Simplicity of Life: Why does being Human Complicate Everything?

Steve Leasock


What has humankind done with the simplicity of life? The evolution of our species has induced complexity into our existence. This doesn’t necessarily stem, from our ever-changing and developing human-made environment, but from our misuse of the wonderful gifts of humankind, such as creativity, intelligence, and a higher level of consciousness, which surpasses any other known living being. A somewhat discouraging downside to our species development is that we are also plagued by emotions, conditioning, and the ego, which manipulate, restrict, and corrupt many areas of our existence.

This combination of human characteristics forms the basis of our complexity. The irony is that most of these self-imposed confusions, fears, and complexities are not needed in our daily human activities. This demand to dominate life has imposed an illusion of separation from it.

The forms and objects of our man-made existence content are mostly an illusion. We progressively maintain a behavior that enforces the patterns which were developed throughout humankind’s history. We hold on to unsubstantiated assumptions and beliefs that often only divert our human consciousness from corresponding with the universal intelligence. We have more and more difficulty in finding peace and joy in living.

We have been taught to seek man-made materialistic content to fulfill our supposed emptiness. Many people; including family, friends, and institutions wish to dictate how we should live and what we should think. We are no longer able to enjoy our existence. Mankind is compiled to search and reach for something, anything, to fill a void, which we ourselves created. This illusion is nurtured by the content of humankind’s society. The happiness that does seem to appear from time to time is very short-lived. There is no real substance in many of our human endeavors.

Mother At Seven

Veronika Gasparyan


On The Edge of the Window


I stood at the edge of the window in my family’s fifth-floor apartment and wondered if I could fly. Just a few hours earlier, after enjoying yet another dream with my beloved and beautiful brown eagle, I made up my mind that today would be the day. Today I would finally be brave. Today I was going to fly away.

Most of the time, I considered Sundays to be my favorite day of the week. I would spend them alone watching over my baby brother which I felt was a wonderful way to spend a weekend. I always cherished Sundays the most because unlike the rest of the week, we were left alone and we were able to do the fun things that we weren’t allowed to do on any other day.

Even though this was the fifteenth day in a row and I hadn’t been allowed to go outside, I still felt strangely happy and joyful.
from the moment I woke up that morning. In fact, I somehow knew that this day was going to be different and unique even though I hadn’t yet figured out what it was that made me feel that way. After all, I was only a little over eight-years-old, and I did not understand everything in this world so easily. Despite my predicament, and despite the distractions of my one-year-old baby brother who was needy and quite a handful, my mind was still so full of hope. I yearned for brighter days.

It was now 11 a.m. and my regular morning routine was finished. It usually took about three hours to complete my chores, but on Sundays, they always took longer because I would pause to play with the baby and have fun. It felt better to be doing things around the house at my own speed without the pressure of adults watching over my shoulder. And now even my baby brother was happy, sporting a set of fresh, clean clothes and a rounded belly full of food.

I looked down from the window and could see my friends and classmates playing outside as they usually did on the weekend. I, on the other hand, couldn’t go outside. It wasn’t just be-cause my parents had forbidden it, but it was also because I didn’t want to leave my brother alone. So all I could do was watch everyone from my balcony window and enjoy the bright summer sunbeams as they shone through the glass and warmed my face.

You Are Weird

Oliver Heyn


My name is Benedikt Heyn. I was born in Prague in 1990. My identical twin brother Adam saw the light of the world four minutes after me.

Our dad died when we were four years old. He died of a vicious type of cancer.

I have only one memory left of my father; him putting a small model of a bright orange car into the palm of my hand – in a hospital he was dying in.

After dad died, mom shut herself off from the rest of the world and kept living just for the two of us.
My brother and I loved each other very much, but we still kept telling each other: “You are weird.” Well…it is weird when you have a brother who looks exactly like you.

My brother was always one step ahead of me no matter what. His mind was always the more adult one, the more rational. He was calmer than I was and much more sensitive; you could even say he was overly sensitive. It was me though, who according to our unwritten rule was the leader of our inner world.

Since we were little, we didn’t have many friends. We weren’t very popular among our peers and we were often laughed at. They taunted us because we looked the same. Truly, only few people could tell us apart. We were never angry with our classmates for being cruel to us just because we were identical twins. But their taunts bothered us. And so it happened that every day we chose to run away from this not-so-friendly reality to our own little world, full of dreams and wishes.
Both of us were the same dreamers. We dreamt about a vast gorgeous world, filled with success and money. To just settle with the way our reality was or even get used to our poor life filled with taunts, sneers and stupid comments, was unthinkable.

The life of identical twins is really not easy in a lot of ways.

There always was a deep emotional connection between us. We would never admit it to ourselves, but we existed mostly for each other.

Steps in My Shoes: The Life of a Foster Child

Ron Deming


Chapter One – First Five Years


I went into the foster care system with my oldest biological sister because we were severely neglected. I did not learn the specifics, but it was bad enough to be covered on the news in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I went to my first foster home when I was between two and three years old. My sister who I went into foster care with is two years younger than I am, so this move did not affect her in the same way. Our first foster home was meant to be a temporary placement for my sister and I until we went back to our biological family or got adopted.

