WHERE SPIRITUALITY MEETS OUR VULNERABLE HUMANITY… 

Jeff Foster, with humour and compassion, speaks simply and directly about non-duality, emotional healing and awakening… and finding the sacred in the ordinary. 

“Thoughts and feelings are not mistakes, and they are not asking to be HEALED. They are asking to be HELD, here, now, lightly, in the loving arms of present awareness…”

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I SING OF DEATH TODAY!Death is not what we think, nothing like what we’ve been taught. How do I know? I don’t. I am only singing my song of Not Knowing and you are as free to listen or walk away as I am free to sing it. Death is no image, no state, no place, no person; it is not even in the realm of experience itself. Death! Sweet death! The dogmas and religions have tried to make us fear you, made threats and false promises, cleft a heaven from a hell, separated life and the afterlife, good and evil, God and the devil, forces of light and forces of darkness, fractured an original innocent Oneness. The mind has tried to conceptualize you, sweet Death, for as long as there has been a mind. (Just for fun, let us go beyond all we have received or imagined or believed. Death is coming for all of us, whether we like it or not…)Death is barely different from birth, conception is hardly separate from that glorious and inevitable moment of dissolution beyond limits. We did not fear being conceived or not, why should we fear its lover and friend, death? There was no ‘I’ there either way. Ah, this fleeting experience we call ‘my life’, so precious, so beautiful, so full of adventure and connection, so messy, so fleshy, so earthy, is such a tiny blip in time, so unspeakably miniscule from the perspective of the Ages. Death is sleep beyond sleep and beyond, infinite rest beyond rest, and none of that is true. For there cannot be infinity or any conception of the eternal when time disappears, which is what death must be, for when did time begin? When did the mind begin? Just now, when you thought about it? The disappearance of time, memory, story, fantasy, anticipation, regret, the story of “me and my life”. The end of all suffering. All our concepts of death fall away in death, including any of these concepts, if they ever become concepts, and for now they are just notes being sung. I am a poet today, not here to teach but merely to sing. I am not saying I know what death “is”. Nobody does. I am only questioning all we have been told, made to believe, force-fed, scared into. I am dissolving into death myself. This is a living inquiry. Urgent now. I may not have long left. Death is the absolute Mystery beyond mysteries, the place we emerged from, the place we all return to, the place we never left. It is utterly harmless, soft, intimate, like putting on a warm sweater on an icy winter’s evening, like taking off a face mask that’s felt hot and suffocating all day. It is a wonderful exhale after holding our breath way too long. It is delicious rest, after a long and exhausting fight. It is the darkness we feared, all lit up with love. I am not talking of dying, I am speaking of death itself, the moment of death although it cannot be a ‘moment’ because it is the explosion of time itself. Dying can be uncomfortable, for sure, the death process can be painful, I am not denying suffering, believe me! I have sat with the dying and witnessed their pains. Suffering can be hellish, but there is no hell after death only before. Dying can happen quickly or slowly, but death negates time. Some may argue we are dying all the time. Some may say that we are killing ourselves and the planet through our unconsciousness every single day. Some may say that our addictions are a slow way of committing suicide. But death itself is not an experience. I sing it again, “death cannot be experienced”, and this is what everyone forgets or misunderstands or never bothers to think about because it’s just too… dangerous. Dark. Disturbing. Trippy! And paradoxical. And impossible to comprehend, using the very mechanism that death itself destroys. Death is the falling-away of the experiencer itself, the dissolving of the very mechanism by which we experience the world, experience hot or cold, comfort or discomfort, sleep or waking, red or blue or sunflower yellow, the first light of the morning or the touch of a friend’s hand. Without the experiencer, there is no possibility of experiencing death or any of its friends. And so anything we say about death, anything we know about death, will just be our dream, our projection, our story or someone else’s that we’ve taken as our own. And there is nothing wrong with