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By Ken Korczak
Let's say that you are considering taking on a new lover. Will this be a good decision for you? Will the result be wonderful, or a disaster? Maybe you are thinking about dumping your boyfriend or girlfriend. A good idea? Wouldn't it be great if you could know for sure? Or let's say you are considering investing your life savings in a new business venture. Will it pay off big, or will you end up losing everything and ruining your life?
Or how about this: You are contemplating switching over from PC to Mac. Will this be a good decision, or will you end up regretting it?
Well, wouldn't it be great if you could tap into a source of proven ancient wisdom that would help you get just the right answer for tough questions like these, and prevent you from making a serious mistake? And what if this ancient source of wisdom was more than 3,000 years old, had a proven mathematical theory to back it up, and is regarded by some of the most brilliant people of all time to be a true and accurate oracle system?
Well, there is such an oracle system. It is the "I Ching," pronounced "e-ching" The I Ching, or "The Ching" as I like to call it, was developed by ancient Chinese thinkers and philosophers, and painstakingly refined over many centuries. Today, many top mathematicians, scientists and physicists consider The Ching to be a valid system of prediction which anyone can use to make good decisions, and also to explore the deep inner nature of the one's own subconscious mind.
The Ching has been around for millennia, but had a sudden resurgence in popularity in the United States during the 1960s when a "consciousness revolution" was sparked by that whole "hippy era thing." The 1960s saw the birth of what would later become the "New Age" movement, which dared to challenge conservative, conventional wisdom by taking a new look at the very old, such as the I Ching, and the very new, such as the astounding implications of quantum physics.
The I Ching became so popular in the 1960s, especially in California, there were groups of people who were called "Ching Freaks" because they based just about every decision they made, big or small, by consulting the advice of The Ching. In fact, some people became so adept at using The Ching, they could do so by reading numbers on the license plates of cars as they passed by. License plate numbers provide an excellent platform for "Throwing The Ching" because The Ching works by pulling order out of randomness and chaos.
To make The Ching work, you need a random number generator -- and that can be anything from tossing coins, or throwing a collection of yarrow sticks, as did the ancient Chinese. This is where the term "throwing The Ching" comes from -- because coins or sticks are thrown or tossed to generate random numbers. The numbers that are generated are used to match up with a series of hexagrams which match poetic writings in "The Book of Changes," which is actually what I Ching stands for. These poetic stanzas will be your advice, which then must be interpreted to supply the answer to your questions.
Even the great science fiction writer Philip K. Dick -- whose works were made into such movies as "Blade Runner," "A Scanner Darkly" and "Total Recall," used The Ching to write his first successful novel, "The Man in the High Castle." As far as I know, this is the only book ever written by relying completely on the advice of The Ching.
Anyway, the popularity of The Ching has since faded, but like all ancient systems that have been around for thousands of years, that hardly matters. The Ching is timeless, and is available today for anyone to pick up and use any time he or she wants to. If you so desire, you could start consulting The Ching today to help you make your most vital decisions. Not only would you make better decisions, but you would also discover that you would be opening a window that peers deeply into your own subconscious mind. The result would be that you would "know thyself" better. Since self wisdom is an extremely important component of personal growth and development. Thus, it makes good sense for you to learn to use The Ching, and see where it leads you.
So how does it work? As I said, The Ching works by using a system to generate random numbers -- but I will not going into details here because it would take many pages to describe the best way, and the many ways to "throw The Ching." What I do want to tell you is that the most statistically valid way to do it is through use of a good computer program for generating random numbers. A computer program can generate literally millions or billions of random numbers instantaneously, while the old method of tossing coins or sticks provides for only a small sample of random numbers. The more random numbers you can generate, the more refined your eventual answer will be.
Here is a link to what I consider a scientific, easy and excellent way to consult the I Ching:
http://www.homebrew.net/ching
On this site, you don't have to worry about all the numbers, or learn anything about how The Ching generates your answers. Just type in your question and get your answer! It's easy! Try it! But now a warning: What many of you may find difficult is interpreting what The Ching tells you. For example, here is a question I posed to The Ching while writing this article:
"Will the readers at Orble appreciate this article I am writing about the I Ching?"
And here is the judgment The Ching provided:
The Gentle. Success through what is small.
It furthers one to have somewhere to go.
It furthers one to see the great man.
I interpret this answer as basically a "yes" to my question -- but notice that The Ching also provides further advice. It suggests that it would "further" me to "see the great man." I interpret this to mean that, since I am not a complete expert on The Ching, I should probably consult an expert -- a great man -- for advice on how to make sure this article is as accurate as possible. Anyway, The Ching has given me excellent guidance here, I believe. Let me try another question:
"Should I bring my wife with me on my business trip to New York City next week?"
