The Principles of Teaching represents what I have learned about the art of teaching over the course of my thirty year career. The principles I include in the book are meant to be both a practical guide and an inspiration to teachers who are just entering the profession. I also believe teachers at any stage of their career may find this book useful.

The Seraphim Blueprint introduces an advanced spiritual system that has been dormant for thousands of years. In 1994 a high Angel, a Seraph, began initiating Ruth Rendely into this long-forgotten teaching. She shares the amazing experience of that first of many meetings, when he tells her that she is to bring out an ancient healing modality that existed in Atlantean times. The Angel then proves the power of the system by transmitting healing energies into her in six-minute installations. These energies sing through her body, fixing minor pains, and leaving her exhilirated. He tells her that these energies are now available to be accessed effortlessly by anyone for their own benefit or the healing of others. RUTH RENDELY Gifted with the Seraphim Blueprint, spiritual teacher, intuitive healer, authority on angels, she has taught thousands how to explore their own divinity. ACCLAIM FOR SERAPHIM BLUEPRINT I enthusiastically endorse this book. It is not just a book, it is a journey into life. Through my experience in medicine, I have come to realize that there is more to life than contemporary science can explain, and that is the human soul. Ms. Ruth Rendely has proven this to be right. She has explained her life journey in a way that all of us can relate to, and, more importantly, through her knowledge and experience, she has given hope, belief, and love. I am truly impressed with her God-given talent, and her way to express it so that we all can understand and appreciate it. -Adrian, Bocirnea, M.D. "I'm thrilled to see that Ruth Rendely is helping people to make contact, and to work more intimately, with their companion angels. Nothing could be more important at this key point in the evolution of both species. When humanity moves, individual by individual, to fulfill its true destiny, it will be with our angels at our sides. This is an ancient promise and it is coming about in our lifetimes. May those with ears, hear." -Timothy Wyllie, co-author Ask Your Angels This book is a simple story of how one woman opened to the angels and then began to share what she learned with others. Slowly, as you read her tale, you will find shifts happening to you as well. Subtle is the technology of angels, not like knives or guns or bombs. It's a soft technology, and yet it's a powerful one. -Andrew Ramer, co-author Ask Your Angels From the Foreword Seraphim Blueprint is a fascinating account of one woman's journey as she develops the power of healing by explicitly following the guidance of angels. Rendely provides a "must-read" book for anyone who believes in the power of angels to help guide us into becoming our best selves. -Randy Peyser, author The Mind, Body, Spirit Speaker's Guid

In 1974, a group of teenage Peruvians became part of a facinating journey through the remote mystical places of Peru. Through the narrative of Sixto Paz Wells, the reader is confronted with one of the most complex cases of ET contact ever documented. A rare case which has astounded journalists, from nearly every country, as they defiantly witnessed the undeniable physical presence of an advanced civilization. The invitation stands as a document so provocative and upsetting to our routine lives, that the author's work has been surpresssed by organized agencies trying to destroy it. The question is: Why? Its pages are filled with the messages of hope, renewal and self-actualization. The humility of the author's revelations gives us the powerful tool to understand the great glory of being human. It complels us to share that unique glory with our brothers and sisters from beyond our planet and perhaps beyond time and space as we know it. After THE INVITATION, you will never see the world the same way.

