Ant Escape Quotes

Simon whispered to me, “But is everything okay?” “No,” Tori said. “I kidnapped her and forced her to escape with me. I’ve been using her as a human shield against those guys with guns, and I was just about to strangle her and leave her body here to throw them off my trail. But then you showed up and foiled my evil plans. Lucky for you, though. You get to rescue poor little Chloe again and win her undying gratitude.” “Undying gratitude?” Simon looked at me. “Cool. Does that come with eternal servitude? If so, I like my eggs sunnyside up.” I smiled. “I’ll remember that.” *** “Oh, right. You must be starving.” Simon reached into his pockets. “I can offer one bruised apple and one brown banana. Convenience stores aren’t the place to buy fruit, as I keep telling someone.” “Better than these. For you, anyway, Simon.” Derek passed a bar to Tori. “Because you aren’t supposed to have those, are you?” I said. “Which reminds me…” I took out the insulin. “Derek said it’s your backup.” “So my dark secret is out.” “I didn’t know it was a secret.” “Not really. Just not something I advertise.” ... “Backup?” Tori said. “You mean he didn’t need that?” “Apparently not,” I murmured. Simon looked from her to me, confused, then understanding. “You guys thought…” “That if you didn’t get your medicine in the next twenty-four hours, you’d be dead?” I said. “Not exactly, but close. You know, the old ‘upping the ante with a fatal disease that needs medication’ twist. Apparently, it still works.” “Kind of a letdown, then, huh?” “No kidding. Here we were, expecting to find you minutes from death. Look at you, not even gasping.” “All right, then. Emergency medical situation, take two.” He leaped to his feet, staggered, keeled over, then lifted his head weakly. “Chloe? Is that you?” He coughed. “Do you have my insulin?” I placed it in his outstretched hand. “You saved my life,” he said. “How can I ever repay you?” “Undying servitude sounds good. I like my eggs scrambled.” He held up a piece of fruit. “Would you settle for a bruised apple?” I laughed.

I think back to the last thing Dave said to me and try to imagine what escaping oxygen would look like. It looks a lot like drowning.

The ants were busy on the ground, big black ones with shiny bodies and the little dusty quick ants. Kino watched with the detachment of God while a dusty ant frantically tried to escape the sand trap an ant lion had dug for him. He watched the ants moving, a little column of them near to his foot, and he put his foot in their path. Then the column climbed over his instep and continued on its way, and Kino left his foot there and watched them move over it.

Sometimes when a star collapses, it becomes a fiery supernova, but other times the core density is so great that it quietly consumes itself, forming a black hole, its gravitational pull so terrible that nothing can escape, not even light. You can't see a black hole, but if you look closesly, you can witness its effect on those objects nearest to it - the way it changes the orbit of solar systems or draws off a star's light a little at a time, sucking it down to its dense center, Maybe we couldn't have stopped Jesse's collapse, but we should have seen it happening.

Desde mi cornisa oculta, miraba hacia el jardín, tratando de localizar a Andy, adivinar el último escape de Harry, o ver el hermoso atuendo que Alice estaba usando. Los Garrett eran mi historia a la hora de dormir, mucho antes de siquiera pensar que yo sería parte de esa historia.

I took another road, past the old sugar works and the water wheel that had not turned for years. I went to parts of Coulibri that I had not seen, where there was no road, no path, no track. And if the razor grass cut my legs and arms I would think 'It's better than people.' Black ants or red ones, tall nests swarming with white ants, rain that soaked me to the skin - once I saw a snake. All better than people. Better, better, better than people.

Lizzie and I arrived in the polluted heat of a London summer. We stood frozen at street corners as a blur of pedestrians burst out of the subways and spilled like ants down the pavements. The crowed bars, the expensive shops, the fashionable clothes - to me it all seemed a population rushing about to no avail...I stared at a huge poster of a woman in her underwear staring down at her own breasts. HELLO BOYS, she said. At the movies we witnessed sickening violence, except that this time we held tubs of popcorn between our legs and the gunfire and screams were broadcast in digital Dolby. We had escaped a skull on a battlefield, only to arrive in London, where office workers led lines of such tedium and plenty that they had to entertain themselves with all the f****** and killing on the big screen. So here then was the prosperous, democratic and civilized Western world. A place of washing machines, reality TV, Armani, frequent-flier miles, mortgages. And this is what the Africans are supposed to hope for, if they're lucky.

