The Story of Pangur Agthaporus:Closer To Me Than My Jugular Vein

I tell you everything that is really nothing, and

nothing of what is everything. Do not be fooled by what I am

saying. Please listen carefully, try to hear what I am

saying with your heart. I have a story about a little boy

whose tranquil realm of thought, began to see the real world

as a soulless existence, which had to be overcome in any

external way possible. It was only until I discovered a

ritualization to which my service and praise, by discarding

sense-knowledge and action, fostered a consciousness of

unity with the absolute Being, and although this unity

cannot be perceived, it can be thought of more as a process,

which does not completely attain its goal in the present. My

everyday life began seeking short cuts to attaining such

altered states of mind to overcome the fear to the perpetual

pain and suffering I felt in my yearning to remember or

perhaps recapture this pure insight of tranquility of unity

with the absolute being. Which calls to every conscious to

be for yourselves what you are in yourselves- reasonable.

Pure insight is devoid of content, and it is rather the pure

vanishing of it; by the negative movement towards what is

negative to it and what is reasonable to its essence; and

this movement will eventually ferment a realization itself…

too well not be reasonable, which created a sort of naïve

consciousness that abhorred despotism, capitalism, and the

vanity in which the scapegoat culture of American life

prompted my mind and hearts inner most dissatisfaction. Both

the denial of my own pure insight and my naïve

consciousness: where to be in constant juxtaposition to each

other throughout my adolescent years.

For some reason or another I have a very vivid

recollection of my early childhood, although most Freudians

would say this is impossible. Those who follow his

predecessor, Jung, would postulate that such a mind is

subject to states that cannot be scientifically quantified

by the technologically profound methods in use today. More

precisely put, it is the dream-image inherent in Jung’s,

Confrontation with the Unconscious that can be-internalized-

in such that its interpretation of dreams facts is the way

in which one proceeds. Thus, it is the perspicacity (clarity

of vision or intellect which provides a deep understanding

and insight) of mine own dream-image’s interpretations that

have latently spilled my subconscious thoughts unto reality

itself, and perhaps if any psychologically diagnosed

‘normality’ is left in mine being it resembles a

schizothymic intuition. For I can remember my earliest

moments as a boy, even if they are deduced to a surrealistic

fantasia that is my life, as I know it to be.

That being said, I cannot fully explain to you how my

experiences are integrated into my everyday life,

experiences that are far beyond the visual and perceptual

world. My own confrontations with the unconscious have

spilled out into reality too many times to be ignored on

those peculiar experiences. But these experiences sacred me

and I tried to ignore them with drugs and alcohol I suppose

an introductory background too my life’ story is necessary

and must begin with some basic facets. I was born on April

15th 1988 in Greenland, New Hampshire to my mother Julie and

Father Richard. No son of any parents could ask for more

loving and devoted parents. Growing up in Greenland New

Hampshire, especially in the 1990’s was a wonderfully

beautiful childhood experience, as any son of New England

could ask for. Being a son of a doctor and nurse gave me so

many opportunities and while I excelled in many areas, I

felt that I could never live up to their expectations. My

mind was always elsewhere full of day-dreams and a vivid

imagination mixed with ADD always made me feel somewhat out

of place, not an outcast per say rather a stranger, as

though I didn’t belong. I did always feel at home in my

daydreams and imagination. I had an imaginary friend, early

in my years named zara or something with a Z I cannot

remember. When I entered kindergarten I acted and pretended

to be a dog. I was also held back in kindergarten and felt

even more like an outcast.

My childhood was normal I suppose, maybe a little

abnormal, but ontologically speaking it was quite profound.

Many summer days were spent at the beach, picking

blueberries in August, apple’s use to grow from the orchard

across the stonewall in back of our house, but they stopped

growing years ago. Not much else compares to the summer days

spent in New Hampshire’s beautiful pastoral landscape. It is

where where I feel alive with a certain sense of wanderlust

that which permeates my entire being. In the winters my

family would spend weekends skiing, ice-skating in Stratham

Park, or would travel abroad to escape the harshness of

January’s cold.