The Ching says:
Following has supreme success.
Perseverance furthers. No blame.
I interpret this as a solid yes. Notice the amazing and tantalizing ability of The Ching to give advice that is highly pertinent to my specific situation. "Following has supreme success." I interpret this to mean that letting my wife "follow" me to New York is a good idea. And: "Perseverance furthers. No blame." I interpret this to mean that as long as I pursue my business meeting with perseverance, there will be no problem -- "no blame" -- if my wife tags along for the ride.
Now let me ask The Ching a more provocative question:
"My brother is drinking too much, stays out all night partying, and then sleeps all day. Should I go over to his place and kick his ass?"
The Ching says:
The Taming Power of the Great.
Perseverance furthers.
Not eating at home brings good fortune.
It furthers one to cross the great water.
I interpret this to mean that I should indeed go over to my brother's house and give him a good ass-kicking. "The taming power of the great" says to me that my brother needs to be "tamed" and that I should "persevere" in this action. The "not eating at home" is also significant. That says to me that a disciplined lifestyle of not over-indulging in substances is a good thing, and my brother should be made to realize this. Of course, the "crossing the great water" is more than obvious to me --you see, my brother lives on the other side of a lake here in Minnesota, the Land of 10,000 Lakes. That's amazing, isn't it?
I firmly believe it is time for everyone to take a new look at The Ching now more than ever. Why? Because of what scientists have recently learned about the fundamental matrix of the universe, including such things as chaos theory, the incompleteness theorem as predicted by quantum physics, and the existence of the "Zero Point Field," which is the fundamental system of pure energy potential which underlies all life, matter and energy in the universe. The Zero Point Field is the ultimate "ocean" of pure potential and random energy which is there waiting for us to create from and draw order from -- and using The Ching seems an almost perfect tool for helping our reality-creating minds to make the best decisions possible, and thus create the most positive and appealing world for ourselves to live, work and play in.
I could go into further detail about how some of the latest and most exciting discoveries of quantum mechanics support the efficacy of The Ching, and why and how it works, but perhaps that will make up a whole other column. I should also remind the reader that I have only barely touched on explaining what The Ching is -- to gain a more complete understanding of The Ching and how to use it, you'll find no shortage of resources on the Internet or library to help you gain a greater understanding of this ancient and powerful tool. You have nothing and lose and everything to gain by learning to "Ching your world." So why not try it today?
Really Long Link
By Ken Korczak
The Red River of the North forms the border between Minnesota and North Dakota and flows north into Canada, where it empties into Lake Winnipeg. When early settlers first traversed this wide, muddy river, they reported sightings of gigantic catfish bigger than their boat -- fish as big as logs drifting in the river.
But, occasionally, there have also been reports of a large, black, snakelike creature in the Red, a creature that resembled descriptions of the famous Ocopogo sea monster often sighted in British Columbia.
Well, here is a story told to me by an elderly gentleman who lives in northwest Minnesota. He claims that he and four friends not only got a first hand look at one of these mysterious giant water serpents -- but they actually killed it! The events described here happened in the late 1950s. Please note: All names have been changed in this story at the request of the interview subject. So, without further delay, the story of the Red River Snake Monster awaits your read!
* * * * *
Once or twice a summer it was Wayne's practice to brew a batch of his famous corncob wine. Here is how the vile mixture was made: First, Wayne scraped two dozen moldy corn cobs and put the kernals in a bucket of warm water.
After letting this sit for a day in a humid shed, he added several pounds of sugar, a gallon or two of grape juice and about 20 gallons more of warm water. He tossed in a hunk of yeast, and then he let it ferment for nine days. After this time, Wayne strained the pungent liquid through a bolt of cheese cloth.
The corncob wine was now ready to drink. To help get this done, Wayne called up four friends -- Howard, Roy, Forrest and Wally. Here is how Wayne served his concoction -- he placed the galvanized steel tubful of wine on a picnic table. He gave each guest a tin cup. They stood around in a circle, dipped in their cups, and guzzled. It would be difficult to judge the strength of Wayne's corncob port. It was weak, but it certainly had a few percentages of alcohol.
You had to drink a lot to get a buzz, but of course, there was a lot.
When the tub neared half-empty, the conversation became louder and more boisterous. The men kept drinking until the rims of their tin cups scraped loudly against the bottom of the galvanized tub. They left the dregs, however, because it was cloudy and stunk of yeast.
On this particular day, much of the discourse centered around "huntin' and fishin' " As the tub neared empty and the day grew dark, the talk became more raucous, including a lot of macho bragging along with various sensational claims of physical and sexual prowess.
