return to top

Aleta's Dream Herald

A compilation of current and historical images, writings and videos pertaining to humanity and our struggle to evolve.


Using art, literature, news and humor to promote an informed and reasoned response to the world we find ourselves living in.

"What you see with your eyes closed is what counts."
~ Lame Deer, Lakota Sage

In Today's Headlines...

Updated Daily ~ click below to read today's full stories

Advertisement: advertisement

Online "live" Targeted Computer Training Webinars for Busy People

ComputerPAL uses state of the art tools to bring cutting edge live training to you in the comfort of your own home or office. Each 2 hour seminar recorded for your convenience.

Our affordable pay and learn system gives you instant direct access to a live professional training experience:

  • Learn professional productivity and efficiency tips
  • Get your questions answered in real time by a professional instructor
  • Access to exercise file(s) and detailed step-by-step pdf manual (including handy keyboard shortcuts) for download
  • Private tutoring and project assistance available

For a current list of scheduled classes visit this link:

2015 LIVE Webinar Training Calendar

Reserve your spot, register today!

Our goal is helping you meet yours: Ask about our custom courses, schedules, and private remote tutoring. Visa and Mastercard accepted.

Video Corner

Charlie Chaplin ~ The Great Dictator 1940
Final Speech

"You must speak."
"I can't."
"You must. It's our only hope." And then, this:

wildrose image

Feminism is NO Joke

There sure is a lot of confusion about what feminism is and is not these days. What else is new? Well, here is a little twist in the feminism 'debate' ~ it used to be younger women trying to liberate their elders, now it seems the tables are slightly turned, as a growing number of young women and girls (or perhaps, it's just the perceived 'loudness' of social media) are joining in a pictographic chorus of 'I don't need feminism because...'.


The meme is odd, and perhaps just too juvenile to be taken seriously, but it still feels a little dangerous.

So, in the spirit of seriousness that the topic deserves I give you the following:

First a Serious Definition of FEMINISM from a real dictionary. It says:

  1. the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes
  2. organized activity on behalf of women's rights and interests

But perhaps even better would be ~
Ms. Kitty Flanagan's response to 'Women Against Feminism'

So you still think you don't need feminism?


T'd Off? Get A Feminist Tee & Work It!

Here is a collection from my HPS Propaganda store dedicated to reminding us all of the incredible sacrifices made just to bring women the vote. Not to mention all the other hard won rights like the right to an education, to work ouside the home, to own property, or simply to determine your own fate. And a reminder to us all that if we take our rights for granted we are just as apt to lose them.

by HomePlanetSecurity

"Politics is the art of making the people believe that they are in power, when in fact, they have none."
~ Mumia Abu-Jamal

"Many people say it is insane to resist the system, but actually, it is insane not to."
~ Mumia Abu-Jamal

birdclipart freemumiadotcom

Mumia Abu-Jamal is a prisoner under a sentence of life without parole. Sentenced in 1982, Mumia was hospitalized on 5/13/2015. Click Free Mumia above to learn more about this inspiring man.

The pessimist complains about the wind;
The optimist expects it to change;
The realist adjusts the sails.

~ William A. Ward

The War Prayer

Satire by Mark Twain

"I have told the whole truth in that (the piece 'The War Prayer'), and only dead men can tell the truth in this world. It can be published after I am dead." This piece was discovered in 1910 after his death and finally published in 1923.

The War Prayer

It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fulttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory with stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener.

It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety’s sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

Sunday morning came — next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams — visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender!

Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation:

God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest, Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!

Then came the “long” prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory —

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher’s side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, “Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord and God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!”

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside — which the startled minister did — and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:

“I come from the Throne — bearing a message from Almighty God!” The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. “He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import — that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of — except he pause and think. “God’s servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two — one uttered, and the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this — keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon your neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain on your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse on some neighbor’s crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

“You have heard your servant’s prayer — the uttered part of it. I am commissioned by God to put into words the other part of it — that part which the pastor — and also you in your hearts — fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard the words ‘Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!’ That is sufficient. The whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory — must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

“Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth into battle — be Thou near them! With them — in spirit — we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended in the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames in summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it —

For our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimmage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet!