I attended a Montessori school in Stratham, which

resembles more of a farm then an institution of learning. I

loved the educational methods bestowed upon my early school

days, it especially catered to my ADD in visual approach to

hands on learning no grades you were responsible for you’re

learning. I was definitely sheltered attending the school

from kindergarten to 8th grade. While it lacked the

structure and discipline I so dearly needed, it made up for

in the curriculum and educational methods. So many

effervescent and love filled memories come from those halls

and playgrounds. Even more so growing up in Greenland,

always outside doing something or other.

Although it always seemed I was getting in trouble, in

one way or another and learned to use my boyish charm to my

advantage in the midst of reading Shakespearean works and 20

page papers in 7-8th grade. I will never escape my absolute

nerdiness from whence my love for learning there grew. Yet

even though life was so blissful back then, I can always

remember feeling so very alone, always standing apart from

everyone, I guess a feeling of being misunderstood even at

such a young age with love all around me. I only found peace

in my dream visions out of the night; they seemed like a

comet that fades out of sight. They provided me a comfort,

which I felt a yearning to be elsewhere, and of not

belonging I found this yearning was healed by my dreams, in

which vivid world’s came into being. Vision’s that would

take many days and nights to explain.

Each night, shortly after my head hit the pillow I

tried to find you loving me. But you seemed so far away it’s

only in my dreams. Your kiss would be my heavenly bliss, and

I hoped you would be near to me one day. I soon found that

I could control these dreams, at least to some extent,

although fate and free will ebbed and flowed between my

reality and dream world. A sort of mystical dance that I

cheerfully took part in.

Yet I was soon to find this line between my dreams and

reality blurred to such and extent that would forever change

who I am. O’ beloved, I was but a boy, asleep my couch, T.V

blaring, when the fall breezes of the All-glorious blew the

winds of destiny, servitude, and praise entered my being. It

was the fall of 95-96’ whence thou omnipotence glanced down

upon me. The night was bright at the start, and it came as

quit a surprise, but when I looked into your eyes I knew I

had lost you, I knew that my passions and desires were to

fill my cup for many years to come until it overflowed with

schizyothmic insanity of my intoxicated love for thee.

Thus a numen (which is a Latin term for "divinity", or

a "divine presence", "divine will" (etymologically, the word

means "a nod of the head", here referring to a deity as it

were "nodding", or making its will or its presence known)

first came to me that spring night. My father called me from

the basement where I lay on my couch, yelling me to go

upstairs to bed. I ascended the stairs and saw a bright

light outside my window. This was my first heirophany

hieros, ‘sacred’, + phainein, ‘to show’). The manifestation

of the divine or the sacred, especially in a sacred place,

object, or occasion. Manifestations of some particular

aspect may be named after the aspect revealed, e.g.

theophany (of divinity), kratophany (of power). Was revealed

unto me and became my first ‘sign’ as Socrates called his

divine guide which got him killed on charges of corrupting

the youth. I fear I will succumb the same fate for I have

fallen and stumbled into the dark of Night. In more

simplistic terms I had an encounter of the third kind, I saw

and was watched by what many refer to as a ‘UFO’ or whatever

you want to imagine it as. When my eyes adjusted to the

nights sky after ascending the stairs from my basement I

pressed my face against the window pane and there in the

trees in my backyard the illumination I saw as I climbed

turned into bright lights enveloped around a translucent

discuss shaped craft. I became paralyzed literally by what I

saw following the shivers of its soul piercing watchfulness

that embraced my entire being, chills rain down my spine,

fringed with fear the hairs that did not even exist on the

back of my neck stood up.

My reality was shaken, I knew what I saw could not be

explained by any scientific query because it defied the laws

of physics as I understood them to be in the world. I

remembered God speaking to me in my dreams, and it let me

go. It began to float upwards over my house and I ran to the

other window looking to see the direction it took, I

immediately saw the translucent discuss shape take off at

light speed like millennium falcon into the starlit night. I

could not go to sleep that night, lying awake all night my

mind scrambled to understand what I had experienced, for

once I knew and felt that I was not alone. Something was

watching over me. Although the experience frightened me

dearly as it seemed to be a sort of warning, so much so,

that I pushed the memory deep into my subconscious until I

finally was able to talk about it with friends during my

times at Hyde, at a clandestine club that a couple of the

older students started, which was basically dedicated to

discussing conspiracy theories, occult knowledge, and the

secret’s of the universe.

