The Medicine of Small Rituals

The Medicine of Small Rituals

By Pascaline Odogwu

May 21, 2026

Source

Return to yourself with the quiet devotion of ordinary acts and turn exhaustion into sacred care, one tender ritual at a time.

Healing, I’ve learned, is rarely loud. It doesn’t always come from grand awakenings or perfect routines, but from the smallest, most ordinary acts of returning to yourself. We all carry invisible wounds—exhaustion, heartbreak, disconnection—and a powerful way to begin mending them is through tenderness disguised as habit.

Sometimes healing sounds like a song you pretend was written for you; a quiet song you let settle around you, its melody tracing the edges of your loneliness until you feel held. Other times it smells like cocoa butter, glistening on your skin as your palms move slowly, reverently, as though touching a beloved. It can feel like evening air filling your lungs as you walk nowhere in particular, your footsteps syncing with the silence of the evening, your body remembering how to unclench.

These moments seem ordinary, but in them, something sacred stirs. They are small rituals, everyday devotions that remind us that being alive is an act of care.

Tenderness in Habit

My rituals were never grand. They were small, sensual, ordinary things: pouring oil into my hands, pressing lotion into my skin until it gleamed, avoiding sad songs when sadness already threatened to drown me. They were the ways I whispered you are worth loving to myself, over and over, until the words began to feel true, on the days I vehemently refused to wallow in misery.

I wasn’t always able to put in words what needed healing. I only knew I was tired—tired of hardness, tired of mistaking endurance for strength. My small rituals became my quiet rebellion against numbness.

Somewhere along the way, the fog began to lift, and I noticed something I hadn’t before: I loved pink. Soft blush pink, deep rose pink, shimmering pastel pink. It felt like a secret language my heart had been waiting to speak. To love pink was to love tenderness, to claim softness after years of being hardened by survival.

For me, color became memory; some sort of proof that even after pain, the body remembers beauty. For someone else, it might be yellow, or the smell of rain, or morning tea. The language of healing is different for everyone, but it always begins with noticing what brings you back.

Submerged in Presence

Water has taught me more than any ritual; it calms me so completely. When I am sad, irritable, or just there, a simple shower becomes a sanctuary. The first kiss of water on my skin makes me giggle, as though a secret joy has found me. Droplets slide down my arms, my shoulders, carrying away heaviness, whispering that pain is not permanent. Sometimes it is so powerful that I laugh in delight, my chest trembling with relief as the water washes over me.

Water has a way of teaching presence. You can’t rush it; it insists that you slow down, that you feel every droplet, that you surrender.

I go to the swimming pool when I feel overwhelmed; even without knowing a thing about swimming, I float and wade, letting the water move around me as though it had a mind of its own. Water has a way of transforming all the heaviness, grief, and tension into something beautiful: the soft resistance of liquid against my limbs, the laughter that bubbles from my throat, the peace that comes from simply being submerged. In the water, I find freedom I can’t articulate— a temporary surrender that leaves me lighter, calmer, more myself.

Even the feeling of steam on my face after a long day becomes a small ritual of pleasure. The mist carries warmth like a lover’s embrace, softening the sharp edges of my tiredness. I close my eyes, let the heat press against my skin, and breathe slowly, noticing the way my chest expands with each inhale.

Tenderness in the Everyday

I now delight in tiny indulgences. Baby lotion, soft and creamy; powder dusted lightly over my skin; vanilla-scented oils that linger long after I apply them. Nightwear, delicate and comforting, that makes bedtime feel like a ceremony.

In a world that celebrates productivity over peace, these moments are my quiet protest—reminders that joy, too, is holy.

Each scent, each touch, each fold of fabric becomes a declaration: I am allowed to feel pampered. I am allowed softness. These aren’t just routines—they are affirmations that my body, my senses, my being, deserve care. That gentleness can live in my hands, in my skin, in the rhythm of everyday life.

In the evenings, I press lotion into my skin slowly, as though tending a sacred object. The act is simple—oil sinking into pores, hands gliding across arms and legs—but the meaning is profound. I am teaching my body that it belongs to love, not violence. That I could hold it softly, touch it as though it had just been born. I have become my own caretaker—the parent who refused to pass down cruelty, the one who broke curses by choosing gentleness instead of judgment.

That is what ritual does: It transforms survival into ceremony. It reminds us that the smallest acts—washing, resting, listening, touching—can become prayers when done with awareness.

