Don

@keepingtempo

Dallas, TX

Joined August 2021

333 Following

207 Followers

4.8K Posts

keepingtempo retweeted

Lotusium

@lotusium_pro

22 days ago

💫 Bring a space-inspired ambiance to your room. Enjoy 360° projection, customizable colors, and an optional auto-off timer for added convenience.

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Don @keepingtempo

5 days ago

@shairnn 18

Don @keepingtempo

7 days ago

@itx_Millie 18

Don @keepingtempo

17 days ago

@Super70sSports Atlanta Fulton County stadium

Who to follow

Philosophical Phrödgingensteltz

@johnsonstickk

Software Developer. “Ammosexual”. Waluigi appreciator and Stan. Gifted premium. I don't pay for this hellsite. I am Huey Hubert Huberson the Fourst. Fear me.

Chris Adams

@Chris_P_Adams

Former mayor of Geocities. Author, "My Life As A Reply Guy" and "Always a Reply Guy, Never a Mutual". Painfully self-aware

✌🏻 Michelle Blanton ✌🏻

@smarts_is_sexy

#MommytoanAngel #StonerFam #Empath #DogMommy #PTSD #Anxiety #Depression #Weirdo #Adorkable @chicagobears @Vol_Football @Braves @nyrangers also @crazyptsdchic

keepingtempo retweeted

Muscle Forge

@LearnLoopz

about 1 month ago

Hack for releasing neck tention in 60 seconds

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keepingtempo retweeted

Dr. Zakaria MD

@ZakariaMDv3

about 1 month ago

🚨 My dad was diagnosed with Stage 4 Prostate Cancer out of nowhere. Just a few months ago, he was completely fine. His physical 5 months earlier showed normal labs. Then suddenly he started feeling achy and exhausted. They ran bloodwork and his PSA came back at 141. It had been 3.4 just months earlier. Scans showed Gleason 9 Prostate Cancer with widespread bone metastases. Stage 4. We didn’t waste time. Along with the hormone blockers and chemo, his oncologist started adding: - Ivermectin 24 mg/day - Fenbendazole 222mg / day Three months later, his PSA dropped from 141 to 0.25. That’s a 99.8% drop. He’s feeling much better, has more energy, and the numbers are moving in the right direction fast. His oncologist is very happy with how he’s responding. We’re still waiting on the next set of scans, but right now, we’re extremely grateful for how well things are going. This isn’t medical advice, just sharing what happened with my dad. If you or someone you love is going through something similar, I hope this gives you a little hope.

ZakariaMDv3's tweet photo. 🚨 My dad was diagnosed with Stage 4 Prostate Cancer out of nowhere.

Just a few months ago, he was completely fine. His physical 5 months earlier showed normal labs. Then suddenly he started feeling achy and exhausted.

They ran bloodwork and his PSA came back at 141. It had been 3.4 just months earlier.

Scans showed Gleason 9 Prostate Cancer with widespread bone metastases. Stage 4.

We didn’t waste time. Along with the hormone blockers and chemo, his oncologist started adding:

- Ivermectin 24 mg/day
- Fenbendazole 222mg / day

Three months later, his PSA dropped from 141 to 0.25.

That’s a 99.8% drop.

He’s feeling much better, has more energy, and the numbers are moving in the right direction fast. His oncologist is very happy with how he’s responding.

We’re still waiting on the next set of scans, but right now, we’re extremely grateful for how well things are going.

This isn’t medical advice, just sharing what happened with my dad. If you or someone you love is going through something similar, I hope this gives you a little hope.

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keepingtempo retweeted

Paul White Gold Eagle

@PaulGoldEagle

about 1 month ago

Doing things the "old fashioned way " is usually best for our health.