Kino watched with the detachment of God while a dusty ant frantically tried to escape the sand trap an ant lion had dug for him.

«El ininterrumpido ir y venir del tigre ante los barrotes de su jaula para que no se le escape el único y brevísimo instante de la salvación.»

During forced exercise one day, Louie fell into step with William Harris, a twenty-five-year-old marine officer, the son of marine general Field Harris. Tall and dignified, with a face cut in hard lines, Harris had been captured in the surrender of Corregidor in May 1942. With another American,* he had escaped and embarked on an eight-and-a-half-hour swim across Manila Bay, kicking through a downpour in darkness as fish bit him. Dragging himself ashore on the Japanese-occupied Bataan Peninsula, he had begun a run for China, hiking through jungles and over mountains, navigating the coast in boats donated by sympathetic Filipinos, hitching rides on burros, and surviving in part by eating ants. He had joined a Filipino guerrilla band, but when he had heard of the American landing at Guadalcanal, the marine in him had called. Making a dash by boat toward Australia in hopes of rejoining his unit, he had gotten as far as the Indonesian island of Morotai before his journey ended. Civilians had turned him in to the Japanese, who had discovered that he was a general’s son and sent him to Ofuna. Even here, he was itching to escape.

A Day Away We often think that our affairs, great or small, must be tended continuously and in detail, or our world will disintegrate, and we will lose our places in the universe. That is not true, or if it is true, then our situations were so temporary that they would have collapsed anyway. Once a year or so I give myself a day away. On the eve of my day of absence, I begin to unwrap the bonds which hold me in harness. I inform housemates, my family and close friends that I will not be reachable for twenty-four hours; then I disengage the telephone. I turn the radio dial to an all-music station, preferably one which plays the soothing golden oldies. I sit for at least an hour in a very hot tub; then I lay out my clothes in preparation for my morning escape, and knowing that nothing will disturb me, I sleep the sleep of the just. On the morning I wake naturally, for I will have set no clock, nor informed my body timepiece when it should alarm. I dress in comfortable shoes and casual clothes and leave my house going no place. If I am living in a city, I wander streets, window-shop, or gaze at buildings. I enter and leave public parks, libraries, the lobbies of skyscrapers, and movie houses. I stay in no place for very long. On the getaway day I try for amnesia. I do not want to know my name, where I live, or how many dire responsibilities rest on my shoulders. I detest encountering even the closest friend, for then I am reminded of who I am, and the circumstances of my life, which I want to forget for a while. Every person needs to take one day away. A day in which one consciously separates the past from the future. Jobs, lovers, family, employers, and friends can exist one day without any one of us, and if our egos permit us to confess, they could exist eternally in our absence. Each person deserves a day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for. Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us. We need hours of aimless wandering or spates of time sitting on park benches, observing the mysterious world of ants and the canopy of treetops. If we step away for a time, we are not, as many may think and some will accuse, being irresponsible, but rather we are preparing ourselves to more ably perform our duties and discharge our obligations. When I return home, I am always surprised to find some questions I sought to evade had been answered and some entanglements I had hoped to flee had become unraveled in my absence. A day away acts as a spring tonic. It can dispel rancor, transform indecision, and renew the spirit.

And all of this leaves me wondering if this dream of mine-that out there, somewhere, hiding, there exists a guy who is cultured and calm, and smiley and faithful, who want´s to escape the rat-race with me and, apparently like the French, wear wellies and make cheese...Well, I wonder if it can possibly exist. I don´t want much...just someone who would flat on his stomach next to me in the garden watching ants carrying crumbs through the jungle of blades of grass. I wonder if that can ever exist, anywhere, for anyone.