that. Our stories, myths, legends and holy books are beautiful. Death becomes a great Canvas on which we can paint literally anything. Fiery hell realms if we want to scare ourselves. Wonderful eternal visions of bliss if we want to comfort ourselves. Reincarnations as marvelous beasts, fantastic travel to other dimensions, if we want to delight or entertain ourselves. “Infinite nothingness” if we want to freak ourselves out. We dream whatever we dream, and that is our death to us. Nobody is right, nobody is wrong. We are all just artists. Death takes us beyond right and wrong. It is the great equalizer. It the one place we are all headed, young and old, president and pauper, healthy and sick.If we believe in heaven, we will go to heaven. If we believe in hell, hell exists for us. If we believe in reincarnation, we go to our next incarnation, full of anticipation! But in the absence of the experiencer, what can we know?I cannot say death is “never-ending sleep” or “eternal rest”. I cannot even say, “death is nothing”. For who would know that? Who would experience the nothing? Who would rest, eternally, in an infinite void? Who would know “pure awareness without content”? The idea of infinite nothingness terrifies us, maybe, and if we wish to be terrified, we can dream that dream too. We can dream any dream we wish! Whatever delights or comforts or scares us into behaving a certain way or satisfies our curiosity, we can dream it. What happens when we stop dreaming about what happens, and we are just with ‘what is’? What happens when we lean into death, the great Unknown?Today, I sing of the wonder and mystery and utter simplicity of death and the Unknown. The end of suffering, the tumbling into the arms of our God, our own loving arms perhaps, or the 14 billion year-old arms of the Universe itself, and perhaps GOD is only a sound pointing to the utter Mystery prior to the very first thought, prior to and infusing all worlds and transcending them all. We return to what we are, and yet, even that is not true, for we cannot ‘return’ to a place we never left, just as a wave can never actually ‘return’ to the Ocean. It was always the Ocean, it never abandoned its source for one moment.And so here words truly dissolve. Of course they do. What is left? Who can say?Can the mouth utter that which comes before any mouth?How can we begin to speak of a sleep so deep there is no sleep at all?Before the Big Bang, before any notion of God, before even the notion of ‘before’, what is here?Death is nothing like what we suppose, nothing like the scriptures and dogmas tell us, or the old or new age teachers teach, or the philosophers philosophise, not even anything like the poets and artists so beautifully and courageously try to represent, and some have died trying. Death is closer than your next inhale and exhale. Surely it is. How can it be apart from you?It is nearer to you than the comprehension - or not - of these words, more intimate than the most intimate lover, as mysterious as the morning sun, or the sound of rain falling. How could it be otherwise? The sun has always broken your heart. The rain falls inside of you. When you were young, you always knew, the world sprang out of you.Every night you die, every night in deep dreamless sleep you return - without returning - to the Ocean, where there is no world, no time, no space, no history, no future, yet you wake up, and there seems to be a world again. Miracle upon miracles! Death is not “final”! I sing of death, then, the miracle that makes all things possible, the womb of wombs and the lifeblood of all worlds and that which renders all things in all places at all times precious, holy, worthy of great devotion and veneration. In the days we have left, and who knows how many days we have left, let us befriend death, or rather, loosen the shackles that bind us to outdated notions of death, liberate ourselves from all the shame and fear surrounding death, and rest in its warm embrace.We can hide from death but it will not hide from us. We can face death or not, run from it or not, but either way, it is near, always. It is death that writes these words, and death that reads them, I would suppose.It is death that perhaps sings for itself today! I do not expect anyone to agree with me or sing with me, I do not expect anyone to understand these ramblings, I do not expect that I am right in any way, but this is my song, and I sing it, and I love my song, and I feel death near to me now as I sing…As my beloved Walt Whitman sang, “And to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier”, and maybe it is. Maybe it is. - Jeff Foster ... See MoreSee Less