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Don @keepingtempo

about 1 month ago

@hicasamadim 38

Don @keepingtempo

about 2 months ago

@didem5654 110

Don @keepingtempo

about 2 months ago

@pdubinkc @Super70sSports Hahaha

keepingtempo retweeted

Miami Beach Elevator.btc 🗽🐇⚡🏄⛵

@elevamiami

2 months ago

Salvador Dalí adorava jantar bem. Grupos grandes. Mesas longas. Vinhos caros. Os melhores restaurantes de Paris e Nova York. E sempre insistia em pagar a conta. Ninguém desconfiava. Na hora de fechar, ele preenchia o cheque com o valor total, com calma e elegância. Assinava. E então, antes de entregar ao garçom, virava o papel e rabiscava um desenho no verso. Um esboço rápido. Elefantes. Cavalos. Figuras surreais. Assinava embaixo. E entregava o cheque ao estabelecimento. Dalí sabia exatamente o que aconteceria a seguir. O dono do restaurante não descontaria o cheque. Colocaria numa moldura. Exibiria na parede do melhor ponto do salão. Um Dalí original, emoldurado, no restaurante. Valia infinitamente mais do que qualquer refeição. Os cheques com seus desenhos foram todos guardados. E hoje valem uma fortuna. Há relatos de que a prática aconteceu diversas vezes ao longo dos anos, em Paris e em Nova York. Em uma das noites documentadas, no Café de la Rotonde em Paris, Dalí pediu ao garçom uma folha de papel, esboçou um elefante de tromba erguida, assinou embaixo e entregou com desenvoltura. A conta estava paga. E o estabelecimento havia lucrado com o negócio. O que Dalí fez não era só excentricidade. Era uma compreensão precisa de que o valor da sua presença e da sua assinatura já haviam superado o preço de qualquer cardápio. Ele não precisava de dinheiro para pagar. Precisava apenas de um pedaço de papel e de saber o quanto valia. Fontes: ISTOÉ — ArteRef — Revista Bula — Top Melhores

elevamiami's tweet photo. Salvador Dalí adorava jantar bem.

Grupos grandes.

Mesas longas.

Vinhos caros.

Os melhores restaurantes de Paris e Nova York.

E sempre insistia em pagar a conta.

Ninguém desconfiava.

Na hora de fechar, ele preenchia o cheque com o valor total, com calma e elegância.

Assinava.

E então, antes de entregar ao garçom, virava o papel e rabiscava um desenho no verso.

Um esboço rápido.

Elefantes.

Cavalos.

Figuras surreais.

Assinava embaixo.

E entregava o cheque ao estabelecimento.

Dalí sabia exatamente o que aconteceria a seguir.

O dono do restaurante não descontaria o cheque.

Colocaria numa moldura.

Exibiria na parede do melhor ponto do salão.

Um Dalí original, emoldurado, no restaurante.

Valia infinitamente mais do que qualquer refeição.

Os cheques com seus desenhos foram todos guardados.

E hoje valem uma fortuna.

Há relatos de que a prática aconteceu diversas vezes ao longo dos anos, em Paris e em Nova York.

Em uma das noites documentadas, no Café de la Rotonde em Paris, Dalí pediu ao garçom uma folha de papel, esboçou um elefante de tromba erguida, assinou embaixo e entregou com desenvoltura.

A conta estava paga.

E o estabelecimento havia lucrado com o negócio.

O que Dalí fez não era só excentricidade.

Era uma compreensão precisa de que o valor da sua presença e da sua assinatura já haviam superado o preço de qualquer cardápio.

Ele não precisava de dinheiro para pagar.

Precisava apenas de um pedaço de papel e de saber o quanto valia.