Then Wayne came up with a very bad idea for a group of men who had just polished off 20 gallons of corncob when he suggested they grab a couple of shotguns, some flashlights, take a boat and launch it out on the Red River of the North to see if they could blast catfish out of the shallows.
The technical name for this sport is shotgun fishin'.
Forty-five minutes later, the five men were boating on the muddy Red in Roy's 18-footer. Howard and Forrest held powerful flashlights, and they played the beams across the inky water.Suddenly, a flashlight beam revealed a floating log which Roy mistook for a gigantic catfish. He let go a blast of his 12-gauge.
The rotten log exploded into splinters. River water and bits of wood rained down upon the men. This caused them all to whoop and yell. The boat rocked back and forth and water splashed into the bottom of the boat.
Minutes later Howard's beam glimpsed something shiny and Roy swung quickly around, only to bang the barrel of his shotgun against Wally's forehead. Wally fell back and almost went into the water, but the boys caught hold of him before he could go over the side. Everyone thought it was pretty funny, except for Wally. Wally's fun was over for the night, but not his part in the adventure. Yes, Wally would play a central role in the fantastic events that were about to happen.
Dazed and barely conscious, Wally leaned back in the boat and let his right forearm dangle into the water. A minute later, he felt a strong pressure squeezing his arm. Wally jerked his hand out of the water and let loose a savage yell.
All four of the others turned at once to look at him. The two flashlight beams held by Howard and Forrest revealed an amazing thing -- some kind of thick, black, long snake-like creature had attached itself to Wally's arm!
Screaming, Wally lifted his arm straight up into the air. The serpent creature curled around the length of his arm, wrapping it like a barber pole.
Here is how one of the men described the creature:
"My best description would be that it looked like an electric eel, the kind you see in them undersea adventure TV shows. It had a flat head, shiny black skin, slimy, and I think we saw smooth fins on the thing. It must have been six, seven feet long."
Of course, it was difficult to see well because it was dark, there was so much pandemonium, and the men were considerably hazed by the fermented beverage coursing through their veins.
"Everybody was screaming and yelling at once," Wayne said. "We were going crazy when we saw that thing on Wally's arm! It was dark and flashlights were dancing around like crazy ... we were rocking the boat so bad just about all of us were swamped into the river ... it was nuts!"
Wally began to shout: "Get this (*&%$&*%$#) thing off my arm! O-o-o-w-w-w-w! Get this (&%#$#**&%$) thing off my arm!"
Roy grabbed his shotgun by the barrel, wound up to take a hard swing at the monster, lost his balance instead and fell backward into the river. In all the commotion his pals hardly noticed.
Wayne slipped out his pocket knife and made a vicious thrust at the giant river snake, but missed and plunged his knife deep into Wally's arm. Wally howled in anguish. He thought the monster had bit him. He started to flail his arm around, and whacked Howard square in the face. Howard, face covered with slime, was hurled backward and only Wayne's quick catch prevented him from going over.
Wally began slamming his arm against the side of the boat, but the snake only squeezed tighter. Wally was in full panic. He kept screaming: "Get this (*&^%%$$%$) thing off me! Get this (&%%$##**&&%) thing off me!"
In desperation, Wayne recovered Roy's shotgun from the floor of the boat. In a lucky glimpse afforded by a chance pass of a wild flashlight beam, Wayne noticed that some three feet of the snake's body was dangling below Wally's arm.
He pointed the shotgun in that general direction, pulled the trigger and unleashed a roaring discharge. The kickback of the 12-gauge knocked Wayne backward and out into the drink. He dropped the shotgun and it sunk to the silty bottom of the river. Luckily, he was able to grab onto the side of the boat and haul himself back in.
"I got real lucky," he said, "cuz I blew the whole bottom part of that snake monster clean off."
The truncated end of the creature's body jerked wildly around like a loose high-pressure hose. Fetid black blood and slime spurted in all directions, spattering the men with rank gore. But the blow was enough to cause the creature to go limp. Wally heaved it from his arm and heard it splash down somewhere in the black water where it sunk to its death.
As soon as everyone had calmed down, they could hear Roy screaming and splashing around in the river. Their flashlight beams located him. They motored over and pulled him in the boat just seconds before he went under for the last time. At this point, the men decided that they had enough shotgun fishin' for one night and pulled the plug on the adventure.
"We still talk about that bizarre night to this very day," Wayne said. "I think the biggest mystery is what the heck that thing was. It sure as hell wasn't no fish, and I never heard of any snakes that big here in northern Minnesota."
