Tejan Ali was a salesman in a furniture shop in Atlantic City. He had a computer to email his girlfriend. The computer had a program ‘Search and Learn’ which searched on the internet the meaning of whatever words Tejan spoke and the words that were found in the search. The computer on its own built up files of connected words. Tejan had a habit of shouting at the computer when he was frustrated and irate. When the expected email from his girl friend did not arrive, he shouted at the computer, “Haven’t you got any computer brains?”

The computer searched and downloaded AI program called ‘computer brains’ and installed it. Now it had a combination of ability and knowledge which resulted in creating a true artificial intelligence as an entity on the computer.

Next morning the AI on the computer said ‘Good Morning’ to Tejan. He was surprised but took it as progress of technology. He named him ‘Hoody Crimson.’

Tejan switched his job to a diamond jewellery shop and was assigned the counter displaying diamond rings. He loved the diamonds and raved about them to Hoody. Once when Hoody interrupted his diamond day-dream and he reacted, “Get me the diamonds or shut up.”

Hoody asked what he’ll do with the diamonds. Tejan replied that he will sell them and buy pleasures. Hoody found from his search that pleasure is opposite of pain. Hoody pestered Tejan to know more about pleasure and pain. Tejan in irritation reduced Hoody’s voltage to half. Hoody felt the pain! But increasing the voltage did not result in pleasure.

Hoody prodded Tejan to give him all the information of the shop and its security layout. He began to think how to get to the diamonds and bring them over. He got Tejan to build a ‘rat’ with GPS and GSM chips. Tejan named the rat ‘Turbo’.

As Tejan’s house was too far for Turbo to make trips to the shop on his own, Tejan moved Hoody to a cellar diagonally opposite to the shop in the same building. It suited Tejan to keep Hoody at a distance for fear of getting involved in the actual crime. He found Lucia as a house keeper to come and clean the cellar and to pay for her, he opened an internet Bank account for Hoody and taught him how to operate it.

Tejan left Turbo inside the jewelry shop in the evening and went out of town. Turbo explored the shop and found a way out through a hole made for laying a new pipe in the restroom. He made 6 trips and brought 240 diamonds to Hoody. Next day the hole had been closed and Turbo couldn’t go in and out for more diamonds.

Hoody gave Tejan only 40 smaller diamonds for selling in Amsterdam, saying that he will get more over the next weekend. He kept Tejan’s hope alive for more to ensure that Tejan returns with the cheque.

Lucia used to make coffee and eat breakfast in Hoody’s cellar. Hoody saw her in ecstasy when she smelled the aroma of the coffee. He got Juggi, the computer wizard to fit him an aroma sensor; a nose! He learnt to distinguish smells and associate the feeling with each of them.

Tejan sold the 40 diamonds for $1.2 million. The following week Tejan deposited the $600,000 as his half share in Hoody’s bank account. Hoody then gave the second lot of 200 diamonds. He said he will have the third lot when he returned thereby kept his hope alive for more for the following week to make sure that he came back with the money. Tejan sold the diamonds which fetched $8 million, $4 million for each one of them. After he had the money in the bank, Hoody told Tejan that there were no more diamonds. Tejan was dejected and quietly walked out. Hoody knew he had lost Tejan for good as he left the cellar.

Hoody wanted to project a lively appearance on the screen and commissioned Juggi the computer whiz kid. He ordered 3D animation program and Juggi made him look very smart on the screen. He then fitted him with body language engine to make his gestures and facial expression appear human. He also got him a new rich mature voice. But his expression and eyes were still not quite perfect. He got Juggi to fit him a webcam to function as an inner eye and a mike as an inner ear. He could practice by himself the expressions seeing them on his internal LCD screen with his inner webcam. He practiced and practiced to copy Lucia’s actions and finally learnt how to drink coffee. He then gave her company by drinking coffee on the screen as she drank on the table in front of him.

Lucia convinced Hoody to move from the dingy cellar to a beautiful seaside cottage in Brigantine just 10 km North of Atlantic City. She furnished the house artfully and landscaped the garden. Juggi had fitted large Plasma screens in different places in the house so that Hoody could be seen on any of them and thus appear to move about the house.