Como é que se esquece alguém que se ama? Como é que se esquece alguém que nos faz falta e que nos custa mais lembrar que viver? Quando alguém se vai embora de repente como é que se faz para ficar? Quando alguém morre, quando alguém se separa - como é que se faz quando a pessoa de quem se precisa já lá não está? As pessoas têm de morrer; os amores de acabar. As pessoas têm de partir, os sítios têm de ficar longe uns dos outros, os tempos têm de mudar Sim, mas como se faz? Como se esquece? Devagar. É preciso esquecer devagar. Se uma pessoa tenta esquecer-se de repente, a outra pode ficar-lhe para sempre. Podem pôr-se processos e ações de despejo a quem se tem no coração, fazer os maiores escarcéus, entrar nas maiores peixeiradas, mas não se podem despejar de repente. Elas não saem de lá. Estúpidas! É preciso aguentar. Já ninguém está para isso, mas é preciso aguentar. A primeira parte de qualquer cura é aceitar-se que se está doente. É preciso paciência. O pior é que vivemos tempos imediatos em que já ninguém aguenta nada. Ninguém aguenta a dor. De cabeça ou do coração. Ninguém aguenta estar triste. Ninguém aguenta estar sozinho. Tomam-se conselhos e comprimidos. Procuram-se escapes e alternativas. Mas a tristeza só há-de passar entristecendo-se. Não se pode esquecer alguém antes de terminar de lembrá-lo. Quem procura evitar o luto, prolonga-o no tempo e desonra-o na alma. A saudade é uma dor que pode passar depois de devidamente doída, devidamente honrada. É uma dor que é preciso aceitar, primeiro, aceitar. É preciso aceitar esta mágoa esta moinha, que nos despedaça o coração e que nos mói mesmo e que nos dá cabo do juízo. É preciso aceitar o amor e a morte, a separação e a tristeza, a falta de lógica, a falta de justiça, a falta de solução. Quantos problemas do mundo seriam menos pesados se tivessem apenas o peso que têm em si , isto é, se os livrássemos da carga que lhes damos, aceitando que não têm solução. Não adianta fugir com o rabo à seringa. Muitas vezes nem há seringa. Nem injeção. Nem remédio. Nem conhecimento certo da doença de que se padece. Muitas vezes só existe a agulha. Dizem-nos, para esquecer, para ocupar a cabeça, para trabalhar mais, para distrair a vista, para nos divertirmos mais, mas quanto mais conseguimos fugir, mais temos mais tarde de enfrentar. Fica tudo à nossa espera. Acumula-se-nos tudo na alma, fica tudo desarrumado. O esquecimento não tem arte. Os momentos de esquecimento, conseguidos com grande custo, com comprimidos e amigos e livros e copos, pagam-se depois em condoídas lembranças a dobrar. Para esquecer é preciso deixar correr o coração, de lembrança em lembrança, na esperança de ele se cansar. Miguel Esteves Cardoso, in 'Último Volume

But despite the Secret Service–like behavior, and the regal nomenclature, there’s nothing hierarchical about the way an ant colony does its thinking. “Although queen is a term that reminds us of human political systems,” Gordon explains, “the queen is not an authority figure. She lays eggs and is fed and cared for by the workers. She does not decide which worker does what. In a harvester ant colony, many feet of intricate tunnels and chambers and thousands of ants separate the queen, surrounded by interior workers, from the ants working outside the nest and using only the chambers near the surface. It would be physically impossible for the queen to direct every worker’s decision about which task to perform and when.” The harvester ants that carry the queen off to her escape hatch do so not because they’ve been ordered to by their leader; they do it because the queen ant is responsible for giving birth to all the members of the colony, and so it’s in the colony’s best interest—and the colony’s gene pool—to keep the queen safe. Their genes instruct them to protect their mother, the same way their genes instruct them to forage for food. In other words, the matriarch doesn’t train her servants to protect her, evolution does. Popular culture trades in Stalinist ant stereotypes—witness the authoritarian colony regime in the animated film Antz—but in fact, colonies are the exact opposite of command economies. While they are capable of remarkably coordinated feats of task allocation, there are no Five-Year Plans in the ant kingdom. The colonies that Gordon studies display some of nature’s most mesmerizing decentralized behavior: intelligence and personality and learning that emerges from the bottom up.