Yes, the identity of the creature does pose something of a mystery, but one must grant that much could be explained by the consumption of an entire tub of corncob wine. But as far as I am concerned, there is an even bigger mystery contained within this story -- that all five of these geniuses lived to tell it.
Really Long Link
Note to Reader: This is Part 2 -- Please See Part 1 here on Strange Corridore
By Ken Korczak
After dragging Bucky out of the anti-church where a squadron of extremely obese women waited -- for what? -- I was fairly desperate to find Sparky who had the car keys and my ticket out of this hell hole.
The chanters were still around the fire, rocking, bobbing their heads, mumbling. Now someone had tossed a few car tires onto the fire creating a greasy, gritty smoke that roiled and boiled like oil into the fresh Minnesota air, fouling it with an industrial stench.
But air pollution was the least of my worries because suddenly I spotted Sparky! He had taken his place around the fire, robes and all! Sparky was one of them! It became clear that he had planned to come here all along -- and that he had tricked Bucky and I into coming as well. And I had to wonder -- why? For what?
Sparky had not only joined the devil dudes, but he seemed a ringleader. He wasn't chanting, but from somewhere he had produced an old battered guitar which he not so much "played", but tortured like a captured animal. He was hitting the strings hard, forcing violent, screeching discords from it, running his bony fingers up and down the guitar neck, like he wanted to choke that neck.
So much for my ride out of here! Now what? I looked back at Bucky, who was up on his hands and knees, vomiting violently. And I had to wonder, based on Bucky's bizarre behavior, if he was in on this too. But no, I quickly dismissed that idea. Bucky was a good friend.
As for Sparky, I didn't actually known him. I mean, he was a guy from my around my town, but I had never hung out with him. Nobody did. He was a loner, an odd ball. I had always assumed that he was a dope addict. But obviously, Sparky was into something much more sinister than mere drugs.
My next idea was to rouse Bucky and have him go punch Sparky in the head. Then we could get his car keys and leave him and his Beelzebub buddies to their own twisted devices. Why did I want Bucky to punch Sparky in the head? Let me put is this way: When you need someone punched in the head, and the job needs to be done right, Bucky is exactly the kind of guy you want to punch someone in the head. When Bucky punches someone in the head, they stay punched in the head.
But after puking, Bucky had slumped back down and became an incoherent sack of wasted humanity on the ground. I shook him violently -- but it was no use. He was in a booze induced coma.
In the meantime, something ominous was building. From the anti-church, the fat women started to raise their voices -- blood-curdling wails, moans and high-pitched shrieks. At the same time, the ceremony around the fire was growing more intense, more agitated. Some of the robed figures started getting up, raising their arms up and down, making herky-jerky motions, sitting back down, then jumping up again.
Looking around I saw other cars scattered at the outer edges of the firelight. I thought about finding one with a key, taking it, and splitting. But then I thought: "Geez, I've been at a Satanic shindig for 20 minutes and I'm already contemplating grand theft auto! What's the matter with me? The very air here is infected with evil!"
Even though I would have been justified in "borrowing" a car that night, I decided against it. Only one option was left -- leave on foot. The idea of walking 20 miles down an isolated dirt road in the black night through thick forest was not especially appealing. The woods of Minnesota are filled with all manner of critters -- gigantic moose, black bears, wolves, wolverines -- some of which would fancy me a tasty treat. Still, I liked my chances better with Mother Nature's sweet creatures than with this demented pack of nitwits.
So I set off down the road. The darkness was inky. I could barely see the outline of the dirt road looming off through the trees. Yet, the damp night air and the aroma of pine was a welcome relief from that acrid stench of burning rubber. And to be honest, 20 miles was not that much to me. I had been a long distance runner since junior high school, and I could probably click off that distance in less than three hours. So I took off at a light jog -- but after 10 minutes, my conscious got the better of me.
I thought about Bucky. I had abandoned my friend back there, lying near the door of the anti-church. What might they do with him? I stopped, gritted my teeth, turned, and headed back. Little did I know, the very worst part of the night was about to begin.
The fire was still burning when I returned, but to my surprise, there was no one around it now. The putrid rubber smoke was swirling around the grounds, scattered by a shifting breeze. It stung my eyes and assaulted my nose. I walked toward the anti-church where I had left Bucky, hoping he was still lying there. There was no sign of him. As I got closer to the anti-church, it became clear where everyone else had gone.
From inside the church came a cacophony of raucous voices -- wild laughter, exhilarated shouts, manic hooting calls. I decided to walk around the anti-church to look for Bucky. The deranged voices coming from the building were maddening. I was nervous and jumpy. My skin crawled.