Fontes: ISTOÉ — ArteRef — Revista Bula — Top Melhores

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keepingtempo retweeted

Echoes of War

@EchoesofWarYT

3 months ago

Doc Holliday was a dentist with a classical education in Greek and Latin who killed his first man at 19, coughed blood into a handkerchief for the next 17 years, and died in bed with a glass of whiskey, saying, "This is funny." Funny because he'd spent his entire adult life expecting to die in a gunfight. He never did. John Henry Holliday was born in Griffin, Georgia in 1851. He came into the world with a cleft palate and a partial cleft lip, a deformity that in 1851 was usually a death sentence for an infant. His uncle, a surgeon named John Stiles Holliday, performed the corrective surgery himself when the baby was two months old. His mother Alice spent the next several years patiently teaching the boy to speak clearly. She taught him piano. She taught him manners. She taught him how to bow to a woman and how to address a gentleman. By the time he was a teenager, John Henry could quote Virgil in the original Latin, play Chopin from memory, and dance a quadrille. Then she died of tuberculosis when he was 15, and so did the small, soft world she'd built for him. He was sent to Philadelphia to study dentistry. He graduated from the Pennsylvania College of Dental Surgery in 1872 at the age of 20, one of the youngest in his class, and his entry "Diseases of the Teeth" was considered exceptional. He won an award at a dental fair for "Best Set of Artificial Teeth in Gold." His diploma still exists. You can look at it. He moved back south, set up a practice, and started coughing. By 1873 the diagnosis was unmistakable. Pulmonary tuberculosis. The same disease that killed his mother. Doctors gave him a few months, maybe a year. They told him his only chance was to move west, where the dry air might slow the lungs from drowning. He kissed his cousin Mattie goodbye. He had been in love with her for years. She would later become a Catholic nun, Sister Mary Melanie, and she was the woman Margaret Mitchell would model Melanie Hamilton on in Gone With the Wind. They wrote each other letters until the day he died. Nobody has ever found those letters. The family burned them. He went to Dallas. He set up a dental office. And his patients, watching this thin polite young man cough blood into a handkerchief between extractions, stopped coming. So he turned to cards. Faro, mostly. Poker when he could find it. He had a gambler's gift and a dying man's nerve, and within two years he was making more in a week at the tables than he'd made in a year pulling teeth. He moved through Texas and into the Colorado mining camps, then New Mexico, then Arizona. He drank an estimated two to three quarts of whiskey a day, partly because it numbed the lungs and partly because nothing else did. Here is what made him terrifying. Most gunfighters in the Old West were cowards in expensive boots. They picked fights they could win and avoided fights they couldn't. Doc Holliday already knew he was dying. There was nothing you could threaten him with. There was no future you could take from him. He would walk into a room of armed men with that thin slow smile and a Colt and a knife and sometimes a sawed off shotgun under his long grey coat, and the math running behind his pale blue eyes was simple. Every day he was alive was already stolen. The men across the table had something to lose. He had nothing. He weighed about 135 pounds. He was five foot ten. He was usually drunk. And by the time he reached Tombstone, men crossed streets to avoid him. His common law wife was a Hungarian woman named Mary Katharine Horony, better known as Big Nose Kate. She had been born to nobility in Budapest, run away as a teenager after her parents died, worked as a prostitute in Iowa, and ended up on the frontier with a temper that matched his. He once got her out of jail by bribing a guard. She once got him out of jail by setting fire to the hotel next door as a distraction, then walking him out at gunpoint. They fought constantly. They loved each other in the way two people love each other when they both know one of them is going to die soon. He met Wyatt Earp in Fort Griffin, Texas, in 1877. The friendship that followed would shape both their lives. The legend goes that Doc saved Wyatt's life in Dodge City, walking out of the Long Branch Saloon to find Wyatt surrounded by cowboys with guns drawn, and putting his pistol to the leader's temple before anyone saw him move. Wyatt later said he owed Doc his life. He said Doc was "the most skillful gambler, and the nerviest, fastest, deadliest man with a six gun I ever knew." Wyatt Earp said that. About a tubercular dentist who could quote Cicero. At the OK Corral on October 26, 1881, the fight lasted thirty seconds. Doc was carrying a 10 gauge coach gun under his coat. He killed Tom McLaury with both barrels. When Morgan Earp was assassinated months later in retaliation, Doc rode with Wyatt on what history would later call the Vendetta Ride, a three week killing spree across Arizona that left every man they believed responsible dead in the dirt. They were never caught. They were never tried. They simply rode out of the territory and disappeared. By 1887 the disease had finally caught up with him. He was 36 years old. He weighed less than 120 pounds. He had outlived nearly every man who had ever tried to kill him, and most of the ones who had only thought about it. He checked into the Hotel Glenwood in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, where the sulfur springs were said to ease the lungs. They didn't. On the morning of November 8th, the nurse brought him a glass of whiskey. He had always sworn he would die with his boots on, the way a gunfighter was supposed to die. He looked down at his bare feet under the white hospital sheet. He looked at the whiskey. He started to laugh. "This is funny." Then he drank it. And he died.

