The WOW signal

28/02/2025

The Prayer

I was in our apartment, waiting for the doorbell. A whole year I had waited and prayed the prayer spoken of in this introduction. Then, suddenly—the doorbell rang. My heart pounded as I rushed to open the door, and there she was.

For Her

An angel, full of compassion, listened as he prayed. And as I waited for her, I spoke the same prayer:
"Please, my Lord, just grant me this—a companion I can love with all my being and who will also say it to me."

The Lord knew I would one day pray for this, as He knows all things. So He answered my prayer when she was made—60,000 BCE.

Leonardo da Vinci sketched her outline with a masterful hand. Even more exquisite than his Mona Lisa, her silhouette took form. With the dimensions marked precisely, the other Masters began their work. Renoir blended the most beautiful colors for his palette, while Raphael ensured there were enough brushes to complete the masterpiece.

For days, heaven watched in awe as Michelangelo wielded his sculptor’s chisel, perfect in every stroke, shaping the delicate features of her form. With all his experience, skill, and strength, he once again achieved the impossible, just as he had in the Sistine Chapel.

Rembrandt and Van Gogh, Rubens and Vermeer took turns painting the blush on her cheeks and the light blue of her eyes. They worked in teams, day after day, giving shape to the wish of a mature man waiting for his dream companion. Mendelssohn and Schubert, Beethoven and Bach composed together—a melody woven from her radiant laughter.

Without hesitation, our Lord made the light blue of her eyes shine. The applause was deafening. Her image glowed softly. The Masters were satisfied. Every goal was achieved.

When I saw her standing before me, perfect in every way, I knew my dream had come true—to love someone almost angelic. And so I will always remember her, as my closest companion, my love.

And now, I wait again for the final confirmation of my visa and passport, so that at the end of the month, I can finally be with her once more.

03/02/2025

A Prayer Against Sleep

Flee from me, exhaustion and sleep!
Let no moment steal my thoughts of her, . . she - the sun that never sets, . . fire that turns night to dawn.

Plato, blind with reason, searched for the perfect form -
Did he glimpse it in the curve of her smile?
In her laughter, did he not hear
The music of creation’s finest hour?

God, in a moment of reckless genius,
Shaped joy, reverence, and passion into one,
And set her upon this earth—
A testament to His highest art.

So forgive my prayer, Holy Mother,
If I beg to never sleep again,
And if I must, then let it be
With her in my arms, forever held.

14/01/2025

Conversations with God

The forest was silent under a heavy cloak of snow. Each tree stood still, its branches weighed down, bending like old men in thought. The air was sharp, every breath rising in soft clouds, vanishing into a pale blue sky. Snow crunched beneath my boots, steady and slow—the only sound in a world made white.

Through the quiet, I sensed him before I saw him. An old man, tall and broad, stepped from between the trees as if he had always been there. His thick coat, rough and dark, was dusted with frost, and a long scarf curled around his neck like smoke. His beard was grey and tangled, and his eyes—sharp and knowing.

I recognised him. The God of the forest. The God of all life.

He met my thoughts as I walked home after being with her.

He matched my pace without a word, his steps quiet in the snow.

"Why did I only meet her now?" I spoke aloud the weight I had been carrying. The words rose without thought.

"Someone so perfect. She is beauty itself. Grace, wisdom, light... Why did I only meet her in these recent nights?"

His eyes held mine, steady, the corners of them creasing.

"You are angry with me for bringing you together," he said, his voice like the wind moving through the trees. "Do you remember when your father passed? You carried anger for years."

The snow fell around us, slow and quiet.

"Time must be full to hold certain things," he went on. "If you had met her a year earlier... would it have been possible?"

I stopped. The cold bit at my face, but I did not move.

"I know you're right."

He smiled then—not kindly, not harshly, but with something older than either.

"In your question," he said, "is how you humans invite me in only for the great moments. Birth and death. Sorrow and joy. You speak to me with fire only when the earth shakes beneath you."

His breath rose in the cold.

"But your words now—they are not blame. Do you realise that?" he asked, turning slightly to glance at me.

"Your words are a song of wonder."

We walked on.

And I knew then, though the snow still fell, that I was not alone.

And we—she and I—are truly in love.

06/12/2024

The Hunt on the Snowy Cliffs

The Wechsel Mountains lay frozen in winter’s iron grip, a stark expanse of white broken only by jagged cliffs and the faint tracks of life pressed into the snow. On the edge of the wilderness, two wolves hunted—a black-furred male with eyes like molten amber, and his silver-coated mate, her sleek form blending with the frost. They moved like whispers of shadow and light, their unity unspoken but absolute.

For three days, they wandered. Hunger gnawing! Alone! Isolated from their pack. A storm scattered them, forcing them deeper into the cliffs. Suddenly the scent of prey—a lone pair of aurochs. Massive and proud, a relic of a wilder age. Companion of the wolf in a virgin land.