2 months ago  ·  

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A NOTE FOR MY NERVOUS SYSTEM“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” – Julian of NorwichYou have been through hell, little one. Oh, you are still in hell, I will not deny it! You ask for a way out of here? I don’t blame you. I would give you the way if I knew the way. Perhaps we do not need the way right now, my sweet one. I meet you here anyway. I walk with you, feel what you feel, my exhausted feet burning as yours do, my arms aflame, my brain an intolerable inferno too, yet I will not abandon you here, however much it hurts, however powerful the nostalgia for yesterday. Maybe we shall find a way out of hell together? And if not, if not… yes, I will find a way to end this hell for you. I will. I will make a pact with God. I will get you out, even if I have to stay a billion years myself, that may be the price of your freedom, a billion years of my burning. But I will get you out, my love, one way or the other, that is the One truth you can hold to in this pathetic land of lies. Until that time, until the end, until the final day, whatever day it comes, I am here with you. I am your safety. I am your protection. I am your ground and your life. Focus on me, not on the fires. Think of me, not of what is lost. Hold my hand tightly, or loosely. Go your own way, or come back to me. However much it hurts here, the abandonment would hurt more. Yes, you are right, this may kill us both in the end, and maybe sooner rather than later, but then we will die together and we shall not be lonely in death and that will be our victory over evil. Love transcends death and this illusory realm of suffering anyway and renders them obsolete. Our safety is here. Here in the darkness, little one, here in the stench and the flame, you are perfectly safe, I know it’s hard to believe! And if you cannot trust that, do not trust it! Forget trust! I have forgotten trust a billion times myself! But… will you hold my hand, at least? No? Will you at least walk with me a little while? Shall we speak a little as we walk? No? It’s okay. We can walk in silence then. Good. Let us walk in silence, here in the bowels of the vanishing world. I love you, little one. I always have. In the silence and the chaos. In this inferno surrounded by screaming fiends terrified for their own survival and concerned only with themselves. I am you, I think you know it deep down, and I have always been with you, and I have always been you. Of course. In death we transcend death. You will always be protected by me no matter how this ends, in this place beyond time. No matter how this ends, and it may end soon, you are perfectly safe. - Jeff Foster ... See MoreSee Less

2 months ago  ·  

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I remember, early one morning several years ago, while working as a home carer, I found myself washing faeces off a man’s giant, swollen testicles. He was dying of cancer which had spread throughout his testicles and prostate, and in the night he had defecated himself and rolled all around in the mess. We laughed a lot together and we chatted about football and the latest news stories as I cleaned him up. He could barely move, he was so sore and swollen everywhere. He was myself in disguise.He had a few weeks to live, but he was so alive, so in the here-and-now, without a trace of self-pity. There was no loss of dignity there – there was just what was happening in the moment. He had somehow found a way to deeply accept his circumstances, even though his life had not turned out the way he had dreamed when he was younger and he had time to dream. It took over two hours to get him ready for his day, to hoist him out of his dirty bed, to get him toileted and dressed and into his favourite chair. He didn’t live for long after that. But I will always remember him.Even when covered in our own shit and without a tomorrow, we are nothing less than divine.- Jeff Foster ... See MoreSee Less