At this time in my life, during Hyde years -where I

graduated from high school- drugs and alcohol had plagued my

life I was kicked out of proctor academy, attended

Portsmouth high school for one fall semester, but after

threatening charges of truancy as well as suspensions. One

time I was suspended for being ‘high’ although I had not

been. They ended up finding one of my Adderall pills in my

pocket, which I had put there on account that I did not want

to take it that day. Principle something or other went to

such extremes to see if any of the beads from the capsule

had been removed, but they were not. I made a scene and was

suspended for two weeks. Before PHS while attending Proctor

loll well it was like a hippy paradise boarding school. I

fit in quite well with the stoners of which included almost

the entire student body. EVERYONE SMOKED AND DRANK!! The

hockey team snorted cocaine and sexual intercourse occurred

on frequently. We made forts in the surrounding woods to

evade the teachers who took frequent walks in the woods to

try and catch people smoking. I violated numerous rules

there.

Not only did I excel in school, stoned as could be, I

also excelled in sports. I started selling and alcohol early

sophomore year, and made quite a bit of money. I was the

cool sophomore kid who always had weed and alcohol. I sold

to the entire student body and even got a bunch of kids in

trouble, well indirectly, but felt responsible still. I

enjoyed hanging out with hot senior girls and goofing off in

the northern new Hampshire woods smoking pot, and going on

the occasional mushroom trip snow shoe adventure or wake and

bake down by backwater river. Winter I quit the sky team to

learn how to snowboard and instantly was riding with the

more advanced riders. We would always smoke on the

chairlift.

I first experienced marijuana at the ripe age of 14-

15, the summer going into 9th grade while spending a weekend

in Nantucket at my friend’s house. His older brother

introduced my friends and I to cannabis. I can remember the

instant the smoke permeated my lungs, sending the THC and

127 cannabinoids spiraling into my capillaries and into my

bloodstream, neurons firing instantly I felt marijuana’s

euphoric high. Time slowly seemed to dissipate as I sifted

the sand with my hands it felt as though everything suddenly

became magical, I felt the world in every grain of sand-

once again I was able to re-enter a surrealistic reality of

a dream that I always longed for and at once being high and

all my mind seemed to be elsewhere in that surrealistic

reality I longed for. But it was not a dream, more of a

living nightmare as I experimented with alcohol and other

illicit substances with sophomoric recidivism up unto even

very recently. Where again I found myself again dealing with

consequences of substance abuse, which for me has always

lead to a wheeling and dealing. Always trying to fill my

emptiness and longing to be elsewhere by escaping through

alcohol or any substance that would numb me from the pain

and sorrow these inner feelings brought forth. Ignoring my

true calling.

The night before leaving for boarding school at proctor

academy for my freshmen year of high school at proctor I

drank a lot of southern comfort from my parents liquor

cabinet only to awaken to find myself and my bed doused in

vomit. Hung-over for the first time I left home and started

orientation with a pounding headache. I think it was the

third weekend that I received my first violation at proctor

for drinking after becoming utterly intoxicated, and once

again covered in puke.

I probably knew drinking was not for me, yet I still

enjoyed the euphoria and warmness that it temporarily

brought me. I was sober the rest of my freshmen year on

account of receiving a major violation, which required piss

tests. But let me get back to my sophomore year, a couple of

close calls like the junkyard owner shooting at us with his

shotgun over at wildcat- this old grateful dead van we

decked out- and almost getting busted by the volunteer fire

department when some of my associates from Greenland were

making a weed and pot drop off to me, and then finally being

confronted one Thursday night by two teachers for being

intoxicated, as I was supposed to be at a Biology movie

during study-hall when I was actually smoking a joint in the

woodshop while selling a bag to one of my friends. I was

immediately confronted for not showing up to the biology

movie, and I knew they were going to search my room because

the teachers had been cracking down on all the widespread

substance abuse amongst the student body. My eyes were of

course as bloodshot as the devil himself.

Unbeknownst to them I had a bunch of devils lettuce up

in my room, a quarter pound to be exact. I lied to them and

told them I was drunk as a skunk, that I had drinking

issues, although I tried to only drink on the weekends, they

fell for it, told me they were glad that I turned myself in

because if I had not they indeed would have searched my

room. Its funny now because I find myself haunted by

alcohol, many nights and days spent blacking out to the

point where I have pushed any sense of reason over the edge

into insanity, devoid even of some naïve consciousness I

become primal in my nature, and animalistic in my behavior.