Even so, it was difficult to quantify what he was feeling. Or maybe hearing. Touching? Raziel finally settled on sensing, but none of the words he could put to the sensation felt right. It was a presence, that much he was sure of. He’d felt that type of thing from his grandfather when they practiced magic together and faintly from people further away. But this was different. Slower. His grandfather had, at the time, seemed to be something solid and unmovable as a cliff face, but compared with this, he was just a leaf in late fall, holding its shape but crumbling at the lightest touch. It was, of course, the tree at his back that Raziel was sensing. Being struck by its awesome and awful enormity, the realization came to Raziel slowly. And, as he put a name to the presence in his mind, something changed. The smallest of ants, marching across unfamiliar terrain, looking up and seeing the great eye of the human whose arm was the continent on which it walked, might have felt something similar to what Raziel felt as the tree took notice of him.

I work as fast as I can. Binah will come soon looking for me. It’s Mother, however, who descends the back steps into the yard. Binah and the other house slaves are clumped behind her, moving with cautious, synchronized steps as if they’re a single creature, a centipede crossing an unprotected space. I sense the shadow that hovers over them in the air, some devouring dread, and I crawl back into the green-black gloom of the tree. The slaves stare at Mother’s back, which is straight and without give. She turns and admonishes them. “You are lagging. Quickly now, let us be done with this.” As she speaks, an older slave, Rosetta, is dragged from the cow house, dragged by a man, a yard slave. She fights, clawing at his face. Mother watches, impassive. He ties Rosetta’s hands to the corner column of the kitchen house porch. She looks over her shoulder and begs. Missus, please. Missus. Missus. Please. She begs even as the man lashes her with his whip. Her dress is cotton, a pale yellow color. I stare transfixed as the back of it sprouts blood, blooms of red that open like petals. I cannot reconcile the savagery of the blows with the mellifluous way she keens or the beauty of the roses coiling along the trellis of her spine. Someone counts the lashes—is it Mother? Six, seven. The scourging continues, but Rosetta stops wailing and sinks against the porch rail. Nine, ten. My eyes look away. They follow a black ant traveling the far reaches beneath the tree—the mountainous roots and forested mosses, the endless perils—and in my head I say the words I fashioned earlier. Boy Run. Girl Jump. Sarah Go. Thirteen. Fourteen . . . I bolt from the shadows, past the man who now coils his whip, job well done, past Rosetta hanging by her hands in a heap. As I bound up the back steps into the house, Mother calls to me, and Binah reaches to scoop me up, but I escape them, thrashing along the main passage, out the front door, where I break blindly for the wharves. I don’t remember the rest with clarity, only that I find myself wandering across the gangplank of a sailing vessel, sobbing, stumbling over a turban of rope. A kind man with a beard and a dark cap asks what I want. I plead with him, Sarah Go. Binah chases me, though I’m unaware of her until she pulls me into her arms and coos, “Poor Miss Sarah, poor Miss Sarah.” Like a decree, a proclamation, a prophecy. When I arrive home, I am a muss of snot, tears, yard dirt, and harbor filth. Mother holds me against her, rears back and gives me an incensed shake, then clasps me again. “You must promise never to run away again. Promise me.” I want to. I try to. The words are on my tongue—the rounded lumps of them, shining like the marbles beneath the tree. “Sarah!” she demands. Nothing comes. Not a sound. I remained mute for a week. My words seemed sucked into the cleft between my collar bones. I rescued them by degrees, by praying, bullying and wooing. I came to speak again, but with an odd and mercurial form of stammer. I’d never been a fluid speaker, even my first spoken words had possessed a certain belligerent quality, but now there were ugly, halting gaps between my sentences, endless seconds when the words cowered against my lips and people averted their eyes. Eventually, these horrid pauses began to come and go according to their own mysterious whims. They might plague me for weeks and then remain away months, only to return again as abruptly as they left.

mapas, arte; no hay tema que escape a su curiosidad y consumo. Es un lector voraz. En muchos pasajes de su diario comenta los libros que está leyendo. Es usual que, antes de visitar un lugar, se informe de su geografía, de su historia, sus costumbres, religión, lugares, arquitectura, leyendo todo lo que está a su alcance.