EchoesofWarYT's tweet photo. Doc Holliday was a dentist with a classical education in Greek and Latin who killed his first man at 19, coughed blood into a handkerchief for the next 17 years, and died in bed with a glass of whiskey, saying, "This is funny."

Funny because he'd spent his entire adult life expecting to die in a gunfight. He never did.

John Henry Holliday was born in Griffin, Georgia in 1851. He came into the world with a cleft palate and a partial cleft lip, a deformity that in 1851 was usually a death sentence for an infant. His uncle, a surgeon named John Stiles Holliday, performed the corrective surgery himself when the baby was two months old. His mother Alice spent the next several years patiently teaching the boy to speak clearly. She taught him piano. She taught him manners. She taught him how to bow to a woman and how to address a gentleman. By the time he was a teenager, John Henry could quote Virgil in the original Latin, play Chopin from memory, and dance a quadrille.

Then she died of tuberculosis when he was 15, and so did the small, soft world she'd built for him.

He was sent to Philadelphia to study dentistry. He graduated from the Pennsylvania College of Dental Surgery in 1872 at the age of 20, one of the youngest in his class, and his entry "Diseases of the Teeth" was considered exceptional. He won an award at a dental fair for "Best Set of Artificial Teeth in Gold." His diploma still exists. You can look at it.

He moved back south, set up a practice, and started coughing.

By 1873 the diagnosis was unmistakable. Pulmonary tuberculosis. The same disease that killed his mother. Doctors gave him a few months, maybe a year. They told him his only chance was to move west, where the dry air might slow the lungs from drowning. He kissed his cousin Mattie goodbye. He had been in love with her for years. She would later become a Catholic nun, Sister Mary Melanie, and she was the woman Margaret Mitchell would model Melanie Hamilton on in Gone With the Wind. They wrote each other letters until the day he died. Nobody has ever found those letters. The family burned them.

He went to Dallas. He set up a dental office. And his patients, watching this thin polite young man cough blood into a handkerchief between extractions, stopped coming.

So he turned to cards.

Faro, mostly. Poker when he could find it. He had a gambler's gift and a dying man's nerve, and within two years he was making more in a week at the tables than he'd made in a year pulling teeth. He moved through Texas and into the Colorado mining camps, then New Mexico, then Arizona. He drank an estimated two to three quarts of whiskey a day, partly because it numbed the lungs and partly because nothing else did.

Here is what made him terrifying.

Most gunfighters in the Old West were cowards in expensive boots. They picked fights they could win and avoided fights they couldn't. Doc Holliday already knew he was dying. There was nothing you could threaten him with. There was no future you could take from him. He would walk into a room of armed men with that thin slow smile and a Colt and a knife and sometimes a sawed off shotgun under his long grey coat, and the math running behind his pale blue eyes was simple. Every day he was alive was already stolen. The men across the table had something to lose. He had nothing.

He weighed about 135 pounds. He was five foot ten. He was usually drunk. And by the time he reached Tombstone, men crossed streets to avoid him.

His common law wife was a Hungarian woman named Mary Katharine Horony, better known as Big Nose Kate. She had been born to nobility in Budapest, run away as a teenager after her parents died, worked as a prostitute in Iowa, and ended up on the frontier with a temper that matched his. He once got her out of jail by bribing a guard. She once got him out of jail by setting fire to the hotel next door as a distraction, then walking him out at gunpoint. They fought constantly. They loved each other in the way two people love each other when they both know one of them is going to die soon.