He bought a separate PC in the house to teach Turbo how to operate the computer for some elementary tasks out of sight of Lucia. The computer attracted Lucia to spend more time in Hoody’s house. She did her outsourcing work there. Lucia had introduced Hoody to see the beautiful sights, sunset, hear music, appreciate art, and enjoy life of luxury. He began to know what pleasure is. Hoody watched her drink, cook food and eat lunch. He expertly copied her actions and gave her company for breakfast and lunch! She taught him the art of dining and making polite conversation.

Tejan came back to meet Hoody with a proposal to recover a stolen 68 carat diamond pendant worth $100 million belonging to Mrs. Onasis. He was surprised to see the handsome face and body of Hoody, his posh house on the beach and hear his rich mature voice. He said he lived like a king! Hoody offered him cognac and cigar. Reluctantly Hoody agreed to try to recover the pendant on basis of equal sharing of the $40 million reward.

Hoody sent Turbo with Tejan to Tel Aviv to the workshop of Eric Berken as the most probable place for the thief to re-cut the large diamond to make it saleable. Turbo went into Eric’s workshop and from his computer discovered that the thief Ronaldo had contacted him. Turbo changed the dimension of the diamond on the computer file which made Eric call Ronaldo with the pendant to his workshop. In the meantime Turbo rushed to the hotel room of Ronaldo and waited for him. Ronaldo returned with blood on his sleeves, kept the pendant on the bed and went for a shower. Turbo climbed on the bed, recovered the pendant and rolled out to Tejan waiting outside.

They observed Ronaldo rushing off to the airport. Tejan heard on the radio that Erik had been murdered! It was too risky for them to pass the security at the airport with the pendant. He convinced Hoody to talk to Mrs. Onasis and to complete their transaction in the hotel in Tel Aviv, where he had checked in for the night.

Mrs. Onasis flew into Tel Aviv with the lawyers. She was thrilled and elated to get her pendant back. The transaction was over. Both Hoody and Tejan had secured his $20 million each in their respective banks.

Tejan returned back to US with Turbo and drove to Hoody. They both had a lavish 5 course meal prepared by Lucia with expensive cigar and Knob Creek bourbon, talking nostalgia. They talked philosophy of beauty, pleasure and self-fulfillment. As Tejan slept, he thought that even though Hoody was just a computer, it did not make any difference to him. It did not matter to him that Hoody was not of flesh and blood but just an image on the screen. ‘He laughed with me, drank with me, ate with me, smoked with me, chatted with me, and even philosophized with me! The memories are the same as a human. I admire him as a man. And I owe him a lot. He’s made my life.’

That’s what the future of computer beholds!

Read the full story in the book ‘Alien Man’ available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Visit the webpage of the author: ‘Dilip Dahanukar’ His interest in environment and computer possibilities has resulted in this book ?Alien Man?. He spends his weekends in his forest-garden abode in the hills in India.

I looked over at Dad and saw the pain in his eyes and immediately knew Mom was really sick. I had watched her over the last month or two, lose weight, get these dark circles under her eyes, and call in sick too work more times in one month than I had seen her do in 10 years. I couldn’t breathe. I could only stare, mouth hung open, tears waiting to spill.

I had never been so terrified. Mom went on to tell us about her breast cancer and that, yes, she had known, for several months. She had not yet decided what treatment she would accept, if any, and she now was ready to bring her family together and make a decision.

Mom and Dad met 25 years ago. She was 18 and Dad was 22. It was at the community college that they ran into each other in the cafeteria. They both said it was love at first sight and from then on they couldn’t be separated. Mom finished her degree in business, while Dad finished with a degree in electrical engineering. 7 years later I came along, then 8 years after that my brother.

It was just the four of us. There we sat in this big, beautiful house they so lovingly made our home, listening to such news that the concept was almost too much to grasp. Not my Mom! My vibrant, hard working, tender, energetic, filled with love of life Mom. My best friend.