Melodies of Tenderness

Music carries me, too. I learned not to press play when sorrow sits heavy in my bones. No more sad songs when I’m feeling melancholy; grief certainly does not need a soundtrack. Instead, I surrender to music that cradles me. I imagine that every lyric was written for me, every note a piece of evidence that I am worthy of being adored. Even if all this is make-believe, it has become my medicine. It reminds me that love exists, and that one day it could be mine again, starting first with the love I give myself.

When I make mistakes, I practice speaking softly to my heart. I call myself “baby.” I say, “It’s okay, baby. Next time we’ll try again.” That single word carries centuries of tenderness. It makes me feel held, not punished. Referring to myself as “baby” is how I unlearned harshness; how I began to treat myself as someone worth protecting.

Day by day, these rituals rewrite my story. They teach me that healing is not a thunderclap but a candle lit each night. It is not a miracle that strikes but a rhythm you choose. Tea at the same hour. A song that reminds you of love. Oil that makes your skin glow. Pink that softens your gaze. Water that carries your sorrow away. Steam that presses warmth into your cheeks. Baby lotion and powder that kiss your skin. Vanilla that wraps you in sweetness. Nightwear that makes bedtime feel sacred. A voice, your own voice, saying: You are still here. You are still worthy.

Healing, after all, isn’t the absence of pain—it’s the return of tenderness. The medicine of small rituals is that they do not cure chaos, but nestle you inside it. They do not erase pain, but teach you how to love yourself through it. And in loving yourself gently, you give the world permission to do the same.

Pascaline Odogwu

• Source
• https://www.spiritualityhealth.com/who-are-you
  

 

Transcribed by  http://achama.biz.ly, with thanks to:

• eraoflight.com/2026/04/22/who-are-you-easy-ways-to-discover-your-authentic-self/

 

---

 

Archives:

• Pascaline Odogwu    ~    Backup

On the Blogs:

• https://purple-rays..blogspot.com/search?q=Pascaline+Odogwu

1. https://chamavioleta.blogs.sapo.pt/ ~ Summary of daily posts
2. https://purple-rays.blogspot.com/ ~ Channeled Messages; Spirituality; +
3. https://violet-rays.blogspot.com/ ~ Natural Health; Healing; Intuition; +
4. https://purpelligh.blogspot.com/ ~ Inspiration; Insights; Spirituality; +
5. https://violet--flame.blogspot.com/ ~ Geopolitics; Leaks; Whistleblowers; Astrology & other studies *

* replacing rayviolet11.blogspot.com/ blocked on 2025/07/23 due post  "RussiaGate, PedoGate, and Panic in D.C. - All Playing Now!", see back up:  http://violetflame.biz.ly/cgi-bin/blog/view_post/1222363 (no problems of security from 2005)

Who Are You? Easy Ways to Discover Your Authentic Self

Who Are You? Easy Ways to Discover Your Authentic Self

By Pascaline Odogwu

April 22, 2026

The elements of earth are not just around us; they live within us.

Learn to sit in silence, speak your truth, follow your energy, and become the steady, magnetic person you admire.

“Who are you?”

It’s such a simple question, yet it shakes something ancient inside the chest. When you ask people this question—when I look someone in the eye and ask, “Who are you?”—their voice suddenly becomes careful. They sit up straighter, as if they’re being interviewed. Their answer becomes a performance. They start telling me who they aspire to be, reciting the polished parts of themselves—the parts that sound good on paper.

Of course, not everyone reacts this way. I’ve met a few rare souls who live with a kind of quiet honesty. But many of us still struggle to be our authentic selves.

Most people, when asked “Who are you?” mention traits they’ve never truly possessed. They highlight the strengths they hope others will notice and hide the weaknesses they hope will be overlooked. Some cling to the parts that make them look good, while others hold on to anything that might make them seem mysterious or edgy, because the modern world has romanticized toxicity into an aesthetic.

We pick personality traits like outfits.

We install identities like filters.

We show the clean parts and hide the messy ones.

Here is the heartbreaking truth: Many people do not know who they are.

Abandoning Your True Self

When you don’t know yourself, you become vulnerable to anything. A comment can break you. A rumor can define you. A stranger’s opinion can redirect your life. A single moment of rejection can collapse your sense of worth.

