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    Insanity Is Too Mild Of A Word
    Insanity Is Too Mild Of A Word
    Insanity Is Too Mild Of A Word
    Ebook85 pages1 hour

    Insanity Is Too Mild Of A Word

    By Robert Hall

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    These well researched facts prove how insane this world is. Concerning the healthcare industry, I once read, a patient being cured is a customer lost and a society that keeps cures a secret so they can sell medication is not a real society but a mental institution. The cancer industry certainly qualifies as big business, in 2024, 220.80 billion was the revenue generated. An article stated that the industry is so huge that if a cure was found there's a chance the economy would collapse. The cost of a single chemotherapy treatment can vary greatly, rough estimations can range from $10,000 to $200,000 per treatment. Oncologists receive a 6% markup, meaning when they infuse a patient with a $10,000 monthly course of chemotherapy, their practice yields an extra $600. So the doctors make a minimum of $600 per treatment. Chemotherapy can cause a range of side effects, some of the most serious being infection and a weakened immune system, easy bruising and bleeding, and nerve pain. Chemotherapy can also damage cells in the heart, kidneys, bladder, lungs, and nervous system. I read of a doctor several years ago who had specialized in cancer treatment for 17 years and quit. He was tired of the hypocrisy and claimed studies that proved chemotherapy was 97% ineffective, quite simply it does not work. He started doing talk shows and is a strong advocate of holistic medicine. The specialist explained there are ways to change the body chemistry from acidic to alkaline; it is much more difficult for cancer to survive in an alkaline environment. He's a strong advocate of exercise, oxygen, and vitamin therapy. The bottom line is never, never, never agree to chemotherapy.


    This is not a normal manuscript. We logically prove that God Is, it is impossible to sin against God, Hell does not exist, Heaven is our true Reality, and we are human beings transcending to our true nature as Christ Beings. If God exists, can He make something He cannot lift? If God is all powerful, He can lift anything, yet if He is all knowing He can make something He cannot lift. The answer to this paradox is in our manuscript and is the most beautiful truth you'll ever read. 

    He was a big man, 6ft 4in 240 lbs. and swaggered with a limp. His tattooed muscular forearms stretched his denim jacket and his glass eye sparkled eerily in the growing dusk. The half Cherokee half Sue Indian grunted "Hello runt." Regis Raingarden had exploded into town. Life would never be the same.

    He'd purchased the rundown Kinnan house on the dead end of the street. A dark house for a dark man. It turns out he'd been a Marine in Okinawa during the Second World War. When liberated from prison camp he weighed 110 lbs, a socket hole where an eye should be, dozens of whip scars across his back, a broken leg and he was insanely screaming at his rescuers. He's surrounded by Japanese children who were spitting and urinating on him with loudly barking dogs. Raingarden was lying in feces and vomit, and completely out of his mind from the torture, starvation and immense pain he'd endured. He's a Satanist and perfectly insane. 

     


     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRobert Hall
    Release dateOct 20, 2024
    ISBN9798227447654
    Insanity Is Too Mild Of A Word
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    Author

    Robert Hall

       Please send reviews to bobh338@gmail.com. At 72 years old, Bob Hall has dedicated the past 15 years to the profound study of spiritual topics. As an author, he has penned thirteen manuscripts that delve into the depths of human consciousness and our connection to the Divine. In his explorations, Bob fearlessly engages with influential works such as 'A Course In Miracles' by Helen Schucman and 'The Disappearance Of The Universe' by Gary Renard. Through eloquent prose, he conveys eternal truths that resonate with seekers of inner wisdom. Rejecting fear-based religious dogmas, Bob embraces spirituality as the transformative path for those facing inner struggles. His writings boldly affirm that there is no hell—only the boundless expanse of Heaven—and that we are co-creators with the Divine. We are all Christ Beings, transcending our human existence toward awakening through the power of forgiveness. Under the pseudonym Robert Hall, Bob has authored and published eleven remarkable manuscripts. Among them, 'God's Paradox: The Unliftable Stone And The All-Knowing Creator' shines as his magnum opus—a beacon of enlightenment and hope. Its profound insights stand as a testament to Bob's unwavering commitment to spiritual growth.  

