearby.
Devereux felt better for having a plan of action, and walked into the restaurant to find the telephones. He picked up a receiver and called the Sheriff’s department. After explaining his predicament to an understanding and sympathetic officer, he was asked to give his name and address.
There was a pause. Then, “Excuse me, sir, did you say, Devereux, Professor Paul Devereux?”
“Yes, that’s me. I’m on my way home from the T.V. studios.”
The line went silent for a while. Devereux hoped they would send a car.
Moments later the officer was back online. “Professor, I’m very sorry, but unless the person or persons who may or may not be following you actually abuse you in any way, either physically or verbally, there is not a lot we can do.”
Devereux lost his temper, attracting attention from the diners. “Listen, you idiot, I’ve been followed. My life may be in danger. For God’s sake, can’t you do anything?”
“I’m sorry, professor, but our officers are busy right now.” The voice was polite but firm.
“If I were someone else you’d be here in a couple of minutes, you bastard!”
Devereux started to shout. “You don’t like the truth. You don’t like it when you’re shown up on T.V. You wait and see. I’ll make you pay for this.”
There was a click, and the line went dead. Devereux slammed the receiver down and was aware that the diners had gone quiet. Embarrassed, he turned to walk out and collided with someone coming through the door. Customers started to laugh. He was making a fool of himself.
“Sorry,” said a man, “allow me.”
The door opened, and Devereux was guided out into the mall. As the door closed, the man coughed. It was an unmistakable cough. Devereux flushed hot and cold. His hands shook. He had to get away. With stick flailing from side to side, he almost ran down the mall, bumping into people along the way.
At the end of the mall, he turned left and stopped, out of breath. He knew that a covered cab rank which stood a few yards away closed at midnight. His index finger urgently touched the face of his wristwatch. It was eleven twenty-five. Wearily climbing into the back of a cab, he gave his address to the driver. He closed his eyes and silently cursed his decision to walk.
Several minutes later the cab pulled up outside the apartment block. Devereux, by now a little calmer, paid the driver and climbed the steps to the main door of the block.
Once inside his apartment, he made straight for the shower. He ached all over and was shivering with the cold. The exertions of the last hour had exhausted him completely. While he was undressing, he decided to write to the Police Commissioner in the morning and complain about the treatment he had received. He stood under the shower and let the hot water soothe his aching limbs.
***
The sidewalk glistened under the street lights. Rain continued to fall. A cigarette dropped into the gutter with a hiss. From under one of the trees that lined the side of the boulevard came a muffled cough. Brad Miller had been standing there sheltering from the rain ever since a cab dropped him off. He looked up at the block and decided to wait a little longer. A crumpled pack of Camels was poking out of his top jacket pocket. He leaned against the tree, took a cigarette from the pack and lit it with the Zippo.
This would be the third mark in a week and the easiest. No need to follow and then return to break in when the victim was out. The old man was different. Miller did not know how he was going to break in, but it was a challenge that would give him a buzz just for the hell of it. Even if the man did wake up, so what? He could not see anyone so he could not finger anyone. He’d played cat and mouse with the blind man all night and scared him a couple of times, especially at McDonalds. He liked to scare people. It was fun.
Fifteen minutes later he slipped across the boulevard to the apartment block and bounded silently up the entrance steps two at a time. He pulled a thin piece of mica board from his jeans and opened the door in seconds. He crept into the lobby. After feeling along the line of post boxes on the wall, he found what he wanted and smiled. There was a brass plate on one box with the apartment number indented on it. Miller climbed the stairs carefully.
Up on the third floor, all was still. The only noise came from the rain beating persistently on the window panes at the end of the corridor. To one side of the window sat an old wooden chair, placed in the corner. Miller picked it up and positioned it up against the door of apartment 117.
Climbing onto the chair, he reached up to the small oblong window above the door frame. The window was open a couple of inches. Expert hands pushed the window inward and up. With a little piece of cardboard taken from his pocket, Miller folded it into a wedge. This he then put into place on one side between the window and the frame. A gap of eighteen inches was enough to give him access into the apartment.
Holding onto the bottom of the frame, he pulled himself up until he was able to grab a sprinkler pipe that ran along the length of the ceiling. With both hands gripping the pipe, he swung himself up and slid both feet through the gap until his body was halfway into the apartment. With ease, he twisted himself around until his stomach rested on the window frame. The wedge was then removed, and the window returned to its original position as he dropped silently to the floor inside the apartment.
Miller carefully opened the door, picked up the chair, and replaced it to the landing corner. Preoccupied with his work, he did not notice a figure hiding in the shadows of the stairway as he returned to 117. A hand grabbed him from behind. Instinctively, Miller turned and punched his would-be captor hard in the face.
“You son of a bitch!” came a gruff voice.