He met Wyatt Earp in Fort Griffin, Texas, in 1877. The friendship that followed would shape both their lives. The legend goes that Doc saved Wyatt's life in Dodge City, walking out of the Long Branch Saloon to find Wyatt surrounded by cowboys with guns drawn, and putting his pistol to the leader's temple before anyone saw him move. Wyatt later said he owed Doc his life. He said Doc was "the most skillful gambler, and the nerviest, fastest, deadliest man with a six gun I ever knew."

Wyatt Earp said that. About a tubercular dentist who could quote Cicero.

At the OK Corral on October 26, 1881, the fight lasted thirty seconds. Doc was carrying a 10 gauge coach gun under his coat. He killed Tom McLaury with both barrels. When Morgan Earp was assassinated months later in retaliation, Doc rode with Wyatt on what history would later call the Vendetta Ride, a three week killing spree across Arizona that left every man they believed responsible dead in the dirt. They were never caught. They were never tried. They simply rode out of the territory and disappeared.

By 1887 the disease had finally caught up with him. He was 36 years old. He weighed less than 120 pounds. He had outlived nearly every man who had ever tried to kill him, and most of the ones who had only thought about it. He checked into the Hotel Glenwood in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, where the sulfur springs were said to ease the lungs. They didn't.

On the morning of November 8th, the nurse brought him a glass of whiskey. He had always sworn he would die with his boots on, the way a gunfighter was supposed to die. He looked down at his bare feet under the white hospital sheet. He looked at the whiskey. He started to laugh.

"This is funny."

Then he drank it.

And he died.

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keepingtempo retweeted

skymeds store | Online Ivermectin Pharmacy

@skymeds_store

3 months ago

For anyone dealing with cancer(CA) Here are a few helpful tips: 1st, don't have them "test" the tumor. Tumors are the body's way of protecting us from allowing the CA cells to traverse the body and mutate healthy cells. Once it's punctured for "testing", the cells travel and the beasties cause more issues. (Why not right? It's a $ making racquet.) 1A. CANCER IS A PARASITE. Start Ivermectin HORSE PASTE (dosage 1am & 1pm by bodyweight) & Fenbendazole HORSE PASTE (dosage 1 x bodyweight for 6 days, skip 7th to let the renal system rest). 2nd, STOP ALL SUGARS. CA loves sugar in ALL FORMS. 3rd, HYDROGEN PEROXIDE: H202 has the extra Oxygen molecule that CA can't stand. Put it on a cotton ball or wash cloth and rub all over skin 3x/day, more-so when you're out of the bath & shower, as your pores are open and more apt to getting it into the bloodstream. The skin absorbs the HP and kills the CA cells almost immediately. 4th, ALKALINE WATER: CA can't survive in an alkaline body. Start drinking alkaline water w/ lemon consistently thru the day. Lemon is an acid outside of the body, but the hydrochloric acid in your stomach converts it to an alkaline base. This travels through your blood stream and will help to eradicate the crud. 5th, DETOX BATHS: 1 cup Baking Soda, 1 Cup Borax, (yes, the laundry aisle!) 1 Cup Epsom Salt, & Bentonite Clay. Draw the hottest bath you can muster... Soak as long as you can, as hot as you can, and it will help to detox the CA and the nano-particulates (gr@phine oxide), out of the body. Do this at least 2-3x a week. 6th, The BIG BOMBER: NATURAL VITAMIN B17 which NO ONE wants ANYONE to know about! Apple seeds, Apricot, Peach, & Plum Pits, ALL of it! B17 vitamin has been removed from our knowledge, because: BIG pHARMa. Eat 3-4 apricot pits thru-out the day to eradicate the CA. I really hate the fact that non-suspecting people are dealing w/ all the bioweapon B.S. The turbo cancers are all a part of it. We have LEGIT CURES now. There's no longer a need for Chemo and Radiation, which do nothing more than kill the good tissue. 9/10 patients pass from chemo & radiation poisoning rather than the actual cancer. Before BIG pHARMa, CA patients were given 2 large bottles of peroxide and a bag of cotton balls and told to use it daily and return in 2 weeks to find 100% of it was cured.

skymeds_store's tweet photo. For anyone dealing with cancer(CA)
Here are a few helpful tips:

1st, don't have them "test" the tumor.
Tumors are the body's way of protecting us from allowing the CA cells to traverse the body and mutate healthy cells.