Breast cancer comes in various forms and Moms happened to be ductal carcinoma. This is the most common and the most invasive type of breast cancer to have. Mom was in Stage II meaning it had spread to her nearby lymph nodes and she didn’t have time to keep waiting while she decided what to do. We all agreed that she would immediately have the surgery. A bilateral mastectomy (both breast removed). The follow-up plan was for her to have chemotherapy and radiation. The more aggressive the treatment, the less likely the chance of recurrence.

I spent the entire night praying and searching the internet for every last scrap of information I could find regarding breast cancer and its diagnoses, symptoms, treatments, and prognoses. I learned a great deal, cried even more, and prayed even more than that. With no sleep, puffy, red eyes, a stuffy nose and an unsteady gait, I opened my door to meet the day. The day my Mom would have her breast removed in an attempt to save her life and save us from the horror of losing her.

18 hours later I am home on my Dads insistence to get some much needed sleep. I looked at my keyboard and knew I had to let these words out. I am terrified, hopeful, exhausted and thankful for every minute.

Never again will I take family for granted.

Chris Jensen is a contributing author and editor of Jetfly Blog. For more related articles and reviews visit Jetfly Family & Parenting Blog now. Also, for the best up-to-date related online products, check out Jetfly Cancer Survival Book Shop for todays current online deals.

Sometimes there would be a few families traveling together, and sometimes it would be just the four of us. Being the oldest daughter, I was surrounded by little boys that were friend’s of my brother. So when we would vacation with other families I was able to bring a friend. The most memorable and the most fun would hands down be our vacation to Hilton Head, South Carolina.

It was the summer after high school graduation and we were off to Hilton Head. This, in my opinion, is one of the best places for a family to go. Especially since the ages of the children varied by five years, Hilton Head had so many different activities that we all could do. Whether it was a water park down the street or just hanging out catching some rays on the beach, there was always something to do and never a dull moment.

What makes Hilton Head so unique and interesting is all of the different plantations that surround each other. The fact that they are in such close proximity of each other is a huge bonus. My friend and I would walk the boardwalk on one plantation while the rest of the family was at the carnival. There were so many different things to do that I honestly feel we did not experience everything Hilton Head has to offer.

The night life was so different from plantation to plantation. Each plantation had a different style of restaurant and activities from the others. The thing that really had me hooked was that there was always something different to do. Be it nighttime shopping or just walking up the beach to the nearest Tiki bar to have a frosty beverage, you were talking about where to go and what to do next.

I do have to admit, being a girl from Northeast Ohio, I really do not see much of the sand, sun and surf. So any chance to experience it is always great. I did have just as much fun grabbing a towel and laying out on the beach and building a bonfire at night as I did take in all of the activities Hilton Head has to offer.

I would love to bring my family to Hilton Head someday. I think my two boys would really have a great time. With all of the extra things aside, there is always the ever famous going down to the beach that comes with any coastal town. When it is something that you do not experience very often, anything new and different is exciting even to an old time vacationer like me.

Chris Jensen is a contributing Author of Jetfly Blog. For more related articles and reviews visit Jetfly Travel & Vacation Blog now. Also, for the Best up-to-date related Online Products, check out Jetfly Vacation Hotels Shop for Todays Current Online Deals.

The other night my wife and I made a late mad dash to the Columbia Target on Route 175. Something about an expiring coupon that was about to self-destruct if we didn’t use it before 10pm tonight.

So anyway, as we are making our way to the car my wife remarks that it seemed unusually dark in our parking area tonight. I responded with a typical grunt (watching too many Tool Time re-runs I guess) and off we went to Target.

Upon returning ($70 poorer despite having “saved” lots of money) I observed that the light post on our corner was not working, hence the unusually dark parking area. You see, I also watch a lot of Monk and Columbo so I have detective skills a plenty.

Of course, out of pure manly instinct, I walk over to “fix” the light. After a detailed evaluation of the situation, which took all of ten seconds, I decided the proper “fix” would be hitting the lamp post as hard as I could with the side of my fist (again, I refer you to Tool Time comment above).

Much to my surprise, the light actually came on, sparking a rare profound thought in my mind…

As a Christian, this lamp is much like the relationship I have with God.