They grappled with each other, punching and kicking until Miller broke loose. He swung wildly at the other man who, trying to avoid a punch, slumped back against the apartment door. Miller, coughing loudly, kicked the man in the ribs and made good his escape.
***
Devereux woke with a start. A loud crash was followed by someone coughing. His worst nightmare was coming true. He began to shake, his stomach churning. With short, shallow breaths, he sat upright in bed and reached for the bedside table drawer. His hand fumbled frantically inside. His fingers finally felt metal, and he withdrew a long thin-bladed letter knife that he kept there for emergencies.
He slid out of bed and moved to one side of the bedroom door where he could hide if it opened. Trembling, he stood with heart racing, waiting. It was quiet.
Then he heard them.
Footsteps were coming toward him—slow, deliberate footsteps. The door handle squeaked. Devereux tensed, his nerves at breaking point. Terrified, he felt a cold draft of air as the door slowly opened. It was too much for him. He lunged forward with the paper knife.
“There, you bastard,” he screamed hysterically, “take that!”
They both fell to the floor, Devereux plunging the knife again and again. Anger and violence poured from him. Exhausted, he finally lay on top of the body, crying, unable to move. When the moment of initial shock receded, he picked himself up and stumbled into the living room to call the Sheriff’s department.
He remembered his last call to the Sheriff’s office, regretting that they had not been more helpful. If they had, things would have not gone so far. He dropped the knife on the carpet and reached for the phone.
It was ten minutes later that Detectives found Devereux slumped in an armchair. He was covered in blood. The paper knife was laying on the carpet by his feet.
They listened to his story that he was followed home by the intruder. After he had finished, Devereux had to go over his story again to make sure no detail had been overlooked.
Several hours later, downtown, during his interview, Devereux was played a recording of his earlier abusive and threatening call to the Sheriff’s Department, which he’d made because they refused to help him after he reported being followed by a suspected mugger.
As far as the detectives were concerned, there was no sign of forced entry to the apartment block or Devereux’s apartment. As for the intruder laying on Devereux’s floor; after being called by the Sheriff and asked to do a favor, retired deputy, Marvin Tucks, living on the ground floor had looked in to see if the professor was alright.
The detectives surmised that Devereux, annoyed at Tucks disturbing his sleep and thinking the Sheriff’s Department was harassing him, had viciously attacked and slain the deputy in a rage. No other intruder figured in the incident. Devereux, they suggested, was too clever for his own good. Devereux was charged with murder.
***
Brad Miller sat on a bar stool and looked up at the T.V. lunchtime news. A picture of Devereux flashed up on the screen. It was announced that the professor was executed at midnight the day before at Oaksville Penitentiary.
Little Gems
By Ray Stone
Review by Suraya Dewing CEO Story Mint
This set of short stories is indeed a gem. The stories explore themes of corruption, historical injustices, and redemption.
The author capably captures the voice of the era as in Condurrow, a story based on bal maidens working in the Cornwall tin mines in the mid 19th century. Readers learn of the working conditions in Cornwall tin mines while following the fortunes of Arthur Jeddler who inherits a tin mine.
His research for each story is comprehensive.
Other stories in the collection range from past injustices to futuristic as in predicting a cataclysmic event that destroys life on earth. In another, a man is wrongly accused of manslaughter and gets exonerated soon after getting out of prison. A mother appears to desert her son but the reason for this justifies her actions, as her son finds out many years later. These were the standout stories for me.
A common theme threads through these stories – corruption or misunderstanding lies behind apparent injustice.
Ray Stone is an entertaining storyteller with an excellent sense of carefully measured detail. The reader never gets a sense he is unnecessarily padding the narrative. His characters are believable and when they speak, their dialogue gives the reader a deeper insight into the character. The stories are imaginative as well as informative without being a sermon.
Very enjoyable and a worthwhile read. Recommended.
Thank you, Suraya.
Why is the public-at-large so adverse to people with mental illness? Perhaps because of the darker side of humanity. Some heinous crimes are committed by people who are mentally ill. Those individuals are but a spec of dust in the overall population of people with mental illness, yet they get the most publicity due to their deeds. It is time to change the perception.
Mental illness is an overall name for 4 major syndromes: Bi-Polar Disorder, Schizophrenia, Autism and Personality Disorders. There are many spectrums to each of these major syndromes, and these syndromes overlap with each other. Some are common amongst family members, while others are an unlucky parental lottery of DNA. Mental illness is not a choice. It is caused by an imbalance of naturally existing chemicals and hormones in the brain. Sometimes it is situational (ie: extreme stress will cause a chemical imbalance in the brain. When the stress is relieved, the brain will go back to normal function), but most of the time it is continual.
With the recent increase in entertainment personalities committing suicide, I think it is important that the dialogue start. I believe the best people to start this discussion are those who are afflicted.