The auroch - a beast of legend, standing taller than the wolves’ shoulders even in the deep snow. Its shaggy coat glinting with frost and its curved horns formidable weapons. Steam billowed from its nostrils as it foraged for bark among snow-laden trees. Though its strength was unyielding, hunger had drawn it far from safety.

The wolves crouched among the rocks, their lean forms taut with focus. The male glanced at his mate - Amber meeting icy blue, and they shared a plan older than memory. She slipped forward, her movements a ripple through the snow, while he remained motionless, his breath frosting the air.

Suddenly, the female broke into a sprint, her bark sharp and echoing off the cliffs. The auroch startled, muscles rippling as it surged forward, snow spraying from its hooves. The male leapt from his hiding place, his powerful legs propelling him into the chase.

The hunt was a test of endurance, a battle of wills against the frozen wilderness. The wolves ran with fluid grace, weaving through the snowdrifts and icy trees, their breaths steaming in the bitter air. The auroch, though massive, surged with primal power, its strides long and unyielding.

Gradually, the wolves wore it down. The male darted ahead, forcing the auroch to veer toward the rocky cliffs. The female conserved her strength, her keen eyes watching for the moment to strike. When the auroch turned to face its pursuers, its sides heaving, they stopped a safe distance away.

The standoff was a moment suspended in time, predator and prey locked in the age-old dance of the mountains. The auroch lowered its head, defiance blazing in its dark eyes, and the wolves circled. The female darted first, her lean body a blur as she aimed for the beast’s flank. The auroch swung its horns, but she twisted away, her claws scraping its leg.

The male lunged, his powerful frame colliding with the auroch’s side. He clamped his jaws around its neck, his weight dragging it down. The auroch roared and bucked, its strength shaking the wolf loose, but the distraction allowed the female to leap onto its back. Her teeth found purchase, and together they brought the giant to the snow.

When the great beast fell, the wolves stood panting, their breaths steaming in the icy silence. The wind howled through the cliffs, carrying with it the whispers of their scattered pack. For a moment, they did not move, honouring the life that had sustained them.

The male nuzzled his mate’s neck, a rare moment of tenderness in the unforgiving wild. They feasted together, their unity unbroken by hunger or the storm. The Wechsel Mountains watched in silence as predator and prey fulfilled the eternal cycle, the snow falling gently around them.

19/11/2024

Epitaph

At night, after we spoke, I fall into my bed, tired but the happiest man alive.

Every word she speaks lingers in my mind like the soft echo of a melody. Her laughter is a warmth I carry with me, even as the night wraps me in its cool embrace. It feels like the world has conspired to give me this moment—this connection—so precious and pure that it fills me with gratitude. I lie here, heart full, knowing that her light reaches even the corners of my quiet thoughts, where only joy now resides.

She is the reason I dream of more than just living; I dream of creating, of giving. I want to write her stories so beautiful that they make time pause. I want to plant flowers in her name, their petals whispering the love that words can scarcely contain. I want to build something lasting, something that carries her essence forward—a cure, a discovery, a legacy for the world to cherish as much as I cherish her.

The simplest moments—her smile, her voice, the way she says goodbye—are treasures I hold close. They remind me that love is not just a feeling but an energy, a force that drives me to be more, to give more, to love more. And though sleep claims me now, my dreams are filled with her, and I wake each morning with a renewed resolve to honour her in all I do.

-------------------------

A Dreamer’s Wish

At night when the stars begin to glow,
My eyes grow heavy, my thoughts run slow.
But before I drift to a dreamland deep,
I think of the girl who makes my heart leap.

"Just one more story, just one more laugh,
One more goodbye on our evening's path.
A poem, a book, a flower so rare,
I'd name them all for her, to show I care."

"I'd find cures and wonders to share her name,
For her, I'd light the world's brightest flame.
But the night is long, my eyes must close,
I love—and this she surely knows."

And as sleep whispers a soft lullaby,
He smiles, for she knows, as stars reply.
Her laughter, her light, they already see,
The bond they share, as deep as the sea.

10/11/2024

An Unusual Life with a Powerful Message

I was listening to Tommy Johansson performing Simon and Garfunkel's Sound of Silence when I saw that he dedicated the performance to Christian Sundberg. I realised that this must have been an impactful person. In addition to shining the light on Sundberg, it also tells you a lot about Johansson and his values. I am very glad I looked this up and share it with you. It was an honest wow moment!

Christian Sundberg was an author and speaker renowned for his profound insights into the human experience from a spiritual perspective. His work delves into pre-birth memories and the broader spiritual context of our existence.

Early Life and Background:

Born in the United States, Sundberg experienced vivid pre-birth memories during his childhood, recalling his existence before coming to Earth. These memories faded during his early adult life but resurfaced around the age of 30 when he began practising meditation and underwent a personal awakening journey. This period also marked the beginning of his Out-of-Body Experiences (OBEs), which further enriched his spiritual understanding.