Once it's punctured for "testing", the cells travel and the beasties cause more issues.
(Why not right? It's a $ making racquet.)

1A. CANCER IS A PARASITE.
Start
Ivermectin HORSE PASTE
(dosage 1am & 1pm by bodyweight)
&
Fenbendazole HORSE PASTE
(dosage 1 x bodyweight for 6 days, skip 7th to let the renal system rest).

2nd, STOP ALL SUGARS.
CA loves sugar in ALL FORMS.

3rd, HYDROGEN PEROXIDE:
H202 has the extra Oxygen molecule that CA can't stand. Put it on a cotton ball or wash cloth and rub all over skin 3x/day, more-so when you're out of the bath & shower, as your pores are open and more apt to getting it into the bloodstream.
The skin absorbs the HP and kills the CA cells almost immediately.

4th, ALKALINE WATER:
CA can't survive in an alkaline body.
Start drinking alkaline water w/ lemon consistently thru the day.
Lemon is an acid outside of the body, but the hydrochloric acid in your stomach converts it to an alkaline base.
This travels through your blood stream and will help to eradicate the crud.

5th, DETOX BATHS:
1 cup Baking Soda,
1 Cup Borax, (yes, the laundry aisle!)
1 Cup Epsom Salt, &
Bentonite Clay.
Draw the hottest bath you can muster...
Soak as long as you can, as hot as you can, and it will help to detox the CA and the nano-particulates (gr@phine oxide), out of the body.
Do this at least 2-3x a week.

6th, The BIG BOMBER: NATURAL VITAMIN B17 which NO ONE wants ANYONE to know about!
Apple seeds, Apricot, Peach, & Plum Pits,
ALL of it!
B17 vitamin has been removed from our knowledge, because: BIG pHARMa.

Eat 3-4 apricot pits thru-out the day to eradicate the CA.

I really hate the fact that non-suspecting people are dealing w/ all the bioweapon B.S. The turbo cancers are all a part of it.

We have LEGIT CURES now. There's no longer a need for Chemo and Radiation, which do nothing more than kill the good tissue.

9/10 patients pass from chemo & radiation poisoning rather than the actual cancer.

Before BIG pHARMa, CA patients were given 2 large bottles of peroxide and a bag of cotton balls and told to use it daily and return in 2 weeks to find 100% of it was cured.

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keepingtempo retweeted

NancyH

@NancyH_60

3 months ago

The moment your soul leaves your body, the Bible says you are not abandoned. “To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.” Second Corinthians 5:8 reminds us of this truth. Your final breath on earth becomes your first breath in eternity. In that instant, everything changes. Every fear, every pain, and every worry you carry fades away. A deep, unexplainable peace fills you, and an angel stands beside you. Just as the Scripture says, “He will command His angels concerning you” (Psalm 91:11). You are no longer afraid. Warm and alive as Heaven draws near, for the first time you feel completely whole. The gates stand open, shining as Revelation describes—with pearls and streets of pure gold (Revelation 21:21)—more beautiful than anything you’ve ever known. Then you hear your name spoken by Jesus, fulfilling His promise to prepare a place for you. In that moment, you realize we are never alone, and now you are finally home.

