YOUR FIRST COMPANY COMMAND by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

Dear Danny,

Congratulations on your appointment to your first command, Company Commander of C Company, 211th, Fort Benning, GA, your current life's position on what will ultimately lead to the kind of brilliant and stellar military career for which most warriors can only hope and dream.

As I write this, I am sitting before the hundreds of Athletic, Academic, and Scholar Awards that you have received through the years that bear witness to your Outstanding and Singular Achievements and Accomplishments.

Each one is, for me, a glorious moment frozen in time, where I have felt so blessed that God chose me to be your father.

You have always been the kind of son of which Kings dreamed for their own, possessing the most admirable traits and qualities; those most admired and respected by Men, including, but not limited to: Honesty, Integrity, Reliability, Dependability, Selflessness, Respectfulness, Generosity, Humility, and Compassion.

Most of all, you possess the Warrior's two greatest weapons: Wisdom and Courage. It is these things that have earned you the admiration and respect not only of the succession of peers, teammates, family and fiends, in your life, who affectionately refer to you as: "Golden Boy," "Danny the Lionhearted, and "Achilles;" but you have earned the admiration and respect of your opponents, as well.

Congratulations again, Danny, my beloved son. I look forward to your ever continued success in your already very brilliant career.

All my love,

Dad

MOTHER TERESA, THE "BETTY CROCKER" OF THE CORPORATE CHURCH by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

ONE OF 10,559 POSED PUBLICITY PHOTOS OF MOTHER TERESA

Mother Teresa doubted that God and Jesus existed. What we witnessed and interpreted as her piety was, in fact, a kind of self-loathing.

The recognition she sought from Our Father was not forthcoming because she had forgotten the admonition of Jesus in Matthew 6:1-2,

"Take care not to do your good works before men, to be seen by them; or you will have no reward from your Father in heaven. When you aid the poor, do not make a noise about it, as the false-hearted men do in the Synagogues and in the streets, so that they may have glory from men. Truly, I say to you, They have their reward."

The letters Mother Teresa wrote to friends, superiors and confessors were, in a way, an appeal to them to witness for her against God for refusing to acknowledge her "Good Works."

After all, couldn't God see that she got the Nobel Prize and was on the cover of Time Magazine in her best "Hey everybody! Look at me! Don't I look like a living saint?" pose.

That she was, indeed, the "hypocrite" she feared people would see, is evidenced by her claiming in her Novena of 1952 that God spoke to her (the God she doubted existed?) and that she was somehow instrumental in forgiving sins.

Not even Jesus had the audacity to claim the power-to-forgive that God alone possesses, not even with His last breath.

He didn't say, "I forgive you," but, rather, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do;" Luke 23-24.

Because Mother Teresa violated the First Commandment, placing herself between Man and God, my personal feeling is that, although well on the way to politically expedient Sainthood, she is burning in Hell.



STEVE SAVAGE "King of the Beasts"



-----------------------
Letters Reveal Mother Teresa's Secret
Book Of Iconic Nun's Letters Shows She Was Tormented By Her Doubts In Her Faith

By Michelle Singer

(CBS) In life, Mother Teresa was an icon — for believers — of God's work on Earth. Her ministry to the poor of Calcutta was a world-renowned symbol of religious compassion. She was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

But now, it has emerged that Mother Teresa was so doubtful of her own faith that she feared being a hypocrite, reports CBS News correspondent Mark Phillips.

In a new book that compiles letters she wrote to friends, superiors and confessors, her doubts are obvious.

Shortly after beginning work in Calcutta's slums, the spirit left Mother Teresa.

"Where is my faith?" she wrote. "Even deep down… there is nothing but emptiness and darkness... If there be God — please forgive me."

Eight years later, she was still looking to reclaim her lost faith.

"Such deep longing for God… Repulsed, empty, no faith, no love, no zeal," she said.

As her fame increased, her faith refused to return. Her smile, she said, was a mask.

"What do I labor for?" she asked in one letter. "If there be no God, there can be no soul. If there be no soul then, Jesus, You also are not true."

