Healthy drink.

The benefits of Chia seeds, Spirulina, mixed in magnetised distilled water.

The most critical area of my life is my health and well-being and what I consume daily. I believe we are what we eat. If we eat unhealthily, we will look and feel unhealthy. If we eat vegetables and plant roots, we will look and feel like a flower. 

So, I begin the day by mixing chia seeds and spirulina into distilled magnetised water to supply me with the essential nutrients my body needs to start the day. Our bodies need oxygen, water, food, and exercise daily. Magnetic fields work in combination with these primaries to complement the natural process. 

Magnetised water: Water magnetising is the treatment of water using magnetic fields. It improves water's physical, chemical, and bacteriological quality.  Studies show that magnetically treated water dramatically reduces fluoride, lime scale and metals in water, which is considered bad for our health and well-being. 

Chia seeds (Salvia Hispanica: These tiny seeds are a powerhouse superfood; they deliver a massive amount of nutrients with very few calories. They are loaded with antioxidants, and almost all Carbs are fibre. Chia seeds are also high in quality protein and can be a great alternative to meat. They are also a perfect substitute for eggs when baking.

Spirulina powder (Arthrospira platensis): Spirulina is another superfood containing Omega 3, 4, and 9 and is exceptionally high in Omega 3's. It also includes vitamins B1, B2, B3, B6, B9, C, and D, and vitamins A and E. Spirulina contains quality proteins. It is incredibly high in chlorophyll, which helps remove toxins from the blood and boosts the immune system.

You will need the following:

One-pint glass or beaker. 
One magnetic cup coaster. (Norstar)
One pint of distilled water magnetised for a minimum of 20 minutes.
Three tablespoons of Chia seeds.
One teaspoon of spirulina.
Whisk together for about two minutes, and then drink it.

The perfect replacement for sports supplement protein drinks.

Coincidences.

Synchronicities, coincidences and miracles. 

Synchronicities and coincidences are miracles, as spiritual forces are created on another level to coordinate with the Universe and ensure that predestined meetings, situations, and circumstances occur. 

When I began seeing 11:11 in 2009, I went to see a professional psychologist to answer why I see 11:11 and other two, three, and four-digit numbers that start or end with the number 11. After my one-hour appointment at 11 o'clock, I needed a four-digit password to get out from under the barrier, preventing cars from illegal parking. When I asked the psychologist for this number, she telephoned security because the number was changed daily. She came off the telephone looking like she had seen a ghost, She told me that I wasn't imagining seeing 11:11 because the code to get out from under the barrier was 1111. She couldn't explain what she had just witnessed and told me that whatever it was, it was trying to get my attention, which kick-started my spiritual journey.

Shortly after visiting the psychologist, I discovered that my date of birth added together and then reduced to a single digit, resulting in a 29/11-life path.

I unexpectedly see numbers 11 and 11 minutes past the hour and other number sequences constantly throughout the day, advising me on the following action.

My only brother got married on the 11th of November. 

My name consists of 11 letters. I was born at house number 11. I went through a traumatic experience at the age of 11, and my dog died of liver failure at the age of 11. I was assaulted in my home on 11/11/2011 at 11:10 pm (or was it 11:11. And why was it exactly 11 months to the day from when I was attacked up until having my operation to help relieve sciatica on 11/10/2012?

All males in my life have their first initials as J, and all females start with M: my Mother, Mary, sister Margaret, my best friend, Mandy and Margaret next door. 

When I was a little boy, I had an intuitive friend named John. My grandfathers are John and James. My father and brother are James. My closest friends are John and Joe, and the two neighbours living next door to me are John, Jack, and Margaret. My newfound friend across the road is Joesph. 

I have lived at five different addresses for over thirty years and every person next door is named John and Jack. In my house today, the neighbours are John, Jack, and Margaret. 

I lived next door to Mary (Mother) and John thirty years ago. I then moved home to live with Mandy, who lived next door to John. Ten years later, I moved out and away from Mandy and moved next door to Jack, and then, a few months later, another John moved in on the other side. Then Jack next door died, and Jack and John moved in. I then sold my home three years later to escape the constant noise from Jack and John, only to discover that my neighbours at my new home were called Jack and John and Margaret. The new tenant who purchased my last home is John. It even got weirder when I noticed that my new postcode had the same initials as my name, meaning this new house was chosen for me.