Professional Career:

Professionally, Sundberg has over 15 years of experience as a project manager for complex nuclear pump and valve manufacturing projects. In addition to his engineering career, he is a seasoned public speaker, having presented at over 100 events, where he shares his spiritual insights and experiences.

Literary Contributions:

In 2021, Sundberg authored *A Walk in the Physical: Understanding the Human Experience Within the Larger Spiritual Context*. This book offers a non-linear reality model, distilling vast spiritual concepts into accessible language. It aims to guide readers toward recognizing the part of themselves that exists beyond the physical realm, emphasizing the centrality of authentic love in the human journey.

Influences and Perspectives:

Sundberg's teachings are primarily derived from his personal experiences, including pre-birth memories and OBEs. He does not explicitly link his insights to specific traditions. Instead, his work focuses on universal themes of love, existence beyond the physical, and the importance of authentic human experiences.

Connection to Tommy Johansson:

The Swedish musician Tommy Johansson dedicated his cover of "The Sound of Silence" to his late friend Christian Sundberg, describing him as "a great friend, father, brother, and son who left us too early." This dedication highlights the personal impact Sundberg had on those who knew him.

Legacy:

Christian Sundberg's work continues to inspire individuals seeking a deeper understanding of the human experience within a larger spiritual context. His emphasis on love and the non-linear nature of reality offers a unique perspective that resonates with many on their spiritual journeys.

For those interested in exploring his teachings further, *A Walk in the Physical* is available in both paperback and Kindle formats.

01/11/2024

The Wechsel Mountains, Across the Stony Stairs (Present Day Austria)

The scene takes place 1000 BC. A Celtic man and his wife, both in their 30s, cross the Wechsel mountains. They walk with purpose. New land. A future for their children. They have left them behind, safe with kin. Each step is for family.

The mist thickens. The wind bites. They stop, settling on a flat stone. The man takes cured meat from his sack. It is precious — prepared with salt and urine, buried in marsh. It was once dull brown. Now, it’s a miracle — reddish-pink, a gift of preservation. This meat will not spoil.

As they eat, they pray. To the gods of fertility and abundance. These same gods bless their curing, guiding the magical change in the meat. They thank the gods for strength.

Chew in silence. Each bite - rich with salt, tradition, memory. It’s the taste of survival. Knowledge, handed down by fathers, grandfathers, now sustains them.

They rise, pack their things, press on.

29/10/2024

A Young Man's Prayer: Seeking Guidance at Mariatrost

The year is 1730. A young man from the village has slipped away at dusk, heart pounding as he climbs the path up to Mariatrost Basilica. He reaches the towering Baroque facade, which seems to glow in the fading light, its presence both powerful and serene. Tonight, he is here with a single purpose — to gather the courage to ask a girl from his village to marry him.

Inside the basilica, the air is cool and still, carrying the scent of incense. He walks slowly toward the altar, where frescoes of Mary surround him, her image gentle and watchful. He thinks of her as the one who guards, who guides, the protector of families. This is no ordinary church to him; it is a place where people have come for generations to seek Mary’s blessing, her hand on their path. His own parents told him stories of this hill, of how it was once a place of simple stones and almost no trees, until the faith of his people transformed it. Here, on Purberg Hill, they built a sanctuary for her, the sacred feminine, the mother who hears all prayers.

He kneels in the silence, feeling the weight of his hopes and fears. "Mary, guide me. Give me strength to love with honor and courage," he prays, his voice soft, almost trembling.

The words linger in the air, and he feels a quiet warmth spread through him, as though Mary herself has placed a hand on his shoulder. For a moment, he closes his eyes, letting that feeling settle into his bones. Rising, he knows his path is clear.

Tonight, he will return to the village. Tonight, he will ask her, with a heart filled with the blessing he sought.

22/08/2021

I have finally written the last chapter of Bacon & the Art of Living. Nitrate, nitrite, nitric oxide as valuable molecules and the triumph of nature over foolish strawman positions.

The remaining few chapters will be photo albums and a few concluding matters to wrap up. Then re-reading and editing and I will begin to look for a publisher. I believe it is the most comprehensive treatment on the subject to date and writing it took me 10 years. I hope to have it all wrapped up my year end. My efforts became a bit frantic after I had covid 3 times this year and so many close friends, many in better health than me passed away. I am thankful that I could get this far and still be here.

It was an international effort right from the word go. Every single contributor from around the world over many years, words can not express my gratitude! I used names and personalities in the book who were and are almost all directly involved in meat curing (apart of family). Where I used your real names, I will contact each of you personally to ask permission to retain your names in the final work.

As the image of the final chapter I used a fig straggwling a water berry tree. I took the photo on my most recent trip to Zambia and the importance of choosing it is apparent in the chapter.

Introduction to Bacon & the Art of Living The story of bacon is set in the late 1800s and early 1900s when most of the important developments in bacon took place. The plotline takes place in th…