So people shrink. They bend. They perform. They beg for crumbs of validation. When you don’t know who you are, you morph into any shape that makes the world clap for you. You start confusing approval with identity, attention with affection. You chase affirmation even when it costs you your dignity.

But here’s the irony: The comfort you get from pretending will never compare to what you receive when you finally become grounded in yourself.

The people with the strongest presence—the ones who walk into a room and quietly shift the atmosphere—all have one thing in common: They are sure of who they are. They carry a rootedness, a steadiness. They attract without trying. Even if the whole world opposed them today, they would wake tomorrow with the same sense of self.

And that’s the painful punchline: The magnetism you admire in them is the very thing you’re chasing in the wrong ways.

Evidence of the Inauthentic You

You say that you know who you are? Okay, then … think about the times your actions told a different story:

When your boyfriend cheated, and you tried to be more like the other woman just to keep him.

When your family treated you poorly, yet you kept giving while struggling.

When you bent over backwards for people who didn’t notice.

When you stayed silent to avoid conflict with someone who disrespected you.

When you said yes when you wanted to say no.

When you apologized for being yourself.

This isn’t about judging yourself. It’s about noticing your patterns. Not in the quest for perfection, but in order to recognize when you have given away parts of yourself so you can learn to hold them close again.

Knowing yourself means valuing your worth first so the world’s approval becomes optional instead of necessary.

Feel What You Really Feel

So how do you start?

It begins with being alone without distraction. There’s no need to escape to a cabin in the woods—try just sitting in your car with the radio off, taking a walk without headphones, showering without your phone on, or lying in bed without scrolling.

In that silence, the noise you’ve been running from finally catches up. At first it’s uncomfortable. You’ll meet the anxiety you’ve been dodging, the boredom you’ve been medicating, the thoughts you’ve drowned under other people’s opinions. But if you stay, if you stop reaching for the phone every time you feel a twinge of discomfort, you’ll start hearing your own voice—not the performative one, but the real one.

The second step is simple yet challenging: Tell the truth out loud. Start small. When you’re not fine, say, “Actually, I’m not great.” When you don’t want to go out, say, “I don’t feel like it tonight.” When you’re hurt, don’t say, “It’s okay.” Say, “That hurt me.” Each small truth draws a line that says: This is me.

As those truths stack up, your boundaries become clearer, and you can suddenly answer the previously unknowable questions: Who am I when no one is watching? Who am I when I stop editing myself?

Becoming Radically Honest

The final step is to track your energy as if it matters, because it does. Notice what drains you and what genuinely fills you up—not what you’re supposed to love, and not what looks impressive to others.

Ask yourself:

• What types of conversations make me feel lighter?
• Time spent with which people in my life makes me feel heavier?
• Which activities make time disappear?
• Which obligations make me dread the day?

Your energy doesn’t lie; it’s the most accurate compass you have. Follow it even when it makes you the “weird” one, and even when it disappoints others. The alternative is spending your life emotionally and spiritually bankrupt, wondering why nothing feels like home.

When you finally start to focus your energy on what’s truly yours, you’ll wake up one day and realize:

Oh. This is what it feels like to be me.

And nobody can take that away.

Pascaline Odogwu

• Source
• https://www.spiritualityhealth.com/who-are-you
  

 

Transcribed by  http://achama.biz.ly, with thanks to:

• eraoflight.com/2026/04/22/who-are-you-easy-ways-to-discover-your-authentic-self/

 

---

 

Archives:

• Pascaline Odogwu    ~    Backup

On the Blogs:

• https://purple-rays..blogspot.com/search?q=Pascaline+Odogwu

1. https://chamavioleta.blogs.sapo.pt/ ~ Summary of daily posts
2. https://purple-rays.blogspot.com/ ~ Channeled Messages; Spirituality; +
3. https://violet-rays.blogspot.com/ ~ Natural Health; Healing; Intuition; +
4. https://purpelligh.blogspot.com/ ~ Inspiration; Insights; Spirituality; +
5. https://violet--flame.blogspot.com/ ~ Geopolitics; Leaks; Whistleblowers; Astrology & other studies *

* replacing rayviolet11.blogspot.com/ blocked on 2025/07/23 due post  "RussiaGate, PedoGate, and Panic in D.C. - All Playing Now!", see back up:  http://violetflame.biz.ly/cgi-bin/blog/view_post/1222363 (no problems of security from 2005)

The Earth Knows Me by My Breath

The Earth Knows Me by My Breath

By Pascaline Odogwu

January 1, 2026

The elements of earth are not just around us; they live within us.