Bi-Polar disorder runs in my family. This spectrum also includes depression. All my family members have depression. A few of us have Bi-Polar disorder. When people hear Bi-Polar, they immediately think of the hyper-mania. There are also some episodes of deep lows. The highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Bi-Polar II has fewer manic episodes, and longer lasting depressive episodes. Bi-Polar II episodes are not as severe as Bi-Polar I. I have been diagnosed with Bi-Polar II.
My manic episodes evolve into OCD cleaning sprees. Serious sprees of cleaning. One time I was up for 3 days and nights, every single item in my house came out of cupboards and shelves. Every item was washed. All the cabinets and drawers are cleaned, then items placed back into their space with precise orderliness. All my furniture gets moved, dusted, washed, floors swept and mopped then the furniture goes back (or gets a re-organization.) Sleep escapes me during these episodes. My manic episodes happen every few months.
My struggle is with the depressive episodes. I don’t sit in a corner and cry. I don’t feel sorry for myself. I do not contemplate hurting myself or others. I call it my hibernation. I have a serious social phobia. (Phobias also are on the spectrum of Mental Illness). I have a strong aversion to socializing. Socializing of any sort. One person, or a group of people. It does not matter. I will spend days inside my house (thankful that I had that recent manic episode!), and not leave. There are many days that I do not want to go outside into my yard. I am thankful that I have dogs- they somewhat force me to get out, even if it is to clean up their daily doody. I am quite comfortable and not unhappy during these periods. I am just anti-social. I exist.
My friends and children are all aware of this mental illness because I feel strongly about wiping out the stigma. My circle of support exists because I am not afraid to educate people of my situation. I do not feel ashamed. I do not want pity. I do not want sympathy. I want understanding. Mostly, I want people to understand that mental illness is not a choice. Do not think that if we force ourselves to smile that happiness will follow. That certainly did not work for the late Robin Williams.
While some people who do criminal acts may have a mental illness, not all people with mental illness do criminal acts. In large, we are not bad people. We are people who want to be accepted, not ignored.
For Linkedin – Ray Stone
Another article on motivation hit my news feed this week, describing ways I could re-energise myself on days I felt discouraged. Maybe you too have moments—or months—when you feel lethargic, uninterested in your to-do list, or in much at all. At times like that, you might tell a friend you’re unmotivated and it’s possible they’ll concur or empathise. Feeling unmotivated is sometimes inevitable, isn’t it?
I don’t think we should accept that.
I think there are things we’re always up for, rain or shine, tired or otherwise. Moreover, I think those things are easy to identify.
I believe humans have an inner will, which seeks to exert its purpose, continually and consistently, and influences everything we do. This force communicates its intentions constantly, in a language I’ve named Primal; we communicate our purpose in this language, including subconsciously, throughout life.
Primal impulses are always driving us to rumble, continuously motivated.
A hundred years ago, the American industrialist Andrew Carnegie had a lot more money than most of us will ever see. He also knew a thing or two about people. As he grew older, he said he paid less attention to the things people said; he watched what they did.
Actions, Carnegie realised, communicated intention just as eloquently as any spoken or written language, and more accurately.
You’ll easily recall someone who has disappointed you recently; maybe you disappointed yourself. A task that needed doing wasn’t done, or was done late, or parts of it were skimped; you’ve been let down. Perhaps you let yourself down.
All too often, our attention wanders. We start one thing and then think about another. We miss deadlines because something else came up that was more interesting and, almost without thinking, we gave this new direction priority.
Primal impulses exert influence over focus. If we’re driven by the Proposing impulse, for example, we’ll constantly find ourselves Forming Ideas and Advocating their acceptance, regardless of the other things we ‘should’ be doing.
Those other things get left, for seconds or even hours. We might have been lawn-mowing, studying law, or updating spreadsheets. If others demand progress from us, we’ll drag our attention back and do a little more, until the next urge to Form Ideas takes over.
Primal impulses cannot be easily repressed.
We humans are constantly impacting our environment. We’re driven to do it by internal and often subconscious impulses that cause us to act in support of our beliefs and values.
A Primal impulse is an urge to act in a certain way; it’s a deep-seated inner drive that impels conscious action to fulfil it. The impulses themselves are not obvious; we can’t tell by looking at someone, for example, if their dominant impulse is to authenticate, which is determining reality.
Nonetheless, if we observe how individuals perform at work or interact with others, we’ll see patterns recurring in their actions. The patterns reveal their dominant impulses clearly; together, they form a language. Primal language communicates the way we are driven.
We all have these six impulses within us. Mankind as a whole is continually influenced by them; they drive our evolution.
However, in any one individual, one or two of the Primal impulses dominate. Actions driven by these will recur constantly; the pattern they produce clearly shows that individual’s passion and purpose—regardless of anything they tell you to the contrary.