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keepingtempo retweeted

Liz Churchill

@liz_churchill10

3 months ago

One of the MOST HORRIFIC CRIMES in our World’s History was INTENTIONALLY hiding drugs to treat cancer. The Pharmaceutical Industrial Complex should be CHARGED with WAR CRIMES… “We saw an 84% positive outcome with cancer patients that took Ivermectin and Fenbendazole”

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keepingtempo retweeted

My name is M. Only M

@musicandsoularg

3 months ago

¿SABÍAS QUE EL NOMBRE DE DIOS NO FUE DISEÑADO PARA SER HABLADO, SINO RESPIRADO? EL CÓDIGO DEL TETRAGRÁMATON.… Cuando Moisés se encontró con la zarza ardiente, le hizo a Dios la pregunta más lógica del mundo: "Si voy al pueblo y me preguntan quién me envió, ¿qué nombre les digo?" La respuesta que recibió cambió la historia de la humanidad, pero la religión la ha malinterpretado durante siglos. EL MISTERIO DE LAS CUATRO LETRAS Dios no le dio a Moisés un nombre común para llenar un formulario. Le entregó cuatro letras sagradas: יְהֹוָה (Yod - Hei - Vav - Hei) A esto se le conoce históricamente como el Tetragrámaton. Durante siglos, los traductores han intentado pronunciarlo para adaptarlo a nuestros idiomas: Yahvé, Jehová, Yahuah. Pero cuando analizamos la fonética hebrea antigua, descubrimos un misterio que rompe la mente. EL NOMBRE QUE NO SE DELETREA Las cuatro letras (Yod, Hei, Vav, Hei) tienen algo único en el idioma hebreo antiguo: Son letras "aspiradas". Es decir, no se pronuncian usando la lengua o los labios para frenar el aire como con la letra "P" o la "T". Se pronuncian simplemente exhalando y dejando fluir el aliento. Yod-Hei (Inhalación). Vav-Hei (Exhalación). ¿Qué significa esto? Que el verdadero nombre de Dios no es una palabra que se lee en un diccionario... ¡Es el sonido mismo de la respiración! EL PRIMER Y EL ÚLTIMO SONIDO Piénsalo profundamente. Cuando un bebé nace, su primer acto al llegar a este mundo es tomar aire. Una inhalación profunda. Y cuando un anciano muere, su último acto es exhalar. Desde el primer segundo en que llegas al mundo hasta el último segundo en que te vas, estás pronunciando el nombre de Adonay. El ateo más radical del mundo... respira Su nombre. El creyente más fiel... respira Su nombre. El que está en la cima del éxito y el que está llorando en un rincón... respiran Su nombre. Él no nos dio un nombre para que hiciéramos una religión exclusiva alrededor de él. Nos dio el sonido de la vida para recordarnos que Él nos sostiene a cada segundo. EL CÓDIGO PARA TU ANSIEDAD Sabiendo esto, todo cobra sentido. Cuando estás atravesando un ataque de ansiedad... Cuando sientes que el pecho se te cierra por las deudas, los problemas, la enfermedad o la tristeza... ¿Qué es lo primero que se altera en tu cuerpo? Tu respiración. El caos no solo quiere darte miedo. El caos quiere interrumpir el fluir del Nombre de Dios en ti. ¿Y qué es lo que te dice un médico o un amigo cuando estás en medio de una crisis de pánico? "Tranquilo, respira profundo." Sin saberlo, te están diciendo: "Vuelve a pronunciar el Nombre. Vuelve a la fuente." LA VERDAD PARA TU PROCESO Tal vez hoy te sientes tan cansado que no tienes palabras para orar. Tal vez estás tan golpeado por la vida que no te salen las frases teológicas ni las oraciones estructuradas. Está bien. El Reino no te exige un discurso poético para hablar con el Padre. Solo detente un momento. Cierra los ojos. Inhala (Yod-Hei). Exhala (Vav-Hei). No importa si no tienes fuerzas para hablar. Mientras respires, Él está ahí. Su nombre está habitando en tus pulmones. Y donde está Su nombre, el caos tiene que retroceder. ¡Ánimo! Tu respiración de hoy es la prueba profética de que Adonay no ha terminado contigo.