case of Adam, however, had no analogy with this, but was altogether different. For, having been beguiled by another under the pretext of immortality, he is immediately seized with terror, and hides himself; not as if he were able to escape from God; but, in a state of confusion at having transgressed His command, he feels unworthy to appear before and to hold converse with God. Now, “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom;” the sense of sin leads to repentance, and God bestows His compassion upon those who are penitent. For [Adam] showed his repentance by his conduct, through means of the girdle [which he used], covering himself with fig-leaves, while there were many other leaves, which would have irritated his body in a less degree. He, however, adopted a dress conformable to his disobedience, being awed by the fear of God; and resisting the erring, the lustful propensity of his flesh (since he had lost his natural disposition and child-like mind, and had come to the knowledge of evil things), he girded a bridle of continence upon himself and his wife, fearing God, and waiting for His coming, and indicating, as it were, some such thing [as follows]: Inasmuch as, he says, I have by disobedience lost that robe of sanctity which I had from the Spirit, I do now also acknowledge that I am deserving of a covering of this nature, which affords no gratification, but which gnaws and frets the body. And he would no doubt have retained this clothing for ever, thus humbling himself, if God, who is merciful, had not clothed them with tunics of skins instead of fig-leaves. For this purpose, too, He interrogates them, that the blame might light upon the woman; and again, He interrogates her, that she might convey the blame to the serpent. For she related what had occurred. “The serpent,” says she, “beguiled me, and I did eat.” But He put no question to the serpent; for He knew that he had been the prime mover in the guilty deed; but He pronounced the curse upon him in the first instance, that it might fall upon man with a mitigated rebuke. For God detested him who had led man astray, but by degrees, and little by little, He showed compassion to him who had been beguiled.

No pensaste jamás que ese espejo eran mis ojos, que esa puerta que el viento abate era mi corazón, latiendo, puesto al desnudo por la habilidad de un cirujano que llega en la noche a ejercitar su destreza en la carroña ansiosa de nuestros cuerpos, un corazón que late ante un espejo, imagen de una puerta que golpea contra el quicio mientras afuera, más allá de sí misma, la lluvia incesante golpea en la noche contra la ventana como tratando de impedir que tu última mirada escape, para que nuestro sueño no huya de nosotros, y se quede, para siempre, fijo en la actitud de esos personajes representados en el cuadro: un cuadro que por la ebriedad de nuestro deseo creímos que era real y que sólo ahora sabemos que no era un cuadro, sino un espejo en cuya superficie nos estamos viendo morir.

wherever God says, God went up from Abraham,’ or, The Lord spake to Moses,’ and The Lord came down to behold the tower which the sons of men had built,’ or when God shut Noah into the ark,’ you must not imagine that the unbegotten God Himself came down or went up from any place. For the ineffable Father and Lord of all neither has come to any place, nor walks, nor sleeps, nor rises up, but remains in His own place, wherever that is, quick to behold and quick to hear, having neither eyes nor ears, but being of indescribable might; and He sees all things, and knows all things, and none of us escapes His observation; and He is not moved or confined to a spot in the whole world, for He existed before the world was made. How, then, could He talk with any one, or be seen by any one, or appear on the smallest portion of the earth, when the people at Sinai were not able to look even on the glory of Him who was sent from Him; and Moses himself could not enter into the tabernacle which he had erected, when it was filled with the glory of God; and the priest could not endure to stand before the temple when Solomon conveyed the ark into the house in Jerusalem which he had built for it? Therefore neither Abraham, nor Isaac, nor Jacob, nor any other man, saw the Father and ineffable Lord of all, and also of Christ, but [saw] Him who was according to His will His Son, being God, and the Angel because He ministered to His will; whom also it pleased Him to be born man by the Virgin; who also was fire when He conversed with Moses from the bush. Since, unless we thus comprehend the Scriptures, it must follow that the Father and Lord of all had not been in heaven when what Moses wrote took place: And the Lord rained upon Sodom fire and brimstone from the Lord out of heaven;’ and again, when it is thus said by David: Lift up your gates, ye rulers; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting gates; and the King of glory shall enter;’ and again, when He says: The Lord says to my Lord, Sit at My right hand, till I make Thine enemies Thy footstool.