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      Book preview

      Insanity Is Too Mild Of A Word - Robert Hall

      Chapter 1: Growing Up In A Small Town

      I’ll be 72 in November 2024 and reflecting back on my life I’m seeing the wonder of it all. My parents were old enough to be my grandparents, Bill and Kate. Dad was born in 1897, mom in 1904. Mom was in her late forties and thought she had cancer, Doc.Carson informed her she was four months pregnant. I was born in 1952, and was always referred to as her little tumor. Martins Ferry, Oh. is a small town directly across the river from Wheeling, W.Va. I’m a baby boomer born after the Second World War. The Ohio Valley economy revolved around the steel mills and coal mines. The men were thankful for high paying jobs and never missed work. If one has a cold, go to work, a hangover, go to work, flu, go to work, family outings, go to work, a broken arm, go to work. Mothers didn’t need occupations, so the children were raised in stable homes with everything well provided. Years later I lived in Columbus and was talking to a captain in the fire department. I mentioned being raised in the Ohio Valley, he said they loved hiring men and women from the Valley due to their strong work ethic.

      My brother Bill was twenty-one years older, Sue was nineteen and each had four children. My parents raised them through the Great Depression, they put the car up on blocks to preserve the rubber. Mom had eight siblings and if it wasn’t for her parents' huge garden they wouldn’t have had any food. I was spoiled. Dad was superintendent at Wheeling-Pittsburgh Steel, so our family was middle class.There were dozens of children in the surrounding neighborhoods and we played constantly. Catchers, hide n seek, marbles, wiffle ball, basketball, football, and king on the hill. Summers were joyfully spent playing in the sprinklers, hiking from morning to dusk, catching lightning bugs, sleep outs in the backyards, and telling ghost stories while roasting marshmallows. Winters offered snowball fights, sled rides, snow forts, ice skating and warm evenings around the fireplace. We knew to come home when the streetlights came on and seldom locked our doors. The big surprise one beautiful spring day was when dad arrived with a brand new 1960 Buick Electra Sedan with blue metallic paint. Life was fun, life was safe and life was good.This all drastically changed.

      Christmas and Easter were magical.

      Mom and dad went to New Orleans over a dozen times, they loved Bourbon Street jazz. The Dukes Of Dixieland were extremely popular with four albums marketed nationally, we received Christmas cards from the band. Our mantle over the fireplace would have hundreds of cards taped up every Christmas. The living room was always decorated with a live tree and on the mystical night of Christmas Eve had a soft golden glow due to the lights and a simmering fire. Christmas morning I’d always have to wait at the top of the stairs with happy excitement. When I was eight I still naturally believed in Santa and the Easter Bunny. Saturday night before Easter I was sitting in the living room and was astonished seeing a big pair of bunny ears flash by the window. Enchantingly, the next morning there were bunny prints all around the candy. I was thankfully raised by parents who loved one another.

      Some of our family gatherings were hilarious. On Christmas Eve, mom had worked all day on dinner, dad had been nipping on his vodka. My brother and sister’s families were home and all 15 of us were sitting around the dining room table. I was 7. Dad’s at the head of the table, his job being to carve the turkey. He’s drunk. After putting a fork in and holding it with the knife, he gave a big heave and the turkey flew into the Christmas tree. Instantly my mother’s face became a brilliant red, I was a little scared because I’d never seen anything like that before. Bill, get the g_ damn turkey out of the Christmas tree. We could hear a pin drop until my sister’s laugh broke the tension. After picking the needles out, we ate. I quit believing in Santa at the age of 17. Sam weighed over 300 lbs. and  claimed the Santa role for as many Christmases in memory. He’d taken numerous shots of varying alcohols at every visited home and was extremely merry when reaching ours. After staggering upstairs to the bathroom, he tripped and landed in the bathtub. He was so big that dad had to call the fire department. The squad getting drunk Santa out of the bathtub raised questions. Actually, I was 9.

      I had a vivid imagination as a child. My invisible friend was always there when I needed to talk. I just couldn’t receive any answers about the Big Ball. I experienced a dream quite often about a ball of light as huge as the world. It was forever rolling towards me from a far distance at a high  speed. A Native American Indian was always smirking and watching from a distance. When it was about to crush, I’d wake up.  My first terrifying fear was due to a comic book about the vampire Count Dracula. Upon discovering he’d come in on moonbeams, I was petrified because

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