"These are letters that were kept in the archbishop's house," the Rev. Brian Kolodiejchuk told Phillips.

The letters were gathered by Rev. Kolodiejchuk, the priest who's making the case to the Vatican for Mother Teresa's proposed sainthood. He said her obvious spiritual torment actually helps her case.

"Now we have this new understanding, this new window into her interior life, and for me this seems to be the most heroic," said Rev. Kolodiejchuk.

According to her letters, Mother Teresa died with her doubts. She had even stopped praying, she once said.

The church decided to keep her letters, even though one of her dying wishes was that they be destroyed. Perhaps now we know why.

I REMEMBER MAMA: A Mothers Day Tribute

Several months ago, I asked my family and friends, members of the Army Security Agency Kagnew Station Guard Group, and those in my address book, to please take the time to put a few words down honoring their mothers, that first woman in their lives whom God chose for His highest calling, to bring them into this world. There are no words that thrill the heart of a mother more than to hear her child say, "I love you, Mom!" We best obey the Fifth Commandment by respecting our Fathers and by loving our Mothers.

Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"
---------------

MAMMA by Connie Francis


MARGE HEYMAN ANTON by Jaci Anton

I KNOW LITTLE OF MY MOTHER, ONLY WHAT PEOPLE TELL ME. I LIKE TO THINK OF HER AS A FUN LOVING WOMAN, AND I THINK OF HER OFTEN WHEN I LOOK IN THE MIRROR OR WHEN IT STRIKES ME JUST TO SING OUT LOUD. I HEAR SHE LOVED MUSIC AND THAT I LOOK JUST LIKE HER. THOSE WHO KNEW HER SAY SHE HAD A GOOD SPIRIT AND THOSE WHO LOVED HER, AS MY FATHER DID, SAW HOW SPECIAL SHE WAS. DESPITE WHAT WAS ON THE SURFACE HE SAW HER HEART. I MISS MY MOTHER ALTHOUGH I KNOW LITTLE ABOUT HER. I WISH I HAD HAD MORE TIME WITH HER. I JUST KEEP HER IN MY HEART ALWAYS AND KNOW THAT SHE IS WATCHING MY EVERY STEP. ALWAYS LOVE THOSE CLOSE TO YOU NO MATTER WHAT.

------------------------

ANNA G. ANTON by Scott Anton

Happy Mothers Day, Mom. I wish I could be there for you on your special day. I'll be home soon.

Love, Scott

-----------

KATHRYN ROSE CREDO TULANE by Geraldine Tulane

No one realizes that there were, and probably still are, "causalities of war" involving the families of Merchant Marines who were killed by U-boat submarines during WWII. There was a desperate need for volunteer Merchant Marines to transport oil, troops, rations, equipment and whatever else was needed as the U.S. tried to help England before we entered the war and anticipated that we would probably enter it also eventually.

Many men of all ages responded to the "We Want You" signs showing Uncle Sam pointing a finger at whoever was looking at this sign. As time wore on many of these men were told that they were needed more urgently in the Merchant Marines. Dutifully, they signed on to these merchant ships. At some point. President Roosevelt promised these men that if these brave men were injured or killed, they would receive medical care and/or their families would be given death benefits should they be killed. It took a special kind of man to climb the ladders up onto those ships, knowing so many had been blown out of the water and having no weapons to fight with in many cases. One (or no more than 2) Coast Guard Cutters were assigned to patrol the entire eastern coastline from Maine down to Key West to pick up survivors of sunken merchant ships...not a good chance of survival for men either injured or floating in oil ridden seas. But they kept on signing up...talk about courage.

President Roosevelt died before the end of the war. When Truman stepped in and the war was ended, he decided that the Merchant Marines deserved nothing as they were not sworn in as the men in uniform were. The fact that there was never a major battle anywhere while fighting the Japanese and the Germans that did not involve unarmed merchant ships sailing right along with our armed forces men...Merchant Marines that were captured were also imprisoned along with our service men. None of this mattered to our government after it was all over and done with.