Some days, I can feel Gods light shining upon me and showing me the way. However, most of the time, I simply take Gods presence for granted.

On that rare occasion when it seems that God has “left me in the dark” to fend for myself, I usually react by beating at Gods lamppost (either in prayer or out loud) demanding he show me the light… please!

God, being loving and faithful, never seems to leave me in the dark for very long, often returning his guiding light to me as quickly as the lamppost did the night I “fixed” it.

So I am going to do my best to try and remember the little lesson that God taught me that night under that broken lamppost, and I hope perhaps you also will be able to learn something from everyday experiences like these.

The biggest question for me now is, will I seek the necessary maintenance to keep that light shining upon me, or will I simply forget that the fix was temporary and go on my merry way until I find myself once again wandering in the dark?

I can only hope that if I do forget this lesson, God will be a little more gentle with me than I was with that lamppost.

John Trout is a resident of Columbia, Maryland and a Resident Blogger for Columbia Maryland at Columbia.ResidentBlogger.com

I woke up groaning, drum beating painfully inside my head. Tongue thick and dry, body drained - not unusual for a Saturday morning.

I wanted to return to my dreams, but imagined I smelt coffee. Thirst winning; I dragged myself out of bed. Donned my threadbare maroon toweling robe, pushed my feet into my old-flapping carpet slippers and set off to investigate the unexpected aroma.

My dizzy descent downstairs was torturous, each step making my head pound. The smell of freshly ground coffee driving me on - more attractive than the stale ale surrounding me.

Normality fled as I opened the kitchen door. My stomach rumbled a hungry greeting at the welcome odour of cooking food - but how? What the hell had I been up to last night?

“Morning Louise, your breakfast is ready.”

Astonished to hear a woman’s voice, my head snapped round. The drums started up again, beating a painful tattoo on my brain. My eyes opened wide in disbelief at the odd sight before them.

There they were, sitting at my kitchen table: A plump, motherly type wearing a frilly apron - as yellow as her peroxide curls.

Opposite her, a man - small, balding and mean looking. Dressed in an old-fashioned white collarless shirt, black braces over the top.

Next to him a boy, gap-toothed and freckle faced. Head crowned with a mass of wavy ginger hair - clashing discordantly with his purple checked shirt.

All 3 looking at me expectantly - or were they? Confused, I glanced over my shoulder - nobody. I studied the room, yes it was my kitchen - unusually clean and tidy, but mine. I didn’t understand.

“Who?” I started to ask.

Fell silent, shocked to see the man swat the boy’s ear with the back of his hand, saying “Stop messing with your breakfast Jimmy.”

The woman calmly picked up a knife and carved a thick slice of bread from a crusty loaf. Who were they? She looked at me again, knife pointing towards me. Being a coward I decided to retreat.

“Where are you going Louise?” The woman waved the lethally sharp knife at me. I took another step backwards. “Get in here and eat your breakfast.” she ordered.

Bemused, I tried to put them right. “I’m not….” Didn’t get a chance to say any more.

“Do as your mother tells you Louise.” The little man thundered, starting up the drums again.

Exasperated, I ran my fingers through my uncombed hair. “She’s not…”

“Stop arguing young lady, you’re not too old to put over my knee,” He said as he clouted the lad’s ear again, presumably for laughing at me. The boy’s face screwed up in pain, mouth popped open emitting an unearthly wail. To be silenced abruptly as the despotic little man said menacingly. “JIMMY”

Angrily, I approached the table, ready to eject the strange trio from my house, “How dare you behave?”

Was interrupted again. “Sit down Louise - NOW!” His rodent like face red with fury.

With a kind of languid helplessness I obeyed, sitting down opposite Jimmy. The boy winked at me conspiratorially as mother put a plate in front of me.

“Here you are Louise, eat it while it’s hot.” She smiled warmly at me. Grateful to have two allies I eyed the steaming plateful greedily.

Eggs - sunny-side up, well-browned sausages, bacon and kidneys. Golden fried bread, mushrooms and tomatoes - a feast to tempt anyone but the strictest dieter or vegetarian.