“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time. People know themselves much better than you do. That’s why it’s important to stop expecting them to be something other than who they are” — Maya Angelou, author of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
In The Linguist, Elvin Jarvis explains how values affect our focus.
“People go after things they want. Let’s think of an example: a guy named Steve, driven primarily by the Initiating impulse. If one of his principal values was An Invigorating Life, which prioritises change, exciting events and stimulation, he might run off to see the world. Steve does have an itch to see South America.
“However, Steve has young children in school. Additionally his most important values are Dedication and Harmony; family stability is important to Steve and he won’t put it at risk.
“Nonetheless, Steve is still driven to Initiate, so he might over-extend himself financially to build a new home in a newly developed area. This is a Pioneering action; he’ll get a thrill from doing something new, which will be literally ground-breaking. But he’s also putting down roots for his family and making a significant commitment.”
In a podcast this last week, Trent Innes—Managing Director of Xero Australia—spoke about a ‘coffee cup test’ that their organisation used when deciding if an applicant was a good match for their team. Observing someone’s attitude towards an empty coffee cup gives an interviewer valuable insight, Innes believes.
I agree.
If you’re taken to the kitchen to grab your own coffee before an interview, will you offer to take the dirty cup back there afterwards?
“What you are stands over you the while, and thunders so that I cannot hear what you say to the contrary,” wrote Emerson, over a hundred years ago. It’s true today. Every action you take produces a window through which others see your values—and it is your values that ultimately determine how effective you’ll be in any role.
As you cannot ’see’ impulses in others, only the actions they impel, you’ll need to observe behaviour to discover them. It doesn’t take long, however. The patterns created by impulse-driven action tend to make its underlying cause quite obvious after a short time.
Primal impulses can’t be hidden without huge effort.
You can easily detect the dominant impulses in yourself. There are several ways of doing it; from quick and easy methods to long and reflective methods. Inevitably, accuracy is sacrificed for speed, yet even the swiftest methodology – four questions—produces a useful starting point.
Do you prefer a role where desired outcomes are known and the goalposts are fixed, or one where expectations constantly change as new ideas are developed and introduced?
This question contrasts Managing and Proposing impulses. Managers like to focus on organising and structuring—and getting results—new ideas constantly thrown around aren’t helpful.
Compare that approach with a Proposer’s solution to ‘too many balls in the air’, which is likely to include throwing another one up there. Proposers revel in chaos because of the opportunities it produces; a Manager’s entire focus is to make order out of chaos.
In any situation when you have to make choices, can you make a decision on nothing more than gut feeling, or will you generally delay until you are certain you have explored all options and have some evidence you can rely on?
This question contrasts Authentication and Resolving impulses. Authenticators are looking for certainty and will not affirm the state of something until all the available information about it has been analysed.
Resolvers want a decision; they will make one even in the face of doubt. Their drive to move on enables them to dare and risk, actions an Authenticator will avoid.
If you discover a problem, do you jump straight in to sort it, because you believe it’s important to keep things going—even with duct tape—or will you take a reflective approach, wanting to understand the full picture before deciding whether intervention is needed?
This question contrasts Luminating and Initiating impulses. Initiators are driven to get going; just say the word and they are off. They are driven to discover the best way to accomplish things through trial-and-error, through exploration and competition.
Luminators don’t ‘try it and see what happens’; they reflect on past experience—theirs and other’s— and use the awareness gained to determine the significance of knowledge.
In general, do you prefer to work in a group or team, or on your own wherever possible?
This question contrasts collaborative and independent working styles. Some of us are driven to work in a team; others prefer autonomy. Cooperating with others on a project enables solutions to be found using multiple minds, and implemented with many hands. However, many people feel unshackled when they are able to work alone.
When you’ve defined your Primal impulses, you have a metric about yourself much more useful than most other measures used to define people, like the Myers Briggs Type Indicator.
Your CAP—Creative Action Pattern—is the blend of your most commonly-occurring impulse-driven actions. This pattern is unique, like a fingerprint. Millions will have the same dominant impulses, but the actions you take to satisfy those impulses are influenced by your values—and the sum of our values is different in each of us.
Your CAP reveals the way you’re driven to influence and impact. Those who know it know how you’ll inevitably want to act, regardless of circumstances or control.
Your CAP is the essence of your purpose.
Fulfilment, happiness and a sense of accomplishment all come from upholding our values during the current moment. Knowing your CAP enables you to more effectively direct your activities—and enjoy more of those moments.
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A set of cards is being developed, which will define all the Primal patterns so far identified. A manual is also in production.
You can become a foundation member of The Evolving, the tribe using Primal patterns to impact the world.
Send your inquiry to ant@anthonysmits.com