Ibu Robin Lim. . . was born in 1956 when a Filipino, Chinese woman married a German, Irish, Native American, against all advice. She now lives in Indonesia where she is called; "Ibu Robin" (Mother Robin). Lim is a Certified Professional Midwife, with the North American Registry of Midwives and Ikatan Bidan Indonesia. She devotes her life to Yayasan Bumi Sehat, a not for profit organization with clinics in Bali and Aceh, www.bumisehatbali.org, www.robinlimsupport.org. Along with receiving babies, Ibu Robin is an author of books in the childbirth genre, in both English and Bahasa Indonesia. Lim has two published chapbooks of poetry, Stretch Marks and As a Child in the Religion of Gratitude, she was a contributor to the Tsunami Notebook (Half Angel Press, Bali, Indonesia, 2005). Also published in 2006 by Half Angel; Obat Asli . . . the Traditional Healing Herbs of Bali. In September 2009, Robin's novel, Butterfly People, was released by Anvil Press, in the Philippines. Ibu Robin's new book, Placenta . . . the Forgotten Chakra, promises to make gentle birth more gentle. Robin's support and inspiration is her family, husband Wil, eight astounding children; D j, N el, Zh u, Lakota, Zion, Thoreau, Hanoman, Ellyanna and two grandchildren, Zh uie Martinez and Bodhi Padma Edzra Banjo Bernhardt, plus one more on the way. In 2011, Lim was named a CNN Hero for her work in maternal and child health in Indonesia and disaster zones. Ibu Robin's passion is "Building Peace on Earth, One Baby, One Mother, One Family at a time." Endorsements: ROBIN LIM CNN HERO 2011 Ibu Robin Lim is committed as a poet, a midwife, a mother, and as a global leader to living her life for love. "Robin Lim is a woman of staggering energy, passion, goodness and talent. Her poems take all four of those traits, and weave them into wonder." -Elizabeth Gilbert "Robin Lim's poems are born from the same womb as her devotion to midwifery. A womb that treasures each life, even faced with its darkest questions. She enters the world of words and of birth with equal humility, purpose, and a profound care for humanity. Her poetic images are clear and trenchant and they aim for the soul. Her language rises from a notable forthrightness, and ripens with a crone's articulation. We recognize: Yes, that is who we are. Yes, that is what frightens us. Yes, that is what leads us toward love. With these poems, and with her devotion to life, Lim is wise-on our behalf." -Margo Berdeshevsky "Robin Lim is one of my heroes. Her dedication to mothers, babies and the health of the planet family, is matched only by her love of writing. In these pages you will feel the raw emotion, passion, humor, hope and tenacity that fuels this great woman warrior. I am certain that you too will discover that the world is a brighter place with her in it." -Michael Franti

The Yoga Sutra is the great text on Yoga, cognized in ancient India by Maharishi Patanjali. Yoga means "union," and the Yoga Sutra describes the experience of unity, the complete settling of the activity of the mind. In 195 short sutras, this text illuminates the teaching of yoga and meditation, and gives a profound understanding of life in transcendence.

BENITA: prey for him is the true story of bright, vivacious Benita Kane and the Catholic priest who lured her from childhood into a disastrous, twenty-year entanglement that changed the course of her life. What happened to this fatherless girl in the hierarchical, patriarchal world of Dubuque, Iowa during the 40's, 50's and 60's is not simply one more tale of clerical sexual abuse, but rather an astounding, maddening, compelling account of what it was like to grow up in a family, community and culture so dominated by the Catholic church that no one could recognize the ominous events developing around them. As Benita's friend and classmate from second-grade through college, Virginia Tranel writes from the unique stance of both participant and observer.

The Yoga Sutra is the great text on Yoga, cognized in ancient India by Maharishi Patanjali. Yoga means "union," and the Yoga Sutra describes the experience of unity, the complete settling of the activity of the mind. In 195 short sutras, this text illuminates the teaching of yoga and meditation, and gives a profound understanding of life in transcendence.

He awoke in the dark. His awakening was simple, easy, without movement save for the eyes that opened and made him aware of darkness. Unlike most, who must feel and grope and listen to, and contact with, the world about them, he knew himself on the moment of awakening, instantly identifying himself in time and place and personality. After the lapsed hours of sleep he took up, without effort, the interrupted tale of his days. He knew himself to be Dick Forrest, the master of broad acres, who had fallen asleep hours before after drowsily putting a match between the pages of "Road Town" and pressing off the electric reading lamp. Near at hand there was the ripple and gurgle of some sleepy fountain. From far off, so faint and far that only a keen ear could catch, he heard a sound that made him smile with pleasure. He knew it for the distant, throaty bawl of King Polo-King Polo, his champion Short Horn bull, thrice Grand Champion also of all bulls at Sacramento at the California State Fairs. The smile was slow in easing from Dick Forrest's face, for he dwelt a moment on the new triumphs he had destined that year for King Polo on the Eastern livestock circuits.

I was riding along one autumn day through a certain wooded portion of New York State, when I came suddenly upon an old stone house in which the marks of age were in such startling contrast to its unfinished condition that I involun-tarily stopped my horse and took a long survey of the lonesome structure. Embowered in a forest which had so grown in thickness and height since the erection of this building that the boughs of some of the tallest trees almost met across its decayed roof, it presented even at first view an appearance of picturesque solitude almost approaching to desolation. But when my eye had time to note that the moss was clinging to eaves from under which the scaffolding had never been taken, and that of the ten large windows in the blackened front of the house only two had ever been furnished with frames, the awe of some tragic mystery began to creep over me, and I sat and wondered at the sight till my increasing interest compelled me to alight and take a nearer view of the place.