2 months ago  ·  

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BROUGHT TO MY KNEES Dear friends, I wanted to send you an update on my health. I cannot lie – I am going through my own personal neurological Lyme disease hell at the moment. The “brain fog” (and those words don’t even *begin* to describe what it’s like) is utterly hellish and seems to be getting worse as each month goes by and makes each day something of a living nightmare. How to put words to it? It’s like a constant terrifying, dizzying, drug trip, one that never ends and there’s no way out of – a kind of detached, spaced-out, depersonalized, derealized liminal realm, like I’m living in someone else’s life, far away from the world. I can barely remember my old life anymore. The past 40 years seems like someone else’s dream. Time has virtually disappeared for me and I often have no idea what day it is, what time, sometimes even where I am. (Please don’t be confused by the seeming clarity of this letter. I can have all these symptoms AND sometimes write and speak clearly, and that doesn’t mean that I’m well. Complex chronic illness is… well, complex. And very often INVISIBLE. And that’s why so many people are gaslit - misbelieved, called crazy and told that it’s “all in their heads” if they dare to appear normal - sometimes gaslit by their doctors, sometimes by their own friends and family members.) I’m dizzy, nauseous, often disoriented, overheated, heart pounding from the dysautonomia, sometimes can’t remember where I am or how I got here, tinnitus in my ears like low level screaming all day, autonomic nervous system dysregulated, tired yet too wired to really be tired, and even a good night’s sleep doesn’t help, I wake up exhausted always now. And the fatigue is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, like a cell-deep tiredness, like being pressed down constantly towards the Earth and towards sleep and death, brain so fatigued and fuzzy I can hardly think (again, don’t let the apparent clarity of this letter distract you, it took me two weeks to write, through pain and tears, if we still used pen and paper the ink would be blotched and the paper crumpled), multitasking is out of the question, it’s literally one thing at a time now, one moment at a time, and all else has faded into blackness. Really like walking through thick fog, batteries fading in my beloved flashlight. Yes I can still write sometimes, and that is one saving grace. But it’s really like being alive whilst dead now, even the ‘better days’ are experienced in a kind of hallucinogenic hell. Yes I had heard people in the past share about their symptoms of Lyme, CFS/ME, POTS, autoimmune disorders, all kinds of other chronic and debilitating conditions, but I never in a million years imagined what hell it could be like inside of it all. Those who do not know, do not know. I feel like I am clinging on by a thread to existence, on the verge of losing consciousness, half passed-out, half awake. After 10 months of this nightmare there is a strong pull towards everlasting rest now, towards shedding these earthly clothes and returning to the Unmanifest, my true Home prior to the bodymind. At the same time, I really do want to live and get well and fulfil and do everything I am meant to fulfil and do in this life. There is so much left to do and so many beautiful moments left to experience. But I am torn by the twin pulls of Eros and Thanatos now. In this strange middle liminal space. There are so many adventures yet to be had. I love life so much. But I cannot lie - a battle is being waged, daily now, and I’m just trying to stay alive through these hellish physical, neurocognitive and neuropsychiatric symptoms, trying to see the treatment through, trying to get to that clinic in Germany (and omg thank you all from the bottom of my heart for supporting this!), trying not to succumb to the ever-stronger pull of Thanatos, trying to hold to blessed Eros and her will to life and trying to ‘be courageous’ (easier said than done) in the face of deeply devastating and disorienting circumstances. Each day is a struggle now, If I am brutally honest. I am exhausted to the bone after 10 months of this, 10 months that have seemed like 1000 years, no joke, 1000 years of living in a foggy daze, days passing in a blur, not knowing if I’m awake or asleep, if I’m dreaming or not, if anything is real or if I’m even alive anymore. Dreaming and waking life blur into each other, life and death are indistinguishable, my short-term memory is so poor I have very little idea of what I did today, sometimes I think it's time for breakfast when it's time for dinner. It is so disorienting and dizzying words could never begin to capture it. Those of you who have had bad acid or other drug trips may have an inkling of what this is like. I just never imagined this kind of daily living hell was possible. The infection has reached my brain and nervous system, confirmed by a number of experts now so at least we know the cause or at least a part of it. I am being battered daily by bacteria and other pathogens, tiny creatures who are taking such a massive toll on my internal systems in their own will to live. I just wish I had some comforting or inspiring words to offer now. I do not. I have been humbled beyond humbled by this process. I DO want to live and heal. I do want to get through the days and get through the treatments and come out the other side. I would take even 15% better right now, I would, I have been on my knees praying for 10 months for even that. I have been doing my part, I hope, I have radically changed my diet, been taking all the supplements, herbs, pills, infusions, vitamins, anyone has recommended, I have seen therapists and energy healers, psychics and bodyworkers, psychiatrists and neurologists and every other kind of doctor. I’ve done rigorous inner inquiry, questioned my deepest beliefs, confessed my ‘sins’ to myself and to others, been held by friends while sobbing, raged to the heavens, faced my most profound terrors, moved back and forth through all the stages of grieving. I’ve been taking all the recommended concoctions for Lyme, been having the IV antibiotics, I have had so many incredible friends supporting me these last 10 months, so much love pouring in from all sides, so many relationships have deepened and strengthened and some have fallen away in a kind of radical purging, so many things have healed within me and between us and there has been such great beauty really like a process of purification and divine cleansing. I have moved through so much denial and anger, guilt and shame and fear - especially in the beginning, when I first got ill, I felt so much ancestral shame and guilt and fear around being sick and weak and not being able to cope - (THE DEEPEST TRUTH OF ALL: THERE IS NOTHING SHAMEFUL IN GETTING SICK AND BEING VULNERABLE AND ASKING / BEGGING FOR HELP!) - yet now, having moved through a lot of the muck of it all, I feel