My mother was raised in Louisiana to be a mother and a wife. She found herself a young woman alone with a tiny child to support with no husband and no money and no hopes of acquiring a good job. When the war was over there was a campaign for the working women who had taken their husband places in the work force to quit their jobs so the returning service men would have jobs to care for their families.

She did the only work she knew....waitressing and sewing. I wound up in an all-girls Catholic boarding school for many years because my mother worked such grueling hours. I cannot go into just how rough it was for her living in Staten Island and how meagerly we lived. But she did not complain very much at all. She cried a lot and I was always aware of the deep sadness she carried within her.

Whenever we went to a parade in NYC, I always asked her, "Where are the Merchant Marines?" because she always told me what a hero my father was riding on a Standard Oil Tanker (now called Exxon) named the "SS W.L. Steed" so bravely until it was blown out of the water...getting into a life boat (we think) only to freeze to death on 2/2/1941 in a snowstorm with a NE wind blowing in his underwear.

In 1988 I wheeled my 77 yrs. old mother from one military base to another...trying to get the paperwork for the pension that was passed by Congress. For 3 months we drove from Delaware down into Virginia...Congress forgot to inform the bases that the handful of wives still left alive would be trying to get their commissary card and I.D. for medical care. Finally, we wound up back where we started out - at the VA office in Wash., D.C. and they completed all the paperwork for her.

We received a flag and a Certificate of Honorable Discharge from the U.S. Coast Guard, along with 5 medals my father had earned on that last night of his life. (Note: the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines refused to allow the Merchant Marines to be placed under their wings so that these belated pensions could finally begin to be paid (they were not retroactive, of course.) I found it ironic that it was the Coast Guard that patrolled the coastline during the war and then again, the Coast Guard who accepted the few Merchant Marines and/or widows for the sake of the pension paperwork.

At some point in my young childhood my mother became like my child. I tried to look after her and remind her when things needed to be done. I cared for her throughout my entire adult life and made sure she did not want for anything.

She didn't make much of a "dent" in the governments funds as she died at the age of 91. I held her in my arms as I laid alongside her in her hospital bed for 5 days and nights until she passed away on 9/7/2002.

But on the previous 7/4/2002, when I took her out to dinner and to see the movie, "The Perfect Storm"...she sat in her wheelchair in the handicapped section of the movie theater. She was so quiet I was wondering if she was comprehending what was going on in the movie as the Capt. of the Andrea Gail and one of his crew members were facing their imminent death while their boat sank; all of sudden she leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I guess that is what it was like for your father." We'll never know what it was like for him as the bodies in the life boats were so decomposed only a few of them were identified. I didn't know it at the time, but dementia was taking a hold on her, but she still remembered my father enough to try and piece something together, even if it wasn't "right on the nose". It was close enough for me and I had to try and hide my tears from her in that dark theater.

She maintained her wonderful sense of humor almost until the end of her life. Her favorite joke when someone asked her how she felt was, "With my hands....how do you feel?" She would laugh harder than everyone else at her own jokes. My family misses her so much...especially me...for it was truly a case of "You and Me Against the World". Not a day goes by that I don't think about her and wish she were still here.

FORGETTING, OUR GREAT SHAME; DENYING OUR GREAT SIN.

Geraldine Tulane, daughter of Kathryn Rose & Walter Austin Tulane

-------------------

MY MOTHER by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

For all of her life, my mother, born Elizabeth Grace Granit, called "Bessie" by her friends and family, never forgot Armistices Day, Saturday, November 11, 1933. That was the day that the United States Army Football Team from Fort Monmouth, NJ, would play the Long Branch West End Wildcats for the Jersey Shore Championship.

It was also the day that she and my father met for the first time and fell in love.

My mother had five brothers, who played on the undefeated, untied, Wildcats team: Francis, Jack, George, Eddie, and Thomas; five of Long Branch's toughest street-fighting Irish kids, the "Five Blocks of Granit."

My mother, her older sister Mary, and her lifelong friend, Edith Semolis, were the Cheerleaders for the Wildcats.