Being removed from my biological family had a negative impact on my behavior. I had built strong bonds with some members of my biological family, so losing them caused me great pain that manifested itself in the form of anger. One member of my biological family I had strong bonds with was my maternal grandfather. He would give me a lot of attention and I would get very upset anytime he left. The manner I expressed my anger about being separated from my family were not acceptable. This resulted in punishment for me; I was made to stand in the corner.

My biological sister and I moved into our first adoptive home about a year after entering the foster care system. Our parents had their rights terminated and this was a closed adoption, so there was no further contact with our biological family after leaving our first foster home. Our first adoptive parents were amazing people who had their own biological daughter who was older than I was. The anger I developed within the last year intensified further and I became violent towards both of my sisters.

My first adoptive parents tried their best to help me control my anger, but it was too intense for them to handle without professional help. My first adoptive parents tried many different strategies to help me improve before they resorted to professional help.

Despair to Deliverance: A True Story of Triumph Over Severe Mental Illness

Sharon DeVinney, Ph.D. and Robin Personette




The story begins with a phone call from Robin. She and I had been working together in therapy for almost ten years. She usually didn’t call between sessions, partly because she was very aware of and careful about boundaries, but also because severe anxiety about making phone calls was one of her symptoms. If she ever called it was only to reschedule an appointment, which was a rare occurrence.

“I’m not doing well. Can I see you sometime today or tomorrow?” Robin asked. I was stunned. This was huge. She had never been this blunt about feeling bad, or this direct about asking to see me.

“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to hide my surprise.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’ll explain when I see you,” she said. Her voice sounded flat, like she was depressed, which was typical for her at that time. She did not sound overly distressed.

“I’m booked today, but have an opening tomorrow at noon,” I said. “Is that soon enough? Are you okay?”

“That’ll be fine. I’ll be okay,” she replied with her voice continuing to sound flat. In retrospect I should have canceled my other clients and squeezed her in that day, knowing how significant it was for her to make this request. But, she said she would be okay. I knew her well and trusted her to be honest with me.

At that time Robin was a 36-year-old, single woman who lived alone and worked as a case manager at a mental health agency in a neighboring county. I was a busy psychologist in the prime of my career, working at a large community mental health center with a full caseload of adult therapy clients. When I walked toward the waiting room at noon the day after her unusual phone call, I knew Robin would be there. She was always on time for her appointments. Always.

When I saw her I immediately knew something was very wrong. Robin was sitting with her head in her hands, looking exhausted. After she got into my office and started talking, I immediately noticed her speech was slurred. She looked very anxious with her leg vigorously bouncing, a sign of her significant anxiety I had seen many times before. I asked what had happened that led to her call the previous day.

“I went to work Monday morning and got a voice mail from my boss,” she said. “She had left it on Friday afternoon. She was saying what a good job I do and how valuable a team member I am, and how important my contributions are. It made me start crying and I couldn’t stop.” Robin said she told a co-worker she wasn’t feeling well and then just went home.

Robin had been depressed for the previous year. I knew she had not been sleeping well, and I knew she had been having suicidal thoughts. Her psychiatrist and I had been trying different medication options to get her significant depression under control, without much success. It had been frustrating for all of us, since medication is usually an effective form of treatment for depression, and Robin had always responded well to antidepressant medications in the past.


Mandy Magro


You’ve taken the first step to grabbing hold of the reins of your sex life – so good on you! Now it’s time for the fun stuff…

LOVE, it’s the universal language, but so is SEX.  And sex can be so much fun!

Throughout the ages, sexuality has been repressed and exploited. This book is about finding the happy medium, and getting your groove back in the bedroom, and on the couch, and on the kitchen bench…you get the picture. Everyone falls in love at some point in their lives. But, like it or not, love isn’t enough to maintain a long-term relationship. Sorry! You
have to have great sex too, and often! And no, ladies, once a month is not often. And men, women need more than the offer
of a full body massage to be turned on – they know just what you’re thinking. Sorry to burst your bubble.

Remember your first kiss where the world faded away and your entire body tingled? When you thought you could never feel so in love, so sexually attracted, so passionately head over heels ever again. If you could bottle that feeling and sell it, you’d be a squillionaire! Because sadly, in 99% of cases, once the “honeymoon” period is over and the reality of life kicks back in, that raging inferno of passion, the one where you wanted to tear each others clothes off with every opportunity you got,  the batteries are going flat. Eventually, even that torchlight seems to go out, leaving the relationship in darkness. This

This leaves some partners frustrated and wondering why they’re not “getting it” much anymore (other than their birthdays and at Christmas) and leaves others wondering if they’re ever going to lust for sex again.

Don’t lose faith. Not all is lost. You can have your cake (be in love) and eat it too (have mind-blowing, knock-your-socks-off
sex). All it’s going to take is for you, and your partner, to follow the Sex-Steps, Sextion by Sextion, and give every Sex-Step you choose to act out your full, whole-hearted effort. You ready for the ride of your life? Was that a yes? I thought so…great; it’s the first step!

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