August 2018


Mother Ignacia Healing Ministry16 Aug 2018 08:37 am

My hands are Your hands, Lord

MY HANDS ARE YOUR HANDS, LORD.
 
Click one video link at a time.
After viewing video no. 1
click return arrow (top left)
then click link for video no. 2.
 
Video no. 1 – Sacred Heart on Fire
00 video sacred heart on fire
 
Video no. 2 – The Boy Pianist
01 piano kid
 
Mother Ignacia Healing Ministry10 Aug 2018 07:17 pm

Do Astral Travel in Your Dreams * The Power of the Human Mind * eastwind

DO ASTRAL TRAVEL IN YOU DREAMS
We Take for Granted the Power of the Human Mind
 
eastwind journals
Bernie V. Lopez, eastwindreplyctr@gmail.com
Share via link = http://www.sisterraquel.com/2018/08/do-astral
Facebook Page – “Eastwind Journals”
 
As a teenager, I had dreams that I was flying across valleys and forests. It was a wonderful feeling of freedom and flight. Once, I suddenly woke up and the dream was so clear in my mind. I decided I wanted to go back to that dream, and I succeeded, using sheer concentration before going back to sleep.
 
This time, I was conscious I was dreaming and I could control my flight. I flew wherever I wanted to. I could see tiny people and cars on the street below. I could soar high for a panoramic view or glide low above treetops. I had total control. This happened about six or seven times in my life. Then it was gone. I met a few people with the same dream experience.
 
I thought it was something more than just a dream, more transcendental, more cosmic, my spirit trying to break away from my body, testing the limits of time and space, attempting to reach the rim of the galaxy. Indeed our souls are cosmic. Astronomers say the iron and zinc in our blood were formed billions of years ago in a super-nova. The extreme temperature was the foundry where the first heavy metals were formed, and found their way to planet Earth millions of years later, and into our veins eventually.
 
We came from stars and we have the energy and power of stars if we can harness them – mental telepathy, telekinesis, clairvoyance, mind-reading, third eye. I learned later that my dreams were a shade of Astral Travel. Astral means stars. Astral Travel is the ability to travel instantly to places from sheer act of the will.
 
Scientists say we normally use only about 10% of our brains. We have to learn to harness the other 90% like intuitive clairvoyants, third-eye people, and astral travelers do. A million years from now, when the sun dies, and the solar system collapses, we will return to the stars, our primordial roots.
 
Bernie V. Lopez, eastwindreplyctr@gmail.com
Share via link = http://www.sisterraquel.com/2018/08/do-astral
Facebook Page – “Eastwind Journals”
Blogger/Freelance-In-house Columnist-Journalist-Broadcaster, 25 years
Inquirer * Business World * Manila Times * Manila Chronicle * Radio Veritas
Healing Ministry of Srs. Raquel/Gloria, RVM * for healing inquiries send email
 
Inspirational eastwind verses
 
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amdg
Mother Ignacia Healing Ministry08 Aug 2018 11:58 am

Children of the Universe * A Slide Show

Children of the Universe * A Slide Show

Click the link below to download (size 7.8mb) -

03PPT children of the universe NEW PPS FORMAT

amdg

 

 

 

eastwind journals08 Aug 2018 03:46 am

BRAWL IN A PORTUGUESE BAR * A True Story from a Pinoy Adventurer

BRAWL IN A PORTUGUESE BAR
A True Story from a Pinoy Adventurer
 
eastwind journals
By Bernie Lopez, eastwindreplyctr@gmail.com
Share via link = http://www.sisterraquel.com/2013/10/eastwind-memoirs-02
 
A story dedicated to the Millions of OFWs across the planet, who are away from home. Please pass to them.
 
This is an excerpt from the book Wings and Wanderlust, the Art of Discovering Your Inner Self, a true story of the daring adventure of a Filipino Programmer from New York turned drifter, hitchhiking 25,000 kilometers for 3 years across Western Europe and North Africa. More than a travelogue, it is a guide to discovering one’s inner self.
 