We feel them every day: the quiet pulse of the earth beneath our feet; the wind that grazes our skin; the fire that warms our meals; the rain that thrums against our windows. Yet we rarely pause to understand how deeply they resemble us. These elements aren’t just around us—they live within us. They rise and rest with every emotion, reflecting the very nature of our being. Every gust, every flame, every drop, every grain of soil holds a lesson in feeling, in being alive. And if we learn to listen, they can teach us how to heal.

There are days when the heart grows heavy with things it cannot name. On those days, I step outside barefoot. The ground is cool, sometimes damp, and the blades of grass rise to meet me like small, patient teachers. I walk slowly, pressing my weight into the earth, and I feel it pressing back—not with judgment, but with steady acceptance.

The soil beneath me is more than matter—it’s memory. It anchors me to something older than thought, reminding me that grounding is not stillness—it is belonging. The earth speaks through quiet touch. It steadies what chaos tries to unmake.

Wind: The Breath That Listens

Then the wind comes. It brushes across my face, pulls at my hair, slides down the length of my arms. It feels intimate, almost like a hand tracing me, reminding me that even what cannot be seen can still touch and comfort. I breathe deeply. I let my chest rise wide, and on the exhale, I give the wind what I cannot hold alone.

There’s something sensual in the way the wind learns your body—the way it knows when to be gentle, when to stir, when to lift the edges of your silence. It feels like emotion itself: unseen, unpredictable, yet always seeking expression.

It is a kind of surrender, one that feels both spiritual and deeply sensual. The body loosens. The mind unclenches. The skin remembers what it means to be alive. I think of this as prayer without words: an exchange between me and the elements, a soft dialogue where listening matters more than speaking.

This, I realize, is how healing begins. Not in loud awakenings, but in these tender recognitions. In the quiet intimacy between body and world.

Water: The Grace That Softens

I did not always know how to lean into nature this way. It came to me slowly, in fragments, until one particular day shifted something inside me.

On my birthday this past year, I walked home after an exam beneath a sky that couldn’t hold back its weight. Rain came down in sheets, soaking through my clothes and hair until there was no part of me left untouched. At first I didn’t know how to feel. Was it bad luck? A cruel joke? Was the world conspiring against me on my birthday?

But standing there, shivering and drenched, I felt something honest, something freeing. It wasn’t just rain anymore. It was recognition. The sound, the rhythm, the cool heaviness against my skin calmed me in a way I didn’t expect.

Water, I realized, is the language of surrender. It doesn’t fight gravity; it moves through it. It teaches us how to release; how to let go of control and still find grace in falling.

The rain calmed my nervous system in a way I didn’t know I needed. Its breeze wrapped around me like a blanket does when your hands search for comfort in the night. And in that moment, I knew: I had grown. I had become someone who could see beauty even in the storm. Someone who could choose softness over fear.

So I let it be. I closed my eyes and imagined the water rinsing me clean—washing off my pain, scrubbing away the tension, carrying all the heaviness I couldn’t name. I pictured every drop as a release, each one carrying away negative energy until I felt lighter, almost reborn.

That’s the thing about healing: It rarely looks graceful. It’s messy, wet, inconvenient. But when you stop running from it, you see that even chaos can be kind.

Since that day, I have carried a quiet habit of drawing light out of dark situations, letting what seem like interruptions become teachers instead.

Rain became my reminder that nothing is too hard to be softened.

When the storm passed, I could almost hear the earth breathing again— steady, patient, as if it had been waiting for me to notice. The world always looks different after rain. Softer. Forgiving. Honest.

The same lesson lives in the wind. Each time it brushes my cheeks or pushes gently against my chest, I remember that release is possible. I have learned to give the wind my feelings; my sorrow, my joy, my restless ache. And each time, I swear it remembers. It carries them away so that I am steadier, lighter, more whole.

Fire: The Heart That Endures

Not every lesson comes as softness. Some revelations come as flame—fierce, insistent, asking me to rise again.

I used to think anger was dangerous, something to be extinguished. But maybe anger, when guided by love, is simply passion wearing a different face. Maybe it’s the part of us that refuses to give up—the spark that says I still care.