I moved out of my last home on the 23rd of April and into my new home on the 23rd of September, precisely five months between the two dates. 2+3=5
5 in numerology relates to change; change of a job, a new home, or a new direction in life. 

In 2010 I woke up late after sleeping in. I came downstairs and sat in the kitchen having a cigarette when I noticed a bird's wing poking through the vent in the wall. It was one of those vents used in case of a gas leak, so I immediately ripped the vent cover off, and they were a wild bird of about 8'' in height in perfect condition standing there looking at me. So I opened the patio door and let it fly away. After about five minutes, I wondered how the bird got inside the brick. It's impossible from inside my home, and the outside has tiny holes preventing anything from getting inside. The vent walls are blocked by brick on all four sides, so how did the bird get inside the venthole if it was all blocked off? Above the vent was a rectangular window preventing anything from coming down through the insulated cavity walls.

The next day, I did a tarot reading and got the ace of cups, which indicated the beginning of a spiritual journey.

Mother.

This poem came about after realising that my Mother is a special kind of someone. She has been my rock throughout my life, helping me when I had nobody except her to rely on. So, I dedicate this poem to the most amazing person a son could ever ask for.

This poem is about the love in my life, 

She is not my girl,

she is not my wife.

She is the one I love the most,

she was the one who scared the ghost. 

She was the one who taught me to talk; 

she was the one who helped me to walk.

She is everything to me; if I was an apple,

she would be my tree.

She Is there when I feel sad,

She is there when I am bad. 

She Is my love but not my lover,

all I want to say is,

I love my Mother.

When I was eight.

This poem was the first I wrote many years ago after realising I could write a poem about me and my life.                                        

             When I was eight                                           

When I was eight, many, many years ago, I had a plan to find happiness and things I adore.  

I sit here alone and wonder why, one day, we are born, and another day we die.

When you are little, you fight and you play, and probably do the same thing the very next day.

Not much happens from one to ten, just school, your friends and making a den.

After that, you start growing tall; finally, finally, I can get over that wall.

I never needed money at all, not until my mother went on the dole.

As you grow up, you want more cash; I only wish my mam had a stash.

You get a job and work all day; is it really worth that little pay? 

.At twenty-five, you find your spouse, and in the same year, you move into a house.

At thirty-five, you split in two, remembering what your mother said came true.

I don't know why life is this way, but it's good to know we live the same way.

So here I am at 38, wishing, hoping, wanting to go back, been eight.

Sister.

Mag

This poem came about after realising what an impact my sister's death had on me. So I thought I would write and share my experience with the world. 

                      Sister.                        

My sister Margaret has gone to live in the sky, leaving behind her family to cry. 

She's gone forever, never to be seen again, but I'm happy knowing she's out of pain. 

She's out of sight, not out of mind; how can she be; She was one of a kind. 

She was always, always there for me, but I had to say goodbye and set her free. 

I look out the window in pure disbelief; why did you go, why did you leave?

                    

My love.

This poem came about after realising what could have been if I had listened to my gut feeling and taken action. How could life have been so different if I had turned right instead of left?

And now, I wonder if my life would have been like the couple in the poem.                                                                  

                   My love

We love sitting in the garden in spring, having coffee while listening to the blackbirds sing.

We like camping in the woods with the dog, just sitting beside a fire-burning log.

We love the birds, the bees, and the wind rushing through the trees.

We like walking hand-in-hand barefoot on the beach, skimming stones on the water, to see how far we've reached.

We love playing in the snow late at night, making snowballs for the dog, and having a fight.

I love my girl; if I were an oyster, she'd be my pearl.

We both like lying naked in bed, re-enacting the night we wed.

This is what we used to do: thank you for the memories, babe, it was a dream come true.

Mental health.

This poem came to be after losing a loved one. 

I wrote this poem after discovering a tiny flower in my garden had grown after I had sprinkled my friend's ashes six months previous. I believe the spirit placed the seed in my garden to grow, to remind me of the love I had before. 

                                                                     Mental health. 

My friend has gone and been replaced by a flower; looking out the window in pure disbelief, why did you go, why did you leave? 

Why did you listen to the voice in your head? Why didn't you call me, why didn't you shout; surely we'd of found another way out.

Mental health is a terrible thing; why didn't you text, why didn't you ring, why didn't you knock on my door like you used to do before?

I cry alone as I lay in bed, remembering the beautiful words you said the last time we spoke; you told me I am your love, the love of your life, but believe me, honey, you need a wonderful wife. 