The soft summer wind stirs the redwoods, and Wild-Water ripples sweet cadences over its mossy stones. There are butterflies in the sunshine, and from everywhere arises the drowsy hum of bees. It is so quiet and peaceful, and I sit here, and ponder, and am restless. It is the quiet that makes me restless. It seems unreal. All the world is quiet, but it is the quiet before the storm. I strain my ears, and all my senses, for some betrayal of that impending storm. Oh, that it may not be premature That it may not be premature * * The Second Revolt was largely the work of Ernest Everhard, though he cooperated, of course, with the European leaders. The capture and secret execution of Everhard was the great event of the spring of 1932 A.D. Yet so thoroughly had he prepared for the revolt, that his fellow-conspirators were able, with little confusion or delay, to carry out his plans. It was after Everhard's execution that his wife went to Wake Robin Lodge, a small bungalow in the Sonoma Hills of California.

Even the coming of an autumn dusk could not subdue the color of this land. Shadows here were not gray or black; they were violet and purple. The crumbling adobe walls were laced by strings of crimson peppers, vivid in the torch and lantern light. It had been this way for days, red and yellow, violet-colors he had hardly been aware existed back in the cool green, silver, gray-brown of Kentucky. So this was Tubacca! The rider shifted his weight in the saddle and gazed about him with watchful interest. Back in '59 this had been a flourishing town, well on its way to prominence in the Southwest. The mines in the hills behind producing wealth, the fact that it was a watering place on two cross-country routes-the one from Tucson down into Sonora of Old Mexico, the other into California-had all fed its growth.

The world mends. In my younger days people believed in mahogany; some of my readers will remember it-a heavy, shining substance, having a singularly close resemblance to raw liver, exceedingly heavy to move, and esteemed on one or other count the noblest

The Seraphim Blueprint introduces an advanced spiritual system that has been dormant for thousands of years. In 1994 a high Angel, a Seraph, began initiating Ruth Rendely into this long-forgotten teaching. She shares the amazing experience of that first of many meetings, when he tells her that she is to bring out an ancient healing modality that existed in Atlantean times. The Angel then proves the power of the system by transmitting healing energies into her in six-minute installations. These energies sing through her body, fixing minor pains, and leaving her exhilirated. He tells her that these energies are now available to be accessed effortlessly by anyone for their own benefit or the healing of others. RUTH RENDELY Gifted with the Seraphim Blueprint, spiritual teacher, intuitive healer, authority on angels, she has taught thousands how to explore their own divinity. ACCLAIM FOR SERAPHIM BLUEPRINT I enthusiastically endorse this book. It is not just a book, it is a journey into life. Through my experience in medicine, I have come to realize that there is more to life than contemporary science can explain, and that is the human soul. Ms. Ruth Rendely has proven this to be right. She has explained her life journey in a way that all of us can relate to, and, more importantly, through her knowledge and experience, she has given hope, belief, and love. I am truly impressed with her God-given talent, and her way to express it so that we all can understand and appreciate it. -Adrian, Bocirnea, M.D. "I'm thrilled to see that Ruth Rendely is helping people to make contact, and to work more intimately, with their companion angels. Nothing could be more important at this key point in the evolution of both species. When humanity moves, individual by individual, to fulfill its true destiny, it will be with our angels at our sides. This is an ancient promise and it is coming about in our lifetimes. May those with ears, hear." -Timothy Wyllie, co-author Ask Your Angels This book is a simple story of how one woman opened to the angels and then began to share what she learned with others. Slowly, as you read her tale, you will find shifts happening to you as well. Subtle is the technology of angels, not like knives or guns or bombs. It's a soft technology, and yet it's a powerful one. -Andrew Ramer, co-author Ask Your Angels From the Foreword Seraphim Blueprint is a fascinating account of one woman's journey as she develops the power of healing by explicitly following the guidance of angels. Rendely provides a "must-read" book for anyone who believes in the power of angels to help guide us into becoming our best selves. -Randy Peyser, author The Mind, Body, Spirit Speaker's Guid

There it was The abrupt liberation of sound As he timed it with his watch, Bassett likened it to the trump of an archangel. Walls of cities, he meditated, might well fall down before so vast and compelling a summons. For the thousandth time vainly he tried to analyse the tone-quality of that enormous peal that dominated the land far into the strong-holds of the surrounding tribes. The mountain gorge which was its source rang to the rising tide of it until it brimmed over and flooded earth and sky and air. With the wantonness of a sick man's fancy, he likened it to the mighty cry of some Titan of the Elder World vexed with misery or wrath. Higher and higher it arose, challenging and demanding in such profounds of volume that it seemed intended for ears beyond the narrow confines of the solar system. There was in it, too, the clamour of protest in that there were no ears to hear and comprehend its utterance.