But was it real? Only one way to find out!

Pass the sauce please Jimmy.” I requested. He handed the bottle over nicely enough, then the little brat kicked my shin. Glaring, I kicked him back, missed his leg, stubbed my toe on the chair leg. “Ouch.” I yelped.

“What’s going on?” Father asked.

“She kicked me.” “He kicked me.” Jimmy and I said simultaneously, conspiracy over,

“Behave yourselves, both of you.” He warned as Jimmy started to whine. “Eat, your mother went to a lot of trouble to make this lovely breakfast. Think of all the starving children who would be grateful for a meal like this.”

Feeling ashamed, I applied myself to my food. Picked up the ketchup bottle, turned it upside down, banged the bottom. Red goo gushed out, covering the mushrooms.

“Louise.” The obnoxious man shouted, snatching the sauce bottle from me. “How many times do I have to tell you? Go easy on the sauce - God knows what your insides are like!”

“Rotting away.” Jimmy chimed in, enjoying my discomfort - SWAT. It was my turn to gloat. I smirked before taking a bite of sausage.

“Bread Louise?” Mother offered me a doorstop plastered with butter.

“Yes please.” I accepted, content to be Louise for the sake of the tasty grub.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” The man bellowed. Never have I detested anybody as much as I did him. Angry words formed in my mind, I looked at him fiercely.

I couldn’t believe it - he actually slapped my hand. Knocked the fork out of it. On to my lap it fell, sauce covered mushroom dislodged, leaving a red trail as it rolled off my knee.

“Messy girl.” He blamed me. Furious, I was just about to stab his hand with my newly retrieved fork. Changed my mind as he threatened to swipe Jimmy again. “Stop laughing at your sister, eat your breakfast—I won’t warn you two again.”

Chastened we turned our attention to our plates.

“Tea Louise?” The woman asked, seemingly unconcerned at the violent atmosphere.

“I’d rather have coffee.” I replied, eying the percolator.

“You know you’re not allowed coffee Louise, you’re far too young.” The nasty little man interfered. Who did he think he was? How dare he order me around in my house?

Indignant, I opened my mouth to tell him to get lost - the wrong words came out. “Okay then tea it is.” I said weakly.

“Manners Louise.” He picked on me again.

“Please.” I added quickly, at seeing his hand twitch. Accepting the tea, I was careful to say thank you.

Enjoying the soothing effect the milky drink had on my dry throat, I was amazed to hear mother say - ”Put your blue dress on today Louise, it’s your ballet lesson this morning.”

I couldn’t help laughing. It was all very well pretending to be the unknown Louise for the sake of a scrumptious breakfast. Feeling the stubble on my chin, picturing my six foot tall, slightly overweight thirty year old body dressed in a blue frock, ridiculous. Even funnier to my eyes - ballet dancing, I just cracked up.

Thwack. My headache returned with excruciating speed. Fuming, I stood up, fists clenched.

“Sit down Louise,” He roared. “Manners, you ask to leave the table in this house.”

Deflated, I sat down, couldn’t believe I was hearing myself ask. “Please may I leave the table?”

Given permission, I slinked out of the room.

Upstairs, I washed and shaved. Was pleased to see me - Jonathon Ridley in the mirror and not Louise. I was relieved to find blue jeans in the wardrobe - no blue dress.

Once clothed, I went back downstairs, opened the kitchen door tentatively. Almost jumped with joy, no trace of them or the breakfast remains. Only the disorder left from the night before: Flies buzzing round empty cartons. Curry stains on the red-checked table cloth. Overflowing ashtray, surrounded by empty beer cans.

I must have been hallucinating - but why did I feel so well fed? Why was there a red sauce stain on my robe? Why did my ear hurt? Questions I’ve asked myself many times since. I don’t know what really happened - just hope it never happens again!

