By Thea Alexander
You go back and forth with Jon who lives in 1976. whilst his brain is within the sleep-state, the forces of the long run international achieve out to him and express him how issues might be. elect him on his perilous event - a mind-expanding exodus from the imperfect at the present time right into a greater day after today. detect the wonder and the emotional calls for the sort of trip can carry. discover the approach of notion and motion that may be completed within the macro international. it is a novel you can't positioned down - a philosophy you can start residing with now.
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Additional info for 2150 A.D.
I thought the bar must have been bent into its present shape when it was red hot, by the blows of a heavy hammer in the hand of a skilled smith. That rod of iron was cold now, and many a strong man could have held it over his knee and strained and groaned and not been able to wrench it out of its congealed shape by so much as the thickness of a fingernail. —have tied it in a bow, but I did nothing of the kind. Not for many years had I performed any truly extraordinary feats in my parents’ sight, or in the presence of anyone who was likely to report to them.
So, it was true. I nodded slowly. ”More or less. Most of the time. ” I knew boys who had suffered much worse treatment in their homes, and from true fathers; I had seen their bruises and heard their stories. ”He has not been cruel,” I had to admit. ”But I think he will be glad when I am no longer living in this house. But, Mother, now that you’ve started to tell me about the snakes, tell me more. Please. ” While Alcmene talked, confirming what had seemed the wildest rumor as cold fact, I stood before her listening carefully, but most of the time I did not look at her.
I have the impression that my mother controlled me easily, during most of those early years, with soft words and much love. But as the wife of an important general, she had many obligations, and a large part of my upbringing was left to others. As for the general who played the role of my foster father, I saw even less of him than I did of my mother. Only very recently have I begun to develop some real sympathy for this man, Amphitryon, whose own scruples would allow him neither to adopt me wholeheartedly as his son, nor cast me out as a nameless, shameful bastard.
2150 A.D. by Thea Alexander