He was a very sick white man. He rode pick-a-back on a woolly-headed, black-skinned savage, the lobes of whose ears had been pierced and stretched until one had torn out, while the other carried a circular block of carved wood three inches in diameter. The torn ear had been pierced again, but this time not so ambitiously, for the hole accommodated no more than a short clay pipe. The man-horse was greasy and dirty, and naked save for an exceedingly narrow and dirty loin-cloth; but the white man clung to him closely and desperately. At times, from weakness, his head drooped and rested on the woolly pate. At other times he lifted his head and stared with swimming eyes at the cocoanut palms that reeled and swung in the shimmering heat. He was clad in a thin undershirt and a strip of cotton cloth, that wrapped about his waist and descended to his knees. On his head was a battered Stetson, known to the trade as a Baden-Powell. About his middle was strapped a belt, which carried a large-calibred automatic pistol and several spare clips, loaded and ready for quick work.

San Francisco Bay is so large that often its storms are more disastrous to ocean-going craft than is the ocean itself in its violent moments. The waters of the bay contain all manner of fish, wherefore its surface is ploughed by the keels of all manner of fishing boats manned by all manner of fishermen. To protect the fish from this motley floating population many wise laws have been passed, and there is a fish patrol to see that these laws are enforced. Exciting times are the lot of the fish patrol: in its history more than one dead patrolman has marked defeat, and more often dead fishermen across their illegal nets have marked success.

They ran across the shining sand, the Pacific thundering its long surge at their backs, and when they gained the roadway leaped upon bicycles and dived at faster pace into the green avenues of the park. There were three of them, three boys, in as many bright-colored sweaters, and they "scorched" along the cycle-path as dangerously near the speed-limit as is the custom of boys in bright-colored sweaters to go. They may have exceeded the speed-limit. A mounted park policeman thought so, but was not sure, and contented himself with cautioning them as they flashed by. They acknowledged the warning promptly, and on the next turn of the path as promptly forgot it, which is also a custom of boys in bright-colored sweaters.

Ken Ward had not been at the big university many days before he realized the miserable lot of a freshman. At first he was sorely puzzled. College was so different from what he had expected. At the high school of his home town, which, being the capita

Introduction to MOHS Cryotomy by Steven Lee is the first Manual written for those individuals interested in becoming Mohs Techs. The manual touches on all areas of a Mohs techs' responsibilities, with charts, diagrams and photographs to aid the beginner to better understand their most important responsibility. This manual covers Quality Control, Specimen Inking and Mapping, Embedding, Cryotomy, The Hematoxylin and Eosin Stain, Coverslipping and Troubleshooting. ~~~~~~~~~~Upon graduating Laboratory Technology training in New York City, Steven Lee moved to Florida where he began his work in Histology. Lee worked for one of the first Mohs Surgeons in Palm Beach County in 1982 and has continued working in that specialty for a number of surgeons in the South Florida region. This past year, Lee created the first employment Staffing Agency that specifically address this specialized area of expertise. www.mohstechstaffing.com is a website designed to place qualified Mohs Techs with Mohs Surgeons. In addition, Mr. Lee also offers individual and group training programs.~~~~~~~~~~~~~1stworldpublishing.com

Between Conniston, of His Majesty's Royal Northwest Mounted Police, and Keith, the outlaw, there was a striking physical and facial resemblance. Both had observed it, of course. It gave them a sort of confidence in each other. Between them it hovered in a subtle and unanalyzed presence that was constantly suggesting to Conniston a line of action that would have made him a traitor to his oath of duty. For nearly a month he had crushed down the whispered temptings of this thing between them. He represented the law. He was the law. For twenty-seven months he had followed Keith, and always there had been in his mind that parting injunction of the splendid service of which he was a part - "Don't come back until you get your man, dead or alive." Otherwise - A racking cough split in upon his thoughts. He sat up on the edge of the cot, and at the gasping cry of pain that came with the red stain of blood on his lips Keith went to him and with a strong arm supported his shoulders. He said nothing, and after a moment Conniston wiped the stain away and laughed softly, even before the shadow of pain had faded from his eyes. One of his hands rested on a wrist that still bore the ring-mark of a handcuff. The sight of it brought him back to grim reality. After all, fate was playing whimsically as well as tragically with their destinies.