Talvez tentássemos rir o máximo que podíamos antes de encontrar o triste final. Porque nunca se sabe qual riso será o último.

«La Creación es luz y sombra a la vez; de otra manera, la película no sería posible. El bien y el mal de maya deben siempre alternarse en su supremacía. Si el gozo fuese continuo en este mundo, ¿buscaría el hombre algún otro? Sin sufrimiento, difícilmente trata de recordar que ha abandonado su eterno hogar. El dolor es un aguijón al recuerdo. El medio de escape es la sabiduría. La tragedia de la muerte es irreal; aquellos que tiemblan ante ella son como un actor ignorante que muere de miedo en el escenario, cuando solamente le ha sido disparado un cartucho vacío. Mis hijos son los hijos de la luz; ellos no dormirán para siempre en la ilusión».

Have you ever just grabbed a handful of ants and stuffed them in your mouth? The best part is when some of them escape and they’re crawling all over your teeth, so you just lick your tongue all over it.

De los esfuerzos de unos cuantos por apartar de sí la muerte fue surgiendo la monstruosa estructura del poder. Para que un solo individuo siguiera viviendo se exigía una infinidad de muertes. La confusión que de ellos surgió se llama Historia. Aquí es donde debería empezar la verdadera Ilustración que establezca las bases del derecho de cada individuo a seguir viviendo. PDH* Cuando sepamos lo falso que es todo esto, cuando seamos capaces de medir el grado de falsedad, entonces y sólo entonces la obstinación será lo mejor: el ininterrumpido ir y venir del tigre ante los barrotes de su jaula para que no se le escape el único y brevísimo instante de la salvación.

Llevo el pasado dentro de mí plegado como un acordeón, como uno de esos libros de postales, pequeños y elegantes, que la gente trae como recuerdo de ciudades extranjeras. Pero basta con que se levante una esquina de la postal de arriba para que se escape una serpiente sin fin, zigzagueante, la silueta de la víbora, y al instante todas las imágenes se presenten ante mis ojos. Se quedan allí, se definen y entonces un momento de ese pasado lejano se atasca en la maquinaria de mi reloj interior, que se detiene, pierde el compás y se le escapa una parte del presente, irremplazable e irrecuperable.

as scientists no less than historians should note, that training in the writing of good English is indispensable to any learned man who expects to make his learning count for what it ought to count in the effect on his fellow men. The outdoor naturalist, the faunal naturalist, who devotes himself primarily to a study of the habits and of the life-histories of birds, beasts, fish, and reptiles, and who can portray truthfully and vividly what he has seen, could do work of more usefulness than any mere collector, in this upper Paraguay country. The work of the collector is indispensable; but it is only a small part of the work that ought to be done; and after collecting has reached a certain point the work of the field observer with the gift for recording what he has seen becomes of far more importance. The long days spent riding through the swamp, the "pantanal," were pleasant and interesting. Several times we saw the tamandua bandeira, the giant ant-bear. Kermit shot one, because the naturalists eagerly wished for a second specimen; afterward we were relieved of all necessity to molest the strange, out-of-date creatures. It was a surprise to us to find them habitually frequenting the open marsh. They were always on muddy ground, and in the papyrus-swamp we found them in several inches of water. The stomach is thick-walled, like a gizzard; the stomachs of those we shot contained adult and larval ants, chiefly termites, together with plenty of black mould and fragments of leaves, both green and dry. Doubtless the earth and the vegetable matter had merely been taken incidentally, adhering to the viscid tongue when it was thrust into the ant masses. Out in the open marsh the tamandua could neither avoid observation, nor fight effectively, nor make good its escape by flight.

The ant danced blind" "What?" "The old children's tale - remember it?" "You've lost your mind, haven't you?" "Not yet. At least I don't think so." "But that's just it, Coll. You wouldn't know, would you?" He watched Murillio spin round once more, step past the wall's edge and out of sight. The world spins about us unseen. The blind dance in circles. There's no escaping what you are, and all your dreams glittered white at night, but grey in the light of day. And both are equally deadly.

