When Chomsky speaks about “thought control in a democratic society" is he properly called a Conspiracy Theorist? Is there a real plan that our leaders have? Does it go as far as what FDR said when he noticed ‘If it happened, it was planned’? As I often say throughout all my books – ‘If there is no plan; we need one. Let’s make it a plan or conspiracy based on Love.’ Chomsky was educational and psychological guru for many years before he got a conscience after seeing way his Neuro-Linguistic-Programming was used by government agencies and medical model. He may not yet be telling truth of what he knows about these things. Maybe he is not aware of applications in conjunction with work of Dr. Michael Persinger but in listening to his speeches a couple of times I say he is very much aware of underlying ethos that rules our world.

HYPNOTIC METHODS IN MEDIA:

This is an entry from one volume of my Encyclopedia. The mind and soul have ways of integrating that we have carried on a great length about under diverse entries such as Thalami, Aum (Om) and wholistic medical advances or Cancer cures. Under magnetism we mentioned Mesmer who is considered 'Father of Hypnosis' by many. Hypnosis is just another way to achieve an altered state of consciousness like meditation or good sex. Like many avenues to soul and away from control of those who would keep us in dark and treat us like mushrooms (feeding us excrement of animals they think are as low as ‘they’ truly are); hypnotism has suffered attacks of many well-respected 'experts'. It has shown it has validity and value despite this often frontal assault on what actually 'works'! The power of positive thinking became a major part of culture and self-help genre in 70s and it is a form of hypnosis sometimes.

He said name, Bojangles, and he danced a lick Across cell. He grabbed his pants, a better stance, he jumped up high, He clicked his heels. He let go a laugh, he let go a laugh, Shook back his clothes all around.

During Holy Week this year, in seeping humidity and fluorescent half light of 3:00 am Florida hospital a nurse poked her head into Terri Schiavo’s room.

And nurse was alone.

Somewhere else, very, very far from that hospital room where nurse stood alone; surrounded by hulking quiet life support machines-----Terri and Michael were ice skating.

That trip to go ice skating started in rolling winter cold of flat Midwestern prairie in a year of an early Easter. Off to an ice skating parade.

Chugging along in an old VW bus, Michael and a pal rolling into some basketball crazy town, turning into Will and Betsy’s heaping snow shoveled driveway---a hand lettered sign Will had stuck in tallest snow pile right next to back door that said THIS WAY TO PARADISE! Like some sort of palm waving parade. But instead there was snow.

Betsy was playing Holly Near and Michael could hear words as he and his pal opened door and stepped into warmth of Betsy’s kitchen:

The junta took fingers From Victor Jara's hand They said to gentle poet Play your gitar now if you can Well Victor started singing Until they shot his body down You can kill a man But not a song When it's sung whole world round.

That trip through flat, white, cold Midwestern prairie; like some sort of grand holiday parade. You could almost hear cheering crowds of fate because something big, something really, really big was going to happen. That entry into kitchen, those sounds of coming fate, and Will said: “Michael and his pal! You’re here! Let’s have some beer!”

Just Mike, his pal and Will and Betsy. If life would have ended right then and there next to that kitchen counter ---that would have been enough. Making it through all that snow and then parade and then warmth of kitchen. That would have been enough. But there was lingering feeling that something else was coming.

And then Terri came through door.

Bundled up warm for winter in a puffy blue down coat and hats and scarves and sweaters and boots.

As Terri walked smiling through kitchen door Michael's thought was his own version of John Cheever line: She was kind of woman who could make simple act of taking her coat and sweater off seem as if she had slammed door on time.