more of a strange kind of contentment even within the hell, a sense that my life hasn’t gone wrong and somehow this was all meant to happen and I did nothing wrong and God has been with me the whole time breathing me pushing me keeping me going and so life hasn't gone wrong even if it my worldly life ends soon and does life really end I don’t think so, ‘end’ is merely a human concept and all human concepts dissolve in a non-conceptual Truth. At the same time, the urge to sleep, to shed this body-mind and rest in pure Being is strong, I will not lie. The pull to the end is very alive in me. My close friends know this, my doctors and therapists and family know this, and I am fighting to stay alive and not give in to the forces trying to destroy me, whether that is a metaphor or literal. But I am so damn weary at times, and when the brain fog is more akin to dementia, when I am dozy and in a terrible fog and don’t know where I am and life seems a million miles away the temptation to leave is just so powerful, like some entity has taken over – and in a way, it has. The Lyme bacteria and the toxic mould spores have colonized my physical body, entered my nervous system and brain, so this ‘possession’ or ‘entity’ is not even a metaphor really, it’s biological fact, for those of you who believe in science. And so, I have no inspirational words right now, I am just in a day-by-day struggle to keep going, through the timeless fog that seems eternal, through an experiencer that seems to be fading away. Friends and mentors say, “Jeff, you will get through this, I just know it, stay positive, hold to hope, people do get out of this hell…”, and bless them, they really mean it and truly care and I want to believe it, I mean truly I do, but in the druggy drowsy dissociated fog of this liminal space sometimes those words are like Chinese words to me, I cannot understand or even process them, like being told that “one day” you will be out of the water when you are drowning each day, gasping for breath, which sometimes I literally am because of the POTS. It is so hard to hold to any kind of rational, conventional reality. I know I am not the only one living with chronic illness, I know I am not the only one suffering each day, trying to get through, fighting to get through, and my heart goes out to all of you in your own personal struggles, both mental and physical. I pray that you make it. I pray that I can make it. I would love for all of us to make it together. Yet, I surrender. I know I am in God’s hands now, and always have been. In the hands of great and mysterious forces beyond my control or anyone’s control, and in the hands of doctors and healers and therapists and good friends who can hold me in my terror and sorrow and longing for the end of suffering, but ultimately I am in God’s hands, yes, and whether I live or die, somehow it doesn’t feel up to me anymore, and that is a great relief. I have been fortunate to have been given a beautiful life. I’ve had so many adventures. Made so many wonderful friends. Laughed and cried and felt and experienced so much. Been so touched by the world. If it all ends now, or in 40 years time, I have been blessed. 40 years is a full life though, it truly is. We are all going to die, and surely quality of life and number of lives touched and amount of beauty experienced along the way is way more important than number of years lived, I have been with enough dying people to know that. And so I continue putting one foot in front of the other. I continue as long as I can continue in this fucking hellish night and fog. I hope I can continue for a long, long time. And if not, if Thanatos manages to pull me right down into their bowels, know that I have loved you all, and I have been loved in return. Some may say I am exaggerating all this, creating drama where there is none, too ‘identified’ with the bodymind and the manifest world, too ‘lost in ego’, too ‘indulgent’ in my suffering. Some may say I am now in full resistance to life, overthinking, stuck in a story. Some may say I am too much in my head, or I’m doing all this for the attention or pity. Bless them all, all these voices of fear and ignorance and shame, voices of ableism, and I say to all who deny or minimize the struggles of the sick, and the often terrible lonely reality of chronic illness, you do not know until you know, and you cannot speak for the experience of another, and I might have thought and said the same before it happened to me. Ugh, the hubris. I just would never have known this kind of daily physical hell was possible. I understand why some people with chronic illnesses decide to take their own lives. I really do. I would never judge anyone for choosing to leave. It seems to me to be a basic human right, a birthright in fact, the right to self-determination. And it took being inside this hell realm to wake me up to an even more infinitely heartbreaking compassion for all beings. All beings. A compassion forged in the fires of hell, as ironic as that may be. Yes, hell can forge compassion, and damn what anyone else says. Et lux in tenebris lucet. Hell has no real power over love anyway, and the Light is everlasting and destroys hell prior to time. Sometimes we must come close to death in order to understand life even more deeply, that’s really what I am saying, the rest is metaphor. Anyway, I do hope I can survive this. I would love to live. I have always loved life so much. But I am on my knees today, humbled, in prayer, to great unnamable forces, to my ancestors and to all who will come after me, to the neurotoxic mold spores and the Lyme bacteria itself, more mysterious than I could ever imagine, more powerful than I ever knew, as much an expression of the Divine as anything else. This confession may end my career but at least I can end it with integrity. At the end of the day, I am just a human being, suffering, brought to my knees through sickness, surrendered completely to the mysteries of creation. In God’s hands, and if you don’t like the word ‘God’ know that it’s just a pointer to the ineffable, pre-conceptual Mystery of the Universe, prior to all organised religion, a “finger pointing to the moon” as they say in Zen. I may write ‘beautifully’ – and, well, thank you to those of you who say that – but please know I am writing from the depths of hell and despair. A little light in the darkness. I pray that the light does not go out, I know that it cannot really. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the love, the kind words, the incredible support, the donations, the poetry, the good advice, the healing. I cannot thank you all enough. Bless you. I am overwhelmed and on my knees today in gratitude and in reverence and in submission and in the deepest prayer. And utterly, utterly in God’s hands, and I guess I always was. And I guess we all are, throughout each inhale and each exhale and through the sacred spaces inbetween. - Jeff Foster ... See MoreSee Less