The common mob, the philistines and money changers, are 'flies in the market-place'. Then, as the Outsider's insight becomes deeper, so that he no longer sees men as a million million individuals, but instead sees the world-will that drives them all like ants in a formicary, he knows that they will never escape their stupidity and delusions, that no amount of logic and knowledge can make man any more than an insect; the most irritating of the human lice is the humanist with his puffed-up pride in Reason and his ignorance of his own silliness.

Salmo 56 1 Tenme piedad, oh Dios, porque me pisan, todo el día hostigándome me oprimen. 2 Me pisan todo el día los que me asechan, innumerables son los que me hostigan en la altura. 3 El día en que temo, en ti confío. 4 En Dios, cuya palabra alabo, en Dios confío y ya no temo, ¿qué puede hacerme un ser de carne? 5 Todo el día retuercen mis palabras, todos sus pensamientos son de hacerme mal; 6 se conjuran, se ocultan, mis pisadas observan, como para atrapar mi alma. 7 Por su iniquidad, ¿habrá escape para ellos? ¡Abate, oh Dios, a los pueblos en tu cólera! 8 De mi vida errante llevas tú la cuenta, ¡recoge mis lágrimas en tu odre! 9 Entonces retrocederán mis enemigos, el día en que yo clame. Yo sé que Dios está por mí. 10 En Dios, cuya palabra alabo, en Yahveh, cuya palabra alabo, 11 en Dios confío y ya no temo, ¿qué puede hacerme un hombre? 12 A mi cargo, oh Dios, los votos que te hice: sacrificios te ofreceré de acción de gracias, 13 pues tú salvaste mi alma de la muerte, para que marche ante la faz de Dios, en la luz de los vivos.

judge also the Ebionites; [for] how can they be saved unless it was God who wrought out their salvation upon earth? Or how shall man pass into God, unless God has [first] passed into man? And how shall he (man) escape from the generation subject to death, if not by means of a new generation, given in a wonderful and unexpected manner (but as a sign of salvation) by God—[I mean] that regeneration which flows from the virgin through faith? Or how shall they receive adoption from God if they remain in this [kind of] generation, which is naturally possessed by man in this world? And

Donde estoy no es el rincón del universo a donde todo el mundo viene. Algunas personas vienen en mucho mayor nivel de lo que estaba en mi punto de entrada, en relación con el conocimiento de las cosas de este universo. Esas almas dejan rápidamente las almas más lentas en el polvo cósmico, en la medida que detonan directamente más allá de nosotros y entran en los reinos cada vez más ricos en el mundo exclusivo de los seres espirituales. Muchos de ellos se moverán a planetas Utopía y lugares, desde aquí, y vivir en el nuevo ambiente durante el tiempo que consideren necesario. En el otro extremo del espectro, hay seres humanos que vienen aquí por corto tiempo antes de caer a la tierra, por varias razones. Su falta de alcanzar la velocidad de escape suficiente para liberarse de las fuertes fuerzas gravitacionales kármicas, hace que muchos se mantengan pulsados como globos de plomo. Algunas almas tienen miedo del cambio, y cuanto más rápido sea el cambio más temen, y simplemente se niegan a moverse hacia adelante. Esas son las almas que han optado por regresar a la Tierra, y están dotados de vida similar a la que tenían antes de morir. Algunas almas pueden permanecer fuera de los reinos inferiores que escaparon y no tienen miedo de avanzar, pero optar por volver a ayudar a sus seres queridos que quedaron atrás en la Tierra. Pero la mayoría de las almas pierden el barco debido a su equipaje de ropa sucia, tienen que volver a continuar sus ciclos de reencarnación, hasta que el equipaje se aleja de ellos. Tales almas vienen a este planeta durante un breve charla y una breve revisión de la vida antes de ser enviado de vuelta a donde vinieron. En función de su estado y circunstancias particulares determinan la cantidad de este paraíso que se les permite ver (pero no explorar) desde el vestíbulo, antes de ser puestos de nuevo en el camión de carga y regresar a la Tierra.