Only hazing recollections of intoxicated nights and

days do I recall, but one of my ex girl friend described my

behavior as such. Anyways they told me to go get my alcohol,

I got some gin a friend had given me, I had not even touched

the stuff but my friend had finished most of it off. I

didn’t get the quarter pound of Canadian Kind Buds hidden in

the closet, didn’t feel like dealing with the police or any

legal trouble. They would have shit themselves if they saw

that quap. I was abusing a lot at that time, smoking before

football and lacrosse games. I took mushrooms before one

lacrosse game as I recall. All trees were blooming in the

spring and the mountains seemed to move, as I giggled at the

start of the game.

It didn’t seem to affect me much, or at least I

believed so at the, as I was lead running back for JV

football scoring numerous touch down’s and also received MVP

for JV lacrosse. Actually my roommate sophomore year I will

call him pat for the sake of this memory, died this past

year from a heroin overdose, he was the kid who never smoked

with any of us even in the dorm, we actually lived in a room

that a boy had committed suicide by taking too much Tylenol

or something a couple of years before we lived there.

Anyways he was always doing his homework and was very

kindhearted and yet shy and reserved. I was always trying to

be cool, and how he did not know I sold weed and alcohol

baffles me still. Pain and suffering makes one see the

emptiness in life, and so Strange is life because this

emptiness I feel is my guide and light for my soul. Being

Alone with the Great Alone scared me to death for so many

years, but nowadays I find peace and tranquility therein.

I’m digressing again, after my second offense with

‘alcohol’ they made me go to drug and alcohol counseling as

well as a mandatory piss tests every so often. I started

drinking more because of the piss tests. But the addict in

me found other ways to get around such stipulations, getting

somebodies clean piss I would bring a fake urination device

heated by hand warmers to every Tuesday assembly because

that’s when your advisor would thereafter have you go to

one.

I was two or three points away from getting kicked out

- three late points- would have accumulated to give me the

boot. So when you get in trouble they made you work at

maintenance facility being their bitch, which included

scrapping gum off tables that sort of thing. I got in so

much trouble my two years at proctor the whole maintenance

crew knew me pretty well. I got to drive a gator around

picking up leaves, but I didn’t mind, hauling ass down

campus streets. The kids got a kick out of my charade and so

did I. my cares were few and far between. I eventually stole

the master key to the school and got it copied, which in

brief led to my expulsion.

That summer I was getting stoned everyday with my

friend’s older brothers, who had first introduced me to pot

in Nantucket. We would go out jet boating in great bay and

little bay. Blazed out of our minds they would get a kick

out of sending us skipping us like stone’s across the water

on inner tubs at 60 miles an hr. By that point my parents

were noticing my behavioral patterns and apathy, the stoner

mentality and contentment. That August my parents sent me

away to the Adirondacks to an outward-bound program and upon

my return I would go to PHS that fall for my second

sophomore year.

I kicked and screamed when they sent me away, but after

a week I loved it, even though you weren’t supposed to, I

found ways of making myself quite at home. I made a walking

stick, found a dear skull and attached it to the top of the

walking stick with feathers and the like. The outdoor leader

started calling me the shaman. I wasn’t taking my add

medication at the time and well I fell into this sort of

primal and animalistic negation of my inner self, although

it felt right. I ate some random mushroom to freak the

counselors out and so that they would send me to an

infirmary and thus I would be able to run away. They sent a

doctor into the woods, and I ended up constipated for a

week. One night it was raining cats and dogs and the food

bags we had put high in a tree had fallen.

I thought it was funny and started pretending I was in

Vietnam as we tried to look for another tree to secure the

bags of food in. The counselors didn’t like that. One

evening as we settled down for camp we played this game of

which animal you resembled. So you would take a card from

the deck, and the animal you got had had a mythic Native

American story about the animal, which you were supposed to

internalize. I got the coyote. My letter came from my

parents, we all had letters from our parents that described

why they sent us to the woods. When my turn came, I burst

into tears because I fucked up so bad at proctor and longed

to be reunited with my dear friends and because I squandered

such a great education there with my petty game of wheeling

and dealing. Yet I know now that my curse from these tears

of from pain and longing to be elsewhere have surely been my

cure, and it their has once again appeared a light of hope

on the dark horizon of my existence.