I can feel you, dear; I know you are here; I can sense your presence when you lay so near, but I want to hear your voice and to see you smile, even if it's for a little while.

I water the flower to make it grow; I miss you so much, darling, and I always will; I have to go.

Memories.

I made this poem up after sitting there one night reminiscing about my life and what it was like growing up in the 70s. Moving from a run-down old house in a run-down area of Hull to a massive newly built home many miles away on the city's outskirts was a time I will never forget for my brother and me.

                                                                        Memories

It all began when I was one; Hessle road is where I'm from.

Wellstead street is the first I remember; just turned four on the third of December.

Hyde pie shop at the top of the street, three hot pies and curd for a treat.

My dad went to sea, far, far away, to catch his fish, so when he came home, I could buy my wish.

Bransholme was next; they were good times for me, Neil Gibson, my friend, we used to climb this tree.

Me and my brother Jimmy at Colford school; he was the bright one, I was the fool.

My sister Margaret at bransholme high, If I were ever bullied, they would die.

Saying goodbye to my best friend, and moving back west, was hard to end.

At eleven years old, my life fell apart, my dad found someone else to love, and he gave her his heart.

Gold digger.

This poem came about after discovering that I was living with a golddigger instead of the woman I thought was the opposite.                                                       
             Golddigger
I thought it was love at very first sight, and then it dawned on me after receiving her text last night.

I thought she was the one I would be with forever, but after speaking to her, I now know that it's never.

She wanted the money that I couldn't give, so now she's moved out and found somewhere else to live.

She's taken all her clothes and our savings too; the dog sat there staring; what shall we do? 

We'll take the positives out of the negative and leave the past behind, and try and find someone else to love, who is trustworthy and kind.

Freddie.

I wrote this poem after losing my dog to liver failure due to him being diagnosed with diabetes. This poem was the hardest to write because of my love for my dog, which I think about daily and probably always will. 

I always knew that Freddie would die when he reached 11 years old because of my past experiences with the number 11 and several coincidences that have occurred. 

It doesn't matter what you get attached to; love unconditionally; the 11 life path person must experience loss to learn and understand the feelings from the lessons. 

                                                                          Freddie

He came into my life at ten weeks old; he was a happy little puppy who wouldn't do as he was told.

And then it was six months, and then it was a year; he made me smile from ear to ear.

I used to take him for really long walks to the countryside, the woods, and the seashore; I know he loved that, I know for sure.

He was lovely and gentle in his sweet way, just give him a ball, and he would play.

And then, at eight years old, he got ill and started to suffer; the advice from the vet was that he would never recover.

And then, at eleven, we returned to the vet; he said those words I wish I could forget.

I took little Freddie all the way, but this time at the vet's, he would stay.

He's not coming home, and I've got to say goodbye, walking out the door with tears in my eyes.

Goodbye, my friend, now safe in the sky; I will see you someday, as soon as I die.

Crack.

Crack.

I wrote this poem after hearing that a young girl I used to chat with after depositing money in the bank had died of a drug overdose. One time I visited the bank to cash the cheques from my furniture business, and this girl would come up to me and ask me if I wanted her business, meaning that she was a hooker and wanted money in exchange for sex to buy either heroin or crack cocaine or both; sad but true.                                      

                                                                            crack

Walking down the street one day, happy as can be, as I got on my way.

I saw a young girl stood in the cold, with paling skin, scruffy shoes; she had nothing to lose.

Why did I look? Why did I stare? Something inside told me to care.

She gave me that look that would stay in my head; she was crying inside; she needed a doctor, she needed a home, she needed a bed.

I said hello, and she replied, "Do you want my business," I told her, "Goodbye."

As I turned and walked away, I thought of the money she needed that day.

She needed the money to get her supply, so she could stand on a street corner smoking crack to get high.

Covid-19

This poem was put together after realising what a terrible year we all have been through with people suddenly dying with little or no warning and leaving behind distressed loved ones.

2020 was a terrible year, with millions dying and living in fear.

A virus was named Covid-19; this wasn't just a bug; it was deadly and mean.

It started in China and then went from one country to another, killing your mama, papa, sister, and brother.

It took my freedom and your jobs, and it may take your home, separating the family, and being all alone.

We are told to cover our mouths to prevent the spread; if we catch it, we must isolate it in bed.