Fire, I came to learn, isn’t just heat.

Fire is determination.

Fire is courage.

Fire is discipline.

Fire is passion.

Fire is love. It doesn’t always destroy. Sometimes it completes. Sometimes it refines. The way molten heat fuses broken glass into stained windows. The way a freshly molded clay pot must pass through the flame to become strong enough to hold water.

There’s a kind of fire that doesn’t scorch—it sanctifies.

When that fire moves through you, the noise of the world fades to background blur, and all you can hear is clarity. Focus. No fear. Like a trance, but clearer. You show up fully. You burn, but you do not vanish.

Spirit: The Breath Within

Then Spirit appears—soft as breath, sure as heartbeat. Spirit doesn’t shout; it hums. It reminds you that you are not separate from the elements at all; you are part of their rhythm.

If the earth steadied me,

if water calmed me,

if fire ignited me,

then Spirit carried me through.

It wasn’t something I had to reach for. It had always been there.

In the pause between my breaths.

In the rhythm of my pulse beneath trembling fingers.

In the wind that brushed against my face when no one else did.

Spirit was not a destination. It bloomed inside joy like wildflowers cracking concrete. It lived in the weight of soil beneath my feet the same way the breeze knew the direction of my ache; the way fire did not consume me, but completed me.

Breath of the Elements

Spirit, to me, is the knowing we are never separate from what heals us. It is the awareness that the same rhythm that moves the tides also beats inside our chests. It was not just the elements that saved me—it was the spirit within them, within me that had been waiting all along.

So now, I do not simply feel emotions—I honor them. I walk barefoot sometimes, not because it’s poetic, but because it roots me. I cry in the rain not out of despair, but release. I listen to the wind not for omens, but for recognition.

Each element—earth, wind, rain, fire—was a part of me long before I had the language to claim them. They did not fix me. They found me. They witnessed me.

They taught me that survival is not silence, that sensitivity is not shame, and that emotion—turbulent, untamed, terrifying emotion—is just the soul relearning its own wisdom.

And me?

I am still learning. Still soft. Still fire and soil and ache and prayer.

But now I live differently. I move through the world knowing that the earth steadies, the rain forgives, the wind releases, and the fire renews. That every feeling, no matter how wild, eventually finds its home in me.

I gave my feelings to the wind, and it remembered.

And now, so do I.

Pascaline Odogwu

• Source
• https://eraoflight.com/2025/12/31/the-earth-knows-me-by-my-breath/
  

 

Transcribed by  http://achama.biz.ly, with thanks to:

• https://eraoflight.com/2025/12/15/how-silence-became-my-medicine/

 

---

 

Archives:

• Pascaline Odogwu    ~    Backup

On the Blogs:

• https://purple-rays..blogspot.com/search?q=Pascaline+Odogwu

1. https://chamavioleta.blogs.sapo.pt/ ~ Summary of daily posts
2. https://purple-rays.blogspot.com/ ~ Channeled Messages; Spirituality; +
3. https://violet-rays.blogspot.com/ ~ Natural Health; Healing; Intuition; +
4. https://purpelligh.blogspot.com/ ~ Inspiration; Insights; Spirituality; +
5. https://violet--flame.blogspot.com/ ~ Geopolitics; Leaks; Whistleblowers; Astrology & other studies *

* replacing rayviolet11.blogspot.com/ blocked on 2025/07/23 due post  "RussiaGate, PedoGate, and Panic in D.C. - All Playing Now!", see back up:  http://violetflame.biz.ly/cgi-bin/blog/view_post/1222363 (no problems of security from 2005)

How Silence Became My Medicine

How Silence Became My Medicine

By Pascaline Odogwu

December 15, 2025

Silence as shield becomes teacher: rituals of running, cleaning, breathing reveal who you are without noise. Healing in the hush—rooted, present, whole.

I don’t remember when the noise became my shield; when I stopped listening within and started drowning in sound. All I know is that I woke up one day and couldn’t hear myself anymore. Not in a dramatic, movie-scene way. Just … quietly. Slowly. Like static. Like distance.

It started with chatter: filling every pause, saying yes to plans I didn’t want, laughing too loudly, keeping the music turned up even when my ears ached. It continued with motion, running from room to room, from one obligation to another, convincing myself that if I stayed busy, distracted, surrounded, then maybe the silence wouldn’t find me, and I wouldn’t have to sit with the weight of the many things that streaked through my mind about my life.