I was sent to Hyde school, a place for troubled

youths. After a terrible fall semester at PHS as previously

mentioned. At Hyde I remained sober but was always in

trouble for something or other. The place was this kind of

this hellish nightmare of a school, a place for all sorts of

juvenile delinquent’s. But I did quite well in school and

excelled in sports. I didn't give a speech when I graduated

as a sort of protest against the idiosyncratic cult like

mentality of the boarding school experience that Hyde had to

offer.

The juvenile delinquents are an exceptional bread of

human beings, with possibly some evolutionary anomaly hidden

within our genetic code, which tells us that we are not fit

to live in society, or under any government. For what we

think of life under these structures of power is so far from

rational and conventional thought may provoke that we would

rather just say FUCK IT, than become what we abhor

I always thought I was like Holden Caulfield from

catcher in the eye; the whole experience was so damned

surreal. While I thoroughly enjoyed it for many reasons, any

student who has attended Hyde knows that its a fuckin' trip.

One teacher said to me that I would never succeed in

college, and more generally alluding to life. They even sent

me away for a month when I was senior for "flying under the

radar" because I wouldn’t follow their rules as well as

"causing chaos"- or something to that effect. Despite

completely denying and rejecting my participation in Hyde

School's orthodoxy and institutional capacity for taping

into young minds in sometimes disastrous ways. When I was 17

during a meditation retreat that summer at Hyde, I

experience my second and third hierophanies. I reached

Nirvana, but that is another story that would take many

pages to explain.

The suicides from that school have been numerous, my

close friend and roommate Frank McGill killed himself my

fall semester sophomore year at mount Ida College. Like his

favorite author Hunter S. Thompson, he shot himself with a

handgun in a park somewhere on the outskirt of Austin Texas.

Another girl, named Carol Anne Brown hung herself. The worm

a notorious drug dealer at UNH is incarcerated somewhere

after having over 45 felony charges, after being busted with

a brief case stacked with Molly, acid and all sorts of drugs

on a flight back from Colorado.

I went to Frank’s funeral, and I still think of him

often. Hyde definitely made my life in college more socially

awkward as well as introverted, but also instilled me a

hatred for any institution representing order and societal

progress, I found myself for the first time being a full

blown alcoholic freshmen and sophomore year’s at mount Ida.

Although still I was able to manage a 3.8 GPA and start on

there D-3 lacrosse team both years. My coach said one time

that us Jokes have no place in academia. Classes were so

easy; I got A’s on all my papers and exams, with nights of

studying with alcohol my warm and possessive friend. I was

again smoking pot everyday. Nothing seemed to challenge my

inner angst, but it was here that I started becoming more

spiritual, even through the lust driven nights of our lax

houses raging alcohol parties, women flocked to me. But sex,

drugs and rock and roll fueled my romance of passion and

desire, still though I longed to be elsewhere, to be with my

beloved, the absolute being of my yearning loves desire.

I decided not to play lacrosse and transfer to a better

school. I got into American University in D.C. with as much

ease as I could buy beer with my fake I.D. My first year

there I made dean’s list and maintained a 4.0 GPA, despite

my somewhat controlled drinking and use of marijuana. One

time I found a wallet on the bar, sitting there, I took it

and proceeded to buy the entire bar drinks. All my friends

where there and I spent easily a 1,000 $ buying drinks. I

thought it was funny at the time, I figured that not only

would the cardholder be reimbursed but I was actually using

the banks money to amplify my Marxist desire for chaos and

well participating in the perpetuation of my growing disgust

for capitalistic American society. That summer I got heavy

into OC 80’s which were rampant in Portsmouth. I tried

heroin a couple of times, but one week after not finding a

fix. I felt the hellish withdrawal symptoms of opiate

addiction and checked into detox at Hampstead hospital.

After I stopped drinking during the school year, but

would indulge in alcohol during the summers, and even then

it started to dissipate, especially with my growing

knowledge of religious texts. They seemed to fill the void

of my yearning, filled me with the remembrance of my beloved

that had once been so part of my childhood. I really started

to clean up my act, and gave up alcohol for months at a

time. Last year around this time I had not had a drink since

august. I was using marijuana less frequently. But I still

had much to learn about my perfectionism and ADD that seemed

to precipitate into substance abuse as an outlet for my many

failures and growing shame.