Many of the players on the Fort Monmouth team, including my father, Jim, were on TDY from West Point. My father was called "Jim Thorpe" by his teammates because of his athleticism, and was the player the five brothers were determined to stop cold if they were to beat Army.

"Big Jim" put on one helluva show that day. He scored three touchdowns and made dozens of tackles to upset the Wildcats' unblemished record.

My Uncle Francis always jokingly blamed my mother for the Army win, "Ah, Jim was just showing off to impress Bessie."

"Big Jim" and "Bessie" married shortly, thereafter. My father, a career soldier, left the Army when his enlistment was up and entered civilian life during the darkest days of the Great Depression as a regular working family man.

My sister, Patti, was born September 28, 1935; my birth followed on Easter Sunday, March 28, 1937. We lived in a kerosene space heated three room garage apartment.

December 8, 1941, I was pushing the rocking chair in which my Uncle Eddie was sitting, in our living room, if it can really be called that, when the news came over the radio about Pearl Harbor.

"Big Jim," always the Warrior, had no other choice he could live with than to re-enlist and join the fight for Freedom. They knew this would place a heavy burden on my mother while he was gone, but they were part of that Greatest Generation who never considered alternatives. A great evil had descended upon the world and it had to be defeated at all costs.

My mother was pregnant with her third child when my father left for the War. He was somewhere fighting overseas when my brother, Julius, named after my mother's father, and nicknamed "Bootsy," was born October 16, 1942. He had auburn hair and glowed like an angel.

One year later, October 14, 1943, we were at Nana's house, my mother's mother, who was confined to a wheelchair. Bootsy began to experience great difficulty in breathing. I can still hear his sounds in my head 'till this day that accompanied the winds of that terrible storm raging outside. We had no telephone, no automobile, which meant that my mother had to go out into the storm, on foot, to find help for her baby.

Two days later, October 16, 1943, Bootsy, fighting for his life, struggled to stand up in his crib at Hazard's Hospital. He reached out to our mother, scratching her throat with his fingernails, pleading in desperation for a help she could not give, then fell back and died, on his First Birthday, while my mother's heart shattered into a million pieces.

My father was brought home on emergency leave for Bootsy's funeral, the son he had never seen, and, more so, because my mother was so traumatized and devastated over the loss of Bootsy she had to be hospitalized.

I don't know how she was able to come back from all this. Until the day he died, my father would remark how strong our mother was - what an exceptional woman. I believe he admired her emotional strength as much as he loved her.

February 11, 1945, my brother, and closest friend, Donnie, was born, the "spitting image" of our mother. God had given her a gift of love to help heal her heart.

Throughout most of our childhood years, especially the war years, my mother worked many long, hard hours to put food on the table for us. Looking back, she never missed a day's work, which meant that she walked that two miles to the Hollander Fur Factory, and back, every day, through wind and rain and snow.

Patti, Donnie, and I loved our mother dearly. She loved to sing and knew hundreds of songs that always filled our home with the music of her beautiful singing voice. The special song she always sang to me, when I was young, was "YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE." I, in turn, sang it to every one of my six sons, as well. Often times when I sing, I hear her voice within my voice.

There was a popular Black dance trio in the '50s called the Step Brothers. Patti, my mother, and I would imitate them in our kitchen, taking turns, dancing and clapping and laughing.

Everyone loved my mother. My cousin Tommy (Bumpsey), all of my fiends, our neighbors, people she worked with, just loved to be around her. She never once ever said a bad word about anyone. People trusted her to keep their darkest secrets and she never betrayed that trust.

All my life, whenever people would hear my name, they always made me feel as though I were something special, just because I was my mother's son, in the way they used to say: "Oh! You're Bessie's Boy!"

She had this wonderful way of being able to laugh at herself. Every so often Patti, Donnie, and I, when we're alone, will think of something our mother did or said, and just laugh out loud.

Life became truly wonderful for my mother and father in their senior retirement years. My father bought a Winnebago Chief RV and he and my mother toured America.

She took care of her father, Julius, until he died at age 96.