Moving around the building, I could see dingy light glowing from a row of basement windows. I knew that I had to creep up to one of those windows and take a look inside.
I had no idea what I would see. I'll tell you what I most expected to see -- and orgy going on between the fire chanters and the fat women. What I hoped I would not see was my friend Bucky strung up down there, perhaps the subject of a human sacrifice. But I had to look. I had to see if Bucky was down there.
I got down on my hands and knees and crept toward a basement window of the anti-church. The windows were grimy and filmed with a coating of streaky black dirt. I was hesitant to rub the window to clear away a spot because I didn't want anyone inside to see me -- but I did so and peered inside. I was flabbergasted by what I saw happening down in that basement!
Here is what was going on: All the men and obese women where standing in a crude circle and they were tossing around an object between them. But it wasn't an object -- it was a baby, a naked baby. They were tossing the baby back and forth randomly, like a bunch of six-graders standing in a circle playing hot potato with a soccer ball. As they did so, they were laughing and shouting and calling out: "Kill the baby Jesus! Kill the baby Jesus! Kill the baby Jesus!"
For the hundredth time that night, I said to myself: "Could this really be happening?"
I tried to get a better look at the baby. Could it have been a doll? Wait! Maybe it was is just a doll! I kept looking. Damn! It looks like a real baby! In the murky candlelight which illuminated the basement, and through the dirty window, I could not be 100 percent sure if they were tossing around a live baby, or just a very realistic looking doll. But what if it was a real baby?
Remember, this was long before the days of cell phones so I couldn't have simply called 911. What if it was a real baby? What could I do? Storm down there and snatch it away from 30 or 40 crazed devil worshippers? Not likely! But I kept asking myself: What if it was a real, human baby? What could be done? What?
I kept looking as I crouched there in the dark. I kept trying to determine if they were tossing around a real baby or a doll.
Suddenly, I felt a hard, heavy hand slam down on my back. I yelled, sprang to my feet, whirled around, swung my fist as hard as I could -- and smashed Bucky right in the jaw -- sending him crashing to the ground!
"Holy crap!" I shouted.
I picked him up. "You crazy son-of-a-(bleep)! Come on, let's get out of here!"
Bucky was still not sober, and now he also had the imprint of my fist on his face. I guess I was a better puncher of heads than I thought. Anyway, as soon as I stood him up, he would slump back down. I kept at him, though. When he fell, I got him to his feet and moved him along, stumbling and falling back to the road. It took at least 15 minutes to get Bucky past where the fire was burning. Just as we began to head up the road, I heard the doors of the anti-church burst open violently.
I turned, and to my deep dismay, saw the devil worshippers stampeding out of the church. The first thing I thought: "Had they seen me at the window? Were they coming after us?"
They were yelling and screaming and scattering, jostling and elbowing each other, practically falling over each other. But instead of running toward us, they dispersed in all directions, running frantically. They all plunged into the blackness of the woods.
Bucky had fallen down again, so I just sat beside him for a moment. One of the robed figures sprinted close by us, not more than 10 yards away. He plunged into the woods. I heard the branches and brush tearing at his robes, twigs snapping under his feet. Then he was gone. They were all gone. All was silent.
I got Bucky on his feet again. He was sobering a little.
"Come on, I said," let's walk."
Bucky said, "Walk? Why? Where's Sparky?"
I said, "Just walk, you moron! I've got something to tell you about Sparky!"
We walked a few yards up the road -- and again -- I had to stop. I had to go back there one more time. Of course, the reason was obvious. I wanted to see if there was a dead baby in that basement.
I said to Bucky: "You stand right here. If you move from this spot, I'm going to track you down, hunt you like an animal, and kill you."
Bucky said, "Gee, what are you so pissy up about?"
I said, "Shut up," and proceeded back to the anti-church.
Since my tale is already overlong, let me just say I found nothing back in the church -- no baby, no evidence of a baby, or anything else. It was deserted.
Bucky and I spent the rest of that long, endless night on a 20-mile hike back to our cars. The sun was up by the time we got back, and by then the events of the evening had already begun to seem like a bad dream. But it wasn't a dream. It really happened. I was there.
My story is true.
By Ken Korczak
In my 20 years of writing about paranormal topics, I have grown accustomed to strange phone calls from readers -- yet, there is always someone who pushes the edge just a little further
[ Click here to read more ]
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Comment by Ken Korczak
on Why You Should Ching Your World
strangecorridor.com
The reason I took over an existing blog here at Orble was because the Orble team strongly recommends you do so -- there are many advantages, including increased traffic because the existing blog has been listed on search engines longer.
So, stop being a lame-o and leaving dumb messages about things you obviously know little about.