It was spring at last. I left Las Palmas in the Canary Islands, hitchhiking to Portugal to watch the bull fiesta at Vila Franca de Xira.  At the border was the quaint village of Vila Real de Santo Anto­nio. It was dusk. I was tired and hungry. I peeked into a noisy bar. The bartender beckoned. As soon as I entered, there was total silence. Everyone stared in awe at me and my guitar and long hair. I smiled, and everyone went back to talking. Hitchhikers do not normally carry a heavy guitar, but I did because, for me, it was a magic wand on the road. Somehow, it attracted true adventure. 
 
The bartender asked me to play a tune. Everyone gathered around me. It was April, but I sang a Filipino Christmas carol, Ang Pasko Ay Sumapit. A huge mug of cold beer slid down the ramp and screeched to a halt in front of me, frothing with anger. A large salami sandwich came next. After my song, they grabbed the guitar. Someone sang a sad Portuguese folk song while I ate ravenously. Then, all hell broke loose.
 
That night, I had about six mugs of beer, some­thing I had not done for a long time. It was a far cry from the meditative cave in Lanzarote, where I lived for a month. I was out of Africa, back in Europe were alcohol was king. After the silence of the cave, the noise of a bar was heaven. It was good to mix with the rowdy Portuguese. I did not know it was easy to understand Portuguese if you spoke broken Spanish. With a little help from non-verbal communica­tions, I felt at home in Portugal. 
 
A guy put an arm around my shoulder, “Listen, young man, where are you sleeping tonight?”
 
I shrugged my shoulder, “I don’t know. Perhaps in the park outside, if there are no hostels. 
 
His eyes widened in amusement. He laughed aloud until he choked. “You sleep in the park outside? That’s terrible. Nonsense. You sleep in my house tonight.”
 
“You’re sure it’s no trouble?” 
 
“No trouble at all. It is my privilege to have a Filipino for a guest. We never see Filipinos around here, you know.”
 
“Okay, muito obrigato.” I did not remember if that was Catalan or Portuguese, but he understood and laughed. 
 
“Fine. I’ll see you later.”
 
He left to join others who were singing. There were no videokes or karaokes then. I joined others who were trying to talk to me. Everyone had to shout to be heard. Another guy called me aside. He almost fell on me. 
 
“Where are you sleeping tonight, my friend?” he said.
 
“Someone offered me to sleep in his house.” 
 
“Who?”
 
I pointed to the guy who was by now trying to sing. 
He said, “Sebastian? Nonsense. You’re sleeping in my house tonight.”
 
I shrugged my shoulders, “Doesn’t matter where.” 
“No, you sleep in my house,” he insisted with finality.
 
“Talk to him,” I smiled. 
 
He marched straight to Sebastian. They had an argu­ment. The chaos was reaching a climax. Then it happened. The two had a fist fight. One went down on the floor. The other dove at him and they grappled like children on the floor to the amusement of everyone. Everyone was shouting like they were in an American wrestling match.
 
I felt so privileged that in my first Portuguese village, people were fighting over me to sleep in their house. I never forgot that glorious evening. But if I did not leave, there would be a dilemma. I took my guitar, and gave a signal to the bartender, who gave a thumbs-up. Quiet­ly, I slipped away and walked to a nearby park. The pandemonium vanished instantly. There was a deafening silence, the sacred Portuguese evening. 
 
I slept in the park. There was no rain. I preferred sleep­ing in the open alone rather than feeling rigid as a guest of an over-hospit­able host. The Portuguese were very much like Filipinos, I thought, warm, over-hospit­able, easy to befriend, noisy, over-acting when drunk, unassuming, and reckless. I looked forward to Algarve, to the bull fiesta, and to Fatima, where i would take a pilgrimage, walking 80 kilometers for seven days to say hello to Mama Mary.
 
Everywhere I went, I had no fear of danger. My guardian angel was always around. In my 3 years on the road, covering 25,000 kilometers, I was always safe. You have to be a Child of the Universe to understand what I mean. (See posters below) 
 
by Bernie V. Lopez, eastwindreplyctr@gmail.com
Facebook Page/Timeline – ‘Eastwind Journals
Blogger/Columnist-Journalist-Broadcaster, 25 years
Inquirer * Business World * Manila Times * Manila Chronicle * Radio Veritas
Healing Ministry of Srs. Raquel/Gloria, RVM * for healing inquiries send email
 
Email the author at eastwindreplyctr@gmail.com to get the book sent to your home.
 
Inspirational eastwind verses
 
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amdg