For all it was worth, I'm currently in pursuit of a MA

degree at American University for Islamic Peace and Conflict

Resolution. My BA is in Religious studies and I have a minor

in Arab studies and international studies. I am currently

four classes and an internship away from obtaining my goal

for the past 5 years going on 6 years now, as I was accepted

into an accelerated MA-BA program after my first year. OH I

also am the lacrosse team’s captain there. But I find myself

in new Hampshire at the moment in recovery after having not

been able to control my substance abuse which I always

seemed to manage somehow throughout my life probably through

the loving kindness of my parents and the grace of God who

looks after fools. When I found out last December that I had

a little girl that had been given up for adoption, as well

as my dad having cancer I started too loose control.

Drinking and depression reared their ugly heads. I

would wake up every morning, crying and praying to god, in a

sort of delirious state of suffering I had never felt

before. I then started dealing pot this past spring because

I was afraid my father would die and I would need to provide

for my family, thought nothing of it at first. It

reconnected me to the social life I also desired, after

isolating myself for 3 years form the AU party scene.

Selling massive weed came easily to me, and I was able to

mastermind a group of friends to do my biddings. It was

trilling for a time, as the massive amounts of weed gave me

wealth, power and privilege like a true Machiavellian; who

at the same time was an anarcho syncalist who desired to

overthrow the despotism and corruption of the American

capitalistic system. I still had time for my studies, but

then we our posy, the Albe and Marle gang, as we liked to

joke around about, but then we got big. We easily we’re the

biggest dealers in N.W. DC, selling to the surrounding

schools like G.W. and Georgetown and diversifying our

clientele basis from Saudi Princes to adorable little virgin

central American girls. I was that cool guy bringing 8 balls

to parties and getting everyone blasted out of their minds

on some of the best Peruvian flakes to be found in the D.C.

metro-area. Then my main associate and I started selling all

sorts of other drugs halfway through 2014 summer to afford a

lavish life pussyfooting around DC attempting to cure what

we called God’s curse. We even made a death pact. I

attempted to drown my heartaches in a downward spiral of

wheeling and dealing, with fine wines and white lines. I

loved selling weed and I was damn good at it, know one would

have suspected me, dressed in suit and tie on Friday nights,

and always dressed to kill. I tried so hard to leave the

party life of liquor and women. But they always seemed came

back with utter vengeance after abstinence from both for the

past three years. My desire for my beloved vanished once

harder drugs entered the scene; I started ignoring my demons

and literally the started haunting me this past spring, dark

shadows lurking in my peripheral vision. I feel in love with

a blonde this summer who broke my heart after she went into

an IOP program and stopped talking to me. I felt alone once

again, and this feeling was numbed by cocaine use, drinking

on my Xanax everyday, and eating wax infused edibles, and

smoking wax. I even started doing opiates again, and almost

checked myself into rehab but I detoxed with alcohol. I was

lost in a drug-induced coma of that wheeling and dealing. I

came up here for a week in august to try and stop drinking,

but as soon as I returned the stress of drug dealing became

an ethical and moral issue I could not ignore. I decided

that my ex got it right; I should check myself into IOP

program.

I’m currently on medical leave, only because I kept

asking for help - desperately so. The Friday night I had my

intake at the seacoast mental health center IOP up-here my

house in the luxurious neighborhood of the United States’

capital was raided by a swat team, more precisely the DC

vice unit. They found nothing, we knew the neighbors had

been on too our antics. Plus all the drugs we were doing

made us wicked paranoid. They found no money and no drugs. I

was also in New Hampshire. My minions squabbled over the

remnants’ of my clientele where my leadership had left a

vacuum as I know they still are wheeling’ and dealing. I

honestly do not know how I’m not dead right now, only by the

grace of God have a lived 26 years for I have had many close

encounters with death, car and bus accidents, I think I

almost overdosed a couple times, and vomiting in my sleep,

more that I cannot recall. I almost long for death sometimes

to be re-united with my beloved, but it is by his will to

call the angel of death and I will be ready for my hands and

feat to testify against me for my copious

Once again, I find myself sober. I know now that I

mustn’t sacrifice my life to my animal-soul. I must find

that universal balance, with grace, dignity, servitude, and

faith. I must gamble everything for love, to help perpetuate

humankind’s progress, within this manner.