3 months ago  ·  

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And the night belongs to us, and the dawn too, and we shall never again forget this grace we have been given, never again abandon this day in pursuit of another. Love is not something you find, it is like an energy, flowing, sometimes soft, barely perceptible, pulsating, sometimes surging, volcanic, spilling out everywhere, filling the cracks in the sidewalk, the walls we erected to keep us apart, bubbling like a brook, finding its way into every space, unstoppable, unstoppable, searching for its source, looking for its home, flowing through trees, lakes, people, flowing into the open skies, past galaxies, backwards and forwards through time. A baby is born, a man takes his last breath in a hospital somewhere, who knows where, an army rises, is defeated, rises, a slave breaks his chains, great beasts walk the earth, not knowing how close they have come to the fires. Stars are born and explode, your first birthday, your graduation, the death of your mother, your father, weeping into handkerchiefs, challenges you felt you would never overcome, and you overcame, and somewhere in the middle of the night, out across some vast ocean, somewhere in the dark recesses of your heart, or perhaps near the limits of the known universe, I don't know, she remembers, she turns back, remembering the source, yes, she remembers the source now, and she turns back, not seeking but falling, not pushing but allowing herself to be pulled, and she falls back, through the light and the darkness, through the sewage of a million lost worlds, through mystery, through layers of bliss and pain, into you, into your ancient heart, into her home. She has travelled to the ends of worlds, beyond time and space, through indescribable horrors and ecstasies, and she has found you again, where she left you, where the search began. You take a breath now, you feel the heart beating, you feel your belly rise and fall, and this is not just some ordinary movement, some moment in a series of moments, this is eternity moving, breathing, infinite in nature, finite in form yet infinite in heart, and it was always you, it was always you, sought and found, lost and discovered.It is just an ordinary day in your life, kids to feed, bills to pay, feelings to feel, but now you know, now you cannot forget, despite the dream, despite the journey, the dawn belongs to you, and the night too, and every call of every creature, and every pair of eyes, all yourself looking, wondering, thinking of home, and you shall never again forget this grace you have been given, never again abandon this day in pursuit of another, never seek love outside your own pumping heart, never doubt what you intuitively knew when mother ejected you into this world, kicking and screaming, broken and bloody but brilliantly yourself, that you are not a mistake, you are not a damn mistake, you are nature, you are whole, and worthy, worthy of the kind of love that travels aeons and light years and pulls itself through the shadows and the shit to return. From you she birthed herself, to you she comes running.Home, mother, home!- Jeff Foster (from The Way of Rest). ... See MoreSee Less

3 months ago  ·  

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Hi Everyone. As you may know, our dear friend Jeff Foster is seriously ill with chronic neurological Lyme disease and needs immediate medical help. He's helped and inspired so many people around the world and now we want to help him in return..... https://gofund.me/2c333d5d

A Confession .... 😢❤️
http://r.lifewithoutacentre.com/achkhlbbedt7e.html?t=1619907120&fbclid=IwAR3FiGKgb8ZsE81pLWgyF1jkHkoNZ3S2uh_K3UcspL8RmO1FqDCa0JG9eNU