When my mother became sick, my sister Patti, a Registered Nurse, cared for her until her death at age 76.

My father, because he loved her so, always demanded that we treat our mother with love and respect and always reminded us not to forget her when it was her birthday, and to especially remember her on Mothers Day. He's not here to remind me now, but on this day, I can't think of anything else except how happy and proud I am to be "Bessie's Boy."

IT'S ALL ONLY MAKE BELIEVE by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

IT'S ONLY MAKE BELIEVE

It is not the same thing to know the Path as it is to have walked the Path, because only He who walks the Path knows the Doctrine.

This Blog is a record of my Journey on that Path so that those in whom I AM, will know WHO I AM, just as those in whom I AM NOT, have always known WHO I AM when I did not.

You might as well know the Truth. You are all Players in the MMORPG (Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game) of Eternal Life, an Infinite Game without End. You are Immortal and, thus, will live forever in Absolute Existence. Your status, of course, will depend on how well you played the last role assigned to you.

The average age of MMORPG players, in Relative Existence, is around 26. Those outside the parameters, not contributing to this [meaningless/meaningful] statistic, are BLIND GUIDES, that is, NON ROLE-PLAYERS — Extras, if you will. Their Function is to distract you from the Path before you reach HOME within the Time Limits assigned to you.

There is no Past or Future, only the Eternal Now. You are each a Holographic Expression of the One, a fractionated bit of Consciousness, as it were. Everyone you see is yourself in a different form - Everything, when you get right down to it.

In Time (literally), you will don [sequentially/all at once] the flesh of the nearly Seven Billion Characters on this Stage of Life, including those who have been aborted, in the Grand Guignol Drama, NOW PLAYING IN THE GLOBE THEATER. Thus you will play out each of their individual Life Experiences from the perspective of their AWARENESS.

In each of your performances, you will call yourself "me," named after "ME."

THE WORLD ILLUSION.

PARABLE OF THE MASTER'S DOG by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

The muffled bleating cries of the Sheep, at the far end of the Pasture, awoke the Master's Dog from his Sleep where he had lain down for the Night upon the clover-covered grass. There were reports of Wolves in the area and the Dog was taking no chances that one of the Flock should be lost because of any inattentiveness on his part.

Fully alert, in set and expectation for Command, the Dog lifted his head and looked about for the Shepherd, who is his Master's Son, through the gossamer of the Darkening Twilight.

There, perhaps two-hundred feet away, the Dog saw a seated figure with a Shepherd's Crook reclining against a Tree. Although the form in the distance was not clearly defined, obscured by the Haze of Nightfall, the Dog sniffed the air to reassure himself that the Scent emanating from the figure in repose was that of the Shepherd.

And, indeed, it was His Scent. The Dog seeing that the Shepherd was not alarmed by the bleating cries of the Sheep, believed that all was well and lay his head down to resume his Sleep.

However, unable to Sleep because the bleating was increasing in intensity, the Dog made his way over to the Tree to see if the Shepherd was awake, and aware, because something was obviously amiss.

As he approached the seated form, he saw that it was, in fact, not the Shepherd, but a Sheep dressed in the Shepherd's Clothes.

Sickeningly, it all became very clear now. The Wolves, in complicity with the Shepherd-attired Sheep, had killed the True Shepherd.

The Wolves then dressed the Traitorous Sheep in the True Shepherd's Clothing in order to trick the Dog into believing that the Scent from the False Shepherd was that of his Master's Son.

The Wolves did not kill the Dog because, though domesticated, he was of their Bloodline. But to restrain him, the Wolves bound him in Chains, forcing him to witness their murderous, merciless, blood-lusted slaughter of his Master's Sheep.

The Master is due, any day now, to visit his Flock and to embrace the Shepherd, His Son, who is His very Self, and to, once more, experience the joy of having His faithful, loving Dog, His Best Friend, lie at His Feet.

But the Master's joy will change to Immeasurable Wrath when He sees what the Wolves have done. The death of His Son and the killing of His Flock, will not go unavenged.