We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

(After a pause.) “Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits.”

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

daisy divbar image

Poetry Corner

(Poem #6) Ode

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

~ Arthur O'Shaughnessy

The Mad Ones

They danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!"

~ Jack Kerouac, On the Road


I want to literally scream my head off
The head that keeps me confined in small places
Convincing me that hiding is more important than living out loud

I want to scream so loud, that my lid goes shooting off into the universe
Never to be seen again

I want the expanse of potential space to be fully allowed
I want the immense pleasure of being completely present
An alert witness to my continuous unfolding
A conscious participant in its constant flow and redesign

As free as anything has a right to be
Unbound by convention or expectation

Unprompted Unplanned Spontaneous


~ Maria Julia Sorrentino

Sacred Geometry

for Wilda

Back to back we now stand - feeling the resistance
At first we had danced close – and usually you led
While the push and pull and swing often left us reeling

At the dramatic moment, a tempo change
Face to face, we looked hard into each other’s eyes
And started at the rhythms we saw played out there

On impulse we both pushed a last time – and let go
The force and momentum swung us out and away
We each watched the other fading into the distance

‘Partner, look to me’ we called out
Louder, more dissonant we sang our parts
The gulf grew greater with each chorus

We lost sight of each other
In the orbital arc of our backward dance

Caught up in the excitement of self expression
I danced right through the set changes

Until at last I have bumped into the very thing
I have sought the whole long night
Less to perform than to really feel the music

I see clearly where I’ve been, could repeat the steps
But wouldn’t – Always a new step for me

And suddenly they are playing a couples tune again
Nostalgia washes over me for something
Left back there one-hundred-and-eighty degrees

Having learned enough about the symmetry of circles and dances
I know that if we both turn about another one-eighty
This half a world will resolve to be whole again
When we look into the mirror of the other’s eyes

Because circles always have two sides
And dance floors will always have mirrors

~ Aleta


Music for the March ~ 'We Will Sing Our Own Song' with Buffy Sainte-Marie

Buffy Sainte-Marie is a true vampire-slayer. As an artist, an activist and a mother, she has spent her long musical career weaving creative spells to cast out the spirits of complacency, complicity and corruption. These are the blood-sucking monsters of our world that rob us of our humanity. She brings all of her tools to the fight as she battles for social-justice and freedom, through right-action and self-expression, while encouraging us all to do the same. She has long been a super hero of mine, and with the release of her latest collection Power in the Blood, I am inspired to share a bit of her dynamic super powers with you.

In a recent interview on DemocracyNOW! Ms. Sainte-Marie discusses her new album and her philosophy of personal responsibility. Watch the interview now. You can also read an excellent review of the album by Ann Powers of NPR here.

Here is a collection of my favorite cuts from the new album, plus a classic Sainte-Marie song that has been part of the soundtrack of my life since hearing it as a child in the 1970's. That song is 'Universal Soldier'. The final clip is a very early Australian interview with Buffy discussing her artistic beginnings and her theories on the power and purpose of music and art. What a talent, what a human being! Please take a few minutes to enjoy these gems.

Crazy, crazy, crazy... t-shirt

Perfectly designed to refresh your state of mind. Accept that we're all mad and then have another go at life. Makes a great gift for your literary friends. Features Alice and the Cheshire Cat from Wonderland in mid-conversation.

“But I don’t want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can’t help that," said the Cat: "we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad."
"How do you know I’m mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn’t have come here.”

The back of the tee proudly proclaims 'we're all mad here'.

Crazy, crazy, crazy... t-shirt
Crazy, crazy, crazy... t-shirt by HomePlanetSecurity
See other HPS T-Shirts

News from My Shops

Bragging Rights & Humble Gratitude

Designs by Aleta’s Dream Fine Art & Graphic Design - Copyright by Aleta Hutchison 2015 - All rights reserved.