False Sense of Safety

What I didn’t know was that I was mistaking noise for safety. I thought constant motion was the same as living. I thought distraction was the same as healing. I thought that if I kept talking, kept moving, kept performing, then maybe the ache inside me would quiet down. It didn’t. It hid beneath the volume. Wounds don’t vanish in noise; they just wait for the hush. I got very good at avoiding that hush.

Healing didn’t come to me like a revelation. It came in stillness—in mornings when the world was asleep and the only sound was my breath. In afternoons when I finally turned my phone off and sat with the weight of my own thoughts. In evenings when silence wrapped around me like an unfamiliar blanket.

At first, it felt unbearable. Like emptiness. Like loss. But slowly, quietly, it became medicine. Silence doesn’t erase the wound. It gives it space to surface. To breathe. To mend.

There was a time I thought silence was punishment. Now, silence no longer frightens me. It holds me. It neither demands performance nor rushes me forward. It simply stays—steady, patient, whole.

In its presence, I remember who I am without the noise. Not a reflection of everyone else’s chaos, not an echo of their demands—just myself, breathing.

The Smallest Rituals of Stillness

Silence taught me that healing isn’t about becoming louder or clearer; it’s about becoming true. So when life overwhelms me, I turn to the smallest rituals of stillness.

Sometimes I calm down alone and breathe slowly until my thoughts loosen their grip. Other times I take quiet walks with no music, touching grass, letting the earth remind me I belong here. When the ache runs deep, I allow myself to sleep, letting pain evaporate instead of harden. In the mornings, I run. What once made my heart race with panic is now met by the rhythm of my own footsteps, the steady pounding of a heartbeat I chose. Even fear softens when I face it head-on, when I meet it with motion, with breath, with presence.

Some days I simply clean my room in silence, turning chaos into order, channeling my heaviest emotions into something good and tangible. These are not dramatic practices, but ordinary ones: walking, breathing, sleeping, running, cleaning. Each is a way to sit with myself, evaluate my choices, and respond with clarity instead of fear. Each is how silence became medicine to me.

The more I have practiced these small rituals, the more silence has opened itself as a teacher. I have not only learned to calm down in the moment; I’ve begun to understand who I am beneath the noise.

What Silence Has Taught Me

Silence has taught me to sit with myself long enough to notice my patterns, weigh my choices, and respond in ways that push me forward instead of causing me to retreat in fear. It has given me the room to evaluate—to ask myself what I actually feel and answer in a way that aligns with who I want to be.

I am not unscarred, but I am softer where I once was sharp. I am present where I once was scattered. I am listening where I once tuned out. Maybe this is the new shape of healing: not triumph, not certainty, but silence. The kind that roots you, that steadies your breath until you feel alive again. The kind that makes room for both ache and peace without asking you to choose between them.

I don’t know exactly who I’m becoming. But I know she is born in the hush between moments. I know she lives in every pause I allow myself. I know she is already here—in the stillness, in the presence, in the quiet mercy of peace.

And that is enough. More than enough.

Pascaline Odogwu

• Source
• https://www.spiritualityhealth.com/authors/pascaline-odogwu
  

 

Transcribed by  http://achama.biz.ly, with thanks to:

• https://eraoflight.com/2025/12/15/how-silence-became-my-medicine/

 

---

 

Archives:

• Pascaline Odogwu    ~    Backup

On the Blogs:

• https://purple-rays..blogspot.com/search?q=Pascaline+Odogwu

1. https://chamavioleta.blogs.sapo.pt/ ~ Summary of daily posts
2. https://purple-rays.blogspot.com/ ~ Channeled Messages; Spirituality; +
3. https://violet-rays.blogspot.com/ ~ Natural Health; Healing; Intuition; +
4. https://purpelligh.blogspot.com/ ~ Inspiration; Insights; Spirituality; +
5. https://violet--flame.blogspot.com/ ~ Geopolitics; Leaks; Whistleblowers; Astrology & other studies *

* replacing rayviolet11.blogspot.com/ blocked on 2025/07/23 due post  "RussiaGate, PedoGate, and Panic in D.C. - All Playing Now!", see back up:  http://violetflame.biz.ly/cgi-bin/blog/view_post/1222363 (no problems of security from 2005)