After casting the Wolves into that Place which has but One Entrance and No Exit, the Master will break the chains which bind His Dog and set him loose to stand Guard, forever, at the Doorway which leads to the Abode of Eternal Torment and Suffering, charging him with:

"LET NO WOLF ESCAPE!"

THE END by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

I don't know who or what or why it was decided that there would be just five of us in the Pilot's Cabin of the ship where we stood, looking toward New York City, the Home of "Ground Zero." It was just beyond the horizon in the far distance.

We Five were: Vladimir Putin; a young couple in their twenties, or thereabouts; Anna, and me.

Not one of us spoke or looked into the face of another. There was no need. We knew what we would see.

Unobserved, behind the Curtain of our agreed upon Reality, lurked an impatient Violence, awakened from its Dormancy, anxiously awaiting its cue to smash through the crack in the Created Shield of Illusion which restrained it.

There was no warning. The ferocious, all-consuming Blast was magnificent in its Entrance. We all looked on with a strange detached horror as we witnessed the instant explosive dissolution of what was once the Reigning Queen of All the Cities which have ever existed as "World Capital."

We were humbled into insignificance before this Mighty All-Destructive Power.

"Mr. Putin, how could you have done such a thing?" I asked.

"How could YOU have done such a thing?" he responded.

I knew immediately exactly what it was he meant. The thought crossed my mind that those who do not remember History will be doomed by it, but what about those of us who do remember History and are sickened by it?

Yes, in the past, we rallied together as we remembered the Maine, the Lusitania, Pearl Harbor, the Gulf of Tonkin, and 9-11. Now we'll be asked to remember New York City. But there will be nothing to remember. Retaliatory forces are already at work to repeat this scene over and over again, throughout the world.

A Tsunami-like nuée ardente, a pyroclastic flow in the aftermath of the Blast, was diverging from its center. We knew at once that there wasn't time enough to escape the most extreme limits of its deadly destruction.

Putin very calmly walked across the cabin to go below deck to wait for Death to claim him. The young couple didn't seem to really sense the gravity of the situation. I thought to myself that they would never know the joys of parenthood, love growing stronger through the years, sharing life's experiences together, the ups and downs, tears and laughter.

I led Anna to a bunk on the port side of the Cabin where she could lie down. My first inclination was to lie beside her, but I left the ship and began to walk through an apocalyptic scene of charred ruins, burning building structures in grotesque array; tongues of the fire's flames were everywhere. There was no day nor night. I was alone in the midst of Hell.

Off to my left, slightly behind me, I could see that the roiling Pyroclastic Death Cloud was almost upon me. As I stepped off the walkway into the street, my clothes caught fire and began to burn. I was engulfed in a Dante Alighierian Inferno, which was burning away every remnant of the dross which proved my existence.

My material being was reduced to less than the size of a postage stamp, and then. . .

I WAS NO MORE.

MARK TWAIN'S #44, THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER

ACKNOWLEDGMENT: The video of MARK TWAIN'S #44, THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER entered my Awareness via the "UNSEEN FRIEND." The Number 44 is called a Master Number. It is very significant considering it means chaos and division.
Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

SATAN: "In a little while you will be alone in shoreless space, to wander its limitless solitudes without friend or comrade forever--for you will remain a thought, the only existent thought, and by your nature inextinguishable, indestructible. But I, your poor servant, have revealed you to yourself and set you free. Dream other dreams, and better!...You perceive, now, that these things are all impossible except in a dream. You perceive that they are pure and puerile insanities, the silly creations of an imagination that is not conscious of its freaks - in a word, that they are a dream, and you the maker of it. The dream-marks are all present; you should have recognized them earlier. It is true, that which I have revealed to you; there is no God, no universe, no human race, no earthly life, no heaven, no hell. It is all a dream - a grotesque and foolish dream. Nothing exists but you. And you are but a thought - a vagrant thought, a useless thought, a homeless thought, wandering forlorn among the empty eternities!" - Mark Twain

CAVEAT: VIEW AT YOUR OWN RISK


DREAM BABY