2022 has been a year I would rather forget with so much pain and sorrow; I wish I could wake up in the morning and the virus had gone tomorrow.

Choices.

I wrote this poem after realising that there was more to life than settling down with my girlfriend at the time and having fun with my friends. I had a choice of either my girl or my continued drinking, and I regretfully chose alcohol, which led to another disastrous chapter in my life.

                                                                    Choices

One night, I woke up after having a terrible dream; it made me scared and made me scream. 

My heart was thumping ten to the dozen; my body was hot like I had slept in an oven.

Confused and dazed about where I had just been, my eyes wide open at what I had just seen.

It was realistic, as though someone was chasing me; I was running slow, I couldn't go fast, and I couldn't get free. 

These nightmares began happening when I stopped the beer when I suddenly gave up at the beginning of the year.

But my nightmare had only just begun; this wasn't going to be easy; it's not going to be fun.

I know I shouldn't, but I need a drink to get my head together to think. To think about the beer and to think about the wife, which one will make me happy for the rest of my life.

I have a choice, either my girl or the beer; I'm sorry, love, I'm sorry, dear; I'm off to Thailand; I'll be back next year.

Cancer.

 This poem came about after my lovely sister suddenly died of cancer on the 26th of November, 2022, with little or no warning until two days before she died. It shook my family and me to the core, so I thought I'd put pen to paper and write about my experience.

                   

                  Cancer. 

Cancer took my sister last week, she used to be strong, but it made her weak.

It made me cry, and I felt sad, looking back on the good times we had.

She was always, always there for me, but I had to say goodbye and set her free.

I sit and daze and wonder why she had to leave; she had to die.

I've asked the Lord to take care of my sister and give her our love from her grandchildren, my mother, father, and brother.

I stand alone and look at the sky; I want to be there, but it's miles too high.

Goodbye, my love, until we meet again; rest in peace, out of pain.

Spirit angels.

Angels

This poem came to be after realising that spiritual angels have successfully guided me onto the path to which I belong. 

Since childhood, I have always had a fascination and connection with spirit angels and those from the higher realms. 

I've always believed in the back of my mind that God's Angels are guiding me in times of danger or when I need assistance.

Angels. 

Do not fear; the angels are near.

Do not be frightened, do not be scared, angel protection, your prayers have been heard.

You might be lost, lonely and vulnerable, too; rest assured, angels are with you.

Angels beside you in the morning and guiding you late at night, protecting you in your sleep with the golden-edged moonlight.

Angels everywhere, your invisible friend, were there at the beginning and will be there till the end.

Addictions.

 

Addictions 

This poem came to be after I had successfully ridden myself off almost everything I became addicted to. From a young age, I was exposed to nearly every addiction under the sun, and I found it difficult to steer my life in the right direction. It was a case of jumping from one addiction to another with little or no care about what I was walking into until my world came crashing down when I began regretting what I had done and wanted real change.                              

The first taste of beer, the first taste of wine, it made me feel happy and made me feel fine.

Next, it was tobacco, and then it was weed, thieving, and lying to supply my greed.

Charlie was next, and then it was crack, and then it was a grow to get the cashback.

Singing and dancing, not caring anymore, all I thought was wanting to score.

This continued for many years,  until I lost my dog, and then there were tears.

Sat there thinking, not doing much more, I've got no family and friends, no money to score.

Stomach pains, cramps and headaches galore, vomit and poo all over the floor.

Visiting the doctor for antidepressants I need, and telling the counselor, that it all started with beer, then weed. 

My days on the beer.

This poem came about after pondering where it all went wrong. It's also about texting people while under the influence of alcohol and regretting what you've done the next day. 

 

There was once a time I used to drink plenty of beer every day, every month, and many of year.

Sitting there drinking, getting out of my head, then after a few more, I'd stumble to bed.

Waking in the morning, cough, cough, cough, my head is banging, my hands are shaking, and my mouth is like a troth.

Walking downstairs at half past nine, taking another day off; it will be fine.

Drinking coffee to try and get straight, then all of a sudden, you remember last night.

Checking my phone and checking my text, happy with the first one but regretting the next.

Oh my god, I've done it again; I've brought on more trouble, I've brought on more pain.

Thinking, thinking, not doing much more, I've been down this path and this road before.

After a few hours of going back to bed, that time is upon me to get out of my head.

This was my life for many, many years, and all it's brought me is sorrow and tears, struggle and strife; it's even robbed me of a wife.