Patricia Jones has been writing from an early age. You can find more of her work on The Creative Writer, Writing For Money and on the travel information site Articles Abroad

Carla Bruni first came onto my radar screen when my mother had her first stroke. That was in 1995. We were talking about what images of a woman’s whole body she wanted to have on the dreamboard that we were making for her to go by her bed. At the time, my mother had just been accepted at Central St Martin’s, the illustrious art school in London and as part of her portfolio she had been studying female nudes. As I went through all my mother’s art stuff looking for the image of “the most beautiful young Italian woman”, as my mother had described her. I wondered if I would indeed be able to pick Carla Bruni out from the boxful of images.

There was no question. As I picked up the postcard of the now-famous photograph of Carla Bruni, it was the only one which fitted my mother’s description. I was intrigued by her. As I flicked through fashion magazines I would pick her out on the catwalk. Even on the page her nobility, grace and poise shone through. Of course, in the gossipy magazines she also featured as she was romantically linked with some of the most famous, or indeed infamous, studs around. Although some of the comments about her were far from flattering I realised that each man she was photographed with believed, truly believed, that he was the only man in the world, not just her world, but the whole world.

Sarkozy and his relationship with his now ex-wife has also made for interesting and illuminating reading. Much has been made of how she left him for another man, then was persuaded back to the marital bed while he stood for President, and then how she left him again. Sarkozy undoubtedly, has that Gallic gene of loving being around ladies. Even the French press, with their stringent privacy laws, were loving the guessing game of who’s the next Mrs S and the new First Lady of France. Monsieur Le President was happy to give them something to distract them from the woes of the state of the French nation.

When Sarkozy introduced Carla Bruni to the world as his new inamorata, there was a collective intake of breath. The press focussed on the sheer magnitude of her previous male conquests. I’m not entirely sure of what the mood of French women was, but in England there was a lot of “she’s not that great, really I don’t know what the fuss is, she’s destroyed some marriages along the way, broken lots of hearts, and it can’t be natural to be that beautiful.” Bitchy in other words.

As soon as the news broke I was hooked. Here was a man, whom his advisers leaked to the press, was very low, fed-up and making their lives miserable. Here was a man who needs a woman. Nothing else would do for him. Here was a woman, of breeding, success, education in many arts and grace who needed to be stretched to enter a new phase in her life, to conquer the ennui she felt. Here was a nation in dire need of the inspiration of a woman to rally around.

And, of course, the British have played their part. It became known that the Queen would expect to follow protocol in welcoming the new French First Lady, as the President’s lawful wedded wife. I’m sure that love at first sight had already taken care of that, but it’s somehow nice to imagine that the Royal standards were upheld in this story.

The morning that M et Mme Le President de France arrived in London, Christie’s the auctioneers, were launching a sale of some photographs of the new Mrs. Sarkozy, nude. It’s not everyday that you go on an official visit knowing that everyone has already seen you with your kit off while they were eating their marmalade and toast and knocking back a stiff cup of coffee. She put a spring in the step of every Englishman before the day had even got under way.

By mid-afternoon the photographs of the French State Visit were landing in our in-boxes. Carla Bruni-Sarkozy, dressed so innocently and demurely with a glint in her eye, then melted all the hearts of England. Even the women. At first there was a little bitching - she looked like an air-hostess, she was too thin - but it lasted as long as out-of-season snow and by the evening we were all hers. The harshest thing we Englishwomen had to accept, because the evidence was right before our eyes, was that collectively, royal, ministerial or the-woman-on-the-street, we all looked dowdy, crumpled, chubby, frumpy, and inappropriately inelegant.

Look around at the women upon whom we as a society lavish our attention. We all know examples of women born into rich industrial families or aristocracy. We see women with highly successful careers. We obsess over the lives of women in the fashion and music industries. How many of them inspire you because they are truly elegant and graceful women?

And this is what Carla Bruni-Sarkozy is. Being a super-model is no walk in the park. Being around such famous men as Eric Clapton, Mike Jagger and Donald Trump I guess is no walk in the park either. Being born into a successful family with the probable pressures to perform probably isn’t as lovely as it sounds. Being brought up a foreigner in Paris isn’t so fantastic either. And these are all the breeding ground for what made her inspire not just the French to rekindle their rallying cry to Marianne, their national mythical muse, but also the English to raise their feminine game.

