On Halloween night in Philadelphia in 1995, three friends set out to explore the abandoned ruins of Byberry Mental Institution, unaware that some places never truly close their doors.

Billy, Mike, and George had grown up hearing the stories. Byberry loomed on the edge of their neighborhood, a monstrous institution packed with the insane, the forgotten, and the cruelly mistreated. Even as kids, they had listened to neighbors whisper about the screams echoing at night, the patients wandering the grounds, and the guards who seemed more like predators than caretakers. By 1995, the hospital had been closed for five years, but its shadow still stretched across the Northeast part of the city. On Halloween night, they sat in Sunrise bar, beers in hand, swapping tales of Byberry. George leaned in, eyes glinting. “Let’s go tonight. See the place for ourselves.” Mike hesitated. Billy just laughed, almost too loud. “What the…

𝐼𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙 𝐼𝑡 𝐶𝑎𝑛’𝑡 𝐻𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝐻𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑆𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝐿𝑒𝑤𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝐵𝑢𝑧𝑧 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑝—𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑎𝑦’𝑠 𝐴𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑎, 𝐴𝑟𝑛𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑆. 𝑆𝑡𝑢𝑚𝑝 𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟, 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠.

The rallies began to feel less like politics and more like rituals. Crowds swarmed arenas draped in flags, chanting in unison while Stump basked in the adoration. He no longer pretended to be a politician bound by law; he spoke as though the country were his inheritance. Promises of wealth and protection for the faithful, punishment and exile for his critics—his words blurred into threats, and the crowd cheered louder each time.

In a small New England town, Wilber Weberman, an aging editor, watched the spectacle unfold with despair. Running a modest online paper from his cluttered office, he tried to sound the alarm in articles no one wanted to read. His neighbors waved him off with…

Infection of the Mind Begins with Silence

One by one, the chants replaced their thoughts—until she asked the one question that changed everything.

No one remembered exactly when it started—just that the hats came first.

It was a Tuesday when Carol Jensen noticed the change. Old Bill from the hardware store, who once grumbled about politics only after his third beer, was suddenly standing on Main Street with a megaphone, wearing a bright red cap that said, *“Again Means Forever.”* He repeated it like it was scripture.

“Again Means Forever!”

A Transformation of the Soul

Love is not merely an action or a series of kind gestures—it is a transformation of the soul, a state of being that radiates from within. When love is reduced to what we do, it becomes transactional, measured by deeds and expectations.

When love becomes who you are, it flows effortlessly into everything you do.

However, true love is something deeper; it is what we become when we cultivate compassion, understanding, and selflessness as intrinsic parts of our nature. It is not about performing acts of love but embodying love itself, allowing it to shape our thoughts, intentions, and presence in the world.

In becoming love, we do not just give it—we are it, effortlessly and endlessly.

Age may weaken the structure, but its foundation still stands strong.

Aging is not merely a loss of youth, but the gathering of resilience, wisdom, and the quiet strength that comes with enduring time

Time may weather an old building, leaving cracks in its walls and wear upon its beams, yet its foundation remains steadfast, much like the spirit of a person who has lived through the trials of life.

What appears to be decay is, in truth, a testament to endurance—each scar in the wood, each missing brick, tells a story of resilience.

The building, though weakened, has stood against storms, just as an aging person has faced hardships, loss, and change. Though no longer in its prime, it holds a quiet strength, shaped by the years rather than diminished by them. There is beauty in what remains, not because it has avoided the ravages of time, but because…