When Edward Temple was about eight or nine years old he was afflicted with a disorder of the eyes. It was so severe, and his sight was naturally so delicate, that the surgeon felt some apprehensions lest the boy should become totally blind. He therefore gave strict directions to keep him in a darkened chamber, with a bandage over his eyes. Not a ray of the blessed light of heaven could be suffered to visit the poor lad. This was a sad thing for Edward. It was just the same as if there were to be no more sunshine, nor moonlight, nor glow of the cheerful fire, nor light of lamps. A night had begun which was to continue perhaps for months, - a longer and drearier night than that which voyagers are compelled to endure when their ship is icebound, throughout the winter, in the Arctic Ocean. His dear father and mother, his brother George, and the sweet face of little Emily Robinson must all vanish and leave him in utter darkness and solitude. Their voices and footsteps, it is true, would be heard around him; he would feel his mother's embrace and the kind pressure of all their hands; but still it would seem as if they were a thousand miles away.

"I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go," said Holmes, as we sat down together to our breakfast one morning. "Go Where to?" "To Dartmoor; to King's Pyland." I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not already been mixed upon this extraordinary case, which was the one topic of conversation through the length and breadth of England. For a whole day my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chest and his brows knitted, charging and recharging his pipe with the strongest black tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks. Fresh editions of every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only to be glanced over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silent as he was, I knew perfectly well what it was over which he was brooding. There was but one problem before the public which could challenge his powers of analysis, and that was the singular disappearance of the favorite for the Wessex Cup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. When, therefore, he suddenly announced his intention of setting out for the scene of the drama it was only what I had both expected and hoped for.

My peculiar relation to the writer of the following narratives is such that I must ask the reader to overlook the absence of explanation as to how they came into my possession. Withal, my knowledge of him is so meager that I should rather not undertake to say if he were himself persuaded of the truth of what he relates; certainly such inquiries as I have thought it worth while to set about have not in every instance tended to confirmation of the statements made. Yet his style, for the most part devoid alike of artifice and art, almost baldly simple and direct, seems hardly compatible with the disingenuousness of a merely literary intention; one would call it the manner of one more concerned for the fruits of research than for the flowers of expression. In transcribing his notes and fortifying their claim to attention by giving them something of an orderly arrangement, I have conscientiously refrained from embellishing them with such small ornaments of diction as I may have felt myself able to bestow, which would not only have been impertinent, even if pleasing, but would have given me a somewhat closer relation to the work than I should care to have and to avow. - A. B.

Purchase one of 1st World Library's Classic Books and help support our free internet library of downloadable eBooks. Visit us online at www.1stWorldLibrary.ORG - - Pictures! Pictures! Pictures! Often, before I learned, did I wonder whence came the multitudes of pictures that thronged my dreams; for they were pictures the like of which I had never seen in real wake-a-day life. They tormented my childhood, making of my dreams a procession of nightmares and a little later convincing me that I was different from my kind, a creature unnatural and accursed. In my days only did I attain any measure of happiness. My nights marked the reign of fear - and such fear! I make bold to state that no man of all the men who walk the earth with me ever suffer fear of like kind and degree. For my fear is the fear of long ago, the fear that was rampant in the Younger World, and in the youth of the Younger World. In short, the fear that reigned supreme in that period known as the Mid-Pleistocene.

Purchase one of 1st World Library's Classic Books and help support our free internet library of downloadable eBooks. Visit us online at www.1stWorldLibrary.ORG - - We are about to relate a story of mingled fact and fancy. The facts are borrowed from the Russian author, Petjerski; the fancy is our own. Our task will chiefly be to soften the outlines of incidents almost too sharp and rugged for literary use, to supply them with the necessary coloring and sentiment, and to give a coherent and proportioned shape to the irregular fragments of an old chronicle. We know something, from other sources, of the customs described, some-hing of the character of the people from personal observation, and may therefore the more freely take such liberties as we choose with the rude, vigorous sketches of the Russian original. One who happens to have read the work of Villebois can easily comprehend the existence of a state of society, on the banks of the Volga, a hundred years ago, which is now impossible, and will soon become incredible. What is strangest in our narrative has been declared to be true.