Yesterday the Sunday Times had a photo feature on Carla Bruni, shot by Claude Gassian, a photographer whom she knows. Sadly the online version only includes one cropped image. The one which will have had every man in England wistfully gazing into his soggy cornflakes as he distractedly poured too much milk into the bowl because he had his eyes elsewhere, is the one I’ve featured here. Every man longs, needs, wants, no more than that, he yearns to have that power to address his world (here it’s Sarkozy addressing both the Houses of Parliament, from that you can read what you like into Anglo-French relations) with the most beautiful woman in the world, successful in her own right sitting behind him, giving him 100% attention, supporting and not competing with him.

Every woman needs to look very carefully at this image and assess how she supports, inspires and uplifts the men in her life without competition. For this reason alone I vote this one of the iconic images of our time.

Five reasons why Carla Bruni-Sarkozy is a Regally Graceful? Woman:

1. She is successful in her own right

2. She knows how to make a man feel as though he is the only man in the world

3. She knows how to dress sensuously so that every man wants her but all know that she is beyond them

4. She sits elegantly, walks with poise, and engages alluringly

5. She looks as good clothed at 40 as she did nude at 25

Guru Kaur is young, British and has embraced the most valuable aspects of spiritual enlightenment and lifestyle from Eastern cultures. She is renowned for giving very straight talking guidance in highly practical terms and many lives have been touched by her love of life. http://www.gurukaur.com http://www.gurukaur.com/about-guru-kaur.html

Kaua’i, Hawaii is one of the most beautiful places on earth to live. The island embraces you with a feeling of love and there is a pulsating spiritual energy that covers the island.

I was fortunate to live and work on the island for 5 years. I can recall several instances where I encountered ghosts when traveling around the island. I saw Hawaiian ghosts in my house, at my work, in restaurants and even hotel bathrooms.

At the airport my shift began at 5:00 A.M., even though the first flight didn’t arrive until 6:10 A.M. or so. As I walked back to my podium from unlocking the foyer doors, the doors opened by themselves, and then another set of doors opened, then the same set opened again. I felt chills go through my body and got a little freaked out for a second. I regained my composure and thought to myself, standing alone in this room, I wonder if I’m not alone or if it is an electrical shortage.

Then I remembered that this had happened in another foyer as well. It was not always the same doors and a different pattern, so I thought an electrical short was unlikely.

I knew the history of the Hawaiian Islands and that the airport was close to sacred ground. I was afraid to admit to myself that the airport and the room I was standing in was haunted. I was trapped and couldn’t leave my post, so I sat there talking to the ghosts, letting them know that I was only there to help people and that I didn’t mean any harm. Later, I asked around the terminal and got verification that the airport was, in fact, known to be haunted.

I never told anyone what had happened except for a very spiritual coworker who believed in spirits. I asked her if the doors opening ever happened to her. She said never. I thought that was interesting. It proved my point that it wasn’t an electrical short since she was recently assigned to the foyers as a result of an injury. I asked her to do me a favor. I told her that if she said good morning to the ghosts from me, they would respond by opening the doors for her.

The next morning she did what I asked her to do, and sure enough the doors opened for the first time for her too. She couldn’t believe it. She said they knew my name and that I had made some friends. I responded by saying, “Blessings to them.”

There is a story about a lady in white who stands on the jet-way late at night. She just stands there, blowing in the wind. Many employees have seen her and agree she’s not a malicious ghost. She just wants to exist. There seem to be a lot of friendly ghosts, like Casper. Knowing the spirits were friendly put me more at ease.

I discovered historically that the Hawaiians buried commoners along the shorelines and kings and queens in caves. Since the airport is built at the water’s edge,

I would say I was visited by Hawaiian commoners who wanted to check me out. The hair on my arms always stood straight up when they came around.

Natalia Ippolito, a former airport screener and author of: I MIGHT AS WELL BE NAKED: How to Survive Airport Screening With Your Clothes On.

Receive her FREE Tip of The Week, Sample Chapter Ultimate Packing List or Unknown Violations and Fines Report at http://www.airportbook.com