RiverCoyote27905

Gather around, Friends. Let me tell you all a tale.

Two years ago...an extremely cautious fellow happened upon a site called KickAssTorrents. He saw no harm in registering...so he became a member. He didn't visit the community...he stayed in the shadows and downloaded movies and music that were of interest to him. One day this fellow decided to step out of the shadows.

How long was he in the Shadows? About 15 Months
.
He broke his long silence when a fellow by the name of SirSeedsAlot approached him with a hearty "Welcome".

(Demonically possessed and heavily armed cats? Still not sure about that one...)

It was then that he discovered a strangely unique world...a fantastic blend of fantasy and reality...of BACON and fellows know as L4zyb34r and UnionJack.



This quiet stranger discovered the art of creating Torrents and was soon "Verified" by a dude named "RonThePirate"

Hard to believe...but a few short months later...this timid, quiet fellow crawled out of his shell and had been "Promoted" to Super Moderator.

He had overcome many hurdles in his personal life...had wished a few KAT friends a safe journey...and had wept tears of fire as two Saints of the site and community were buried in the "Real World".

And yet...this Silent Stranger remains in the Land of KAT.

He is now considered an "Old Timer"...and he is grateful for it.

I know this fellow...as do you all...for he is I. Thank you all for being a part of my life. You have no idea how so many of you have had a positive influence in my life.

Thank you for standing with me in this world and life...known as KAT.

HERE'S TO TWO MORE YEARS!

Many users on KAT are curious as to what it is like to be a Moderator on KAT.

Ahhh...what a glorious position of unadulterated POWER! The absolute rush of being able to render a member voiceless...useless...or non existent.
It may appear that this is a fact...but nothing could be further from the truth.

I am RiverCoyote. I have only been here for a short time...I have been a VUL for about 6 months and a Mod for a little over 2.

I work hard on a daily basis...from bending steel to operating impact wrenches.
I come home from work each day and collapse in the office chair...time to update the Native American Meditations Thread.
Yup...at least 6 PM's are waiting...each are of great urgency. Read them and reply...the User comes before the Thread.
Are there any reported Torrents? Start downloading while looking into reported users...
What are their issues? How can I resolve them? Do I need to pass this up to a Staff or an Admin person? What are the thoughts of the other Mods on this?

Gotta hit the shower...the smell of filthy steel and sweat is becoming intolerable.
Update the Thread...then it's time to clean up.
Great! Someone is arguing with someone in PM land...time to step in before it gets out of hand and moves to a public thread.
85 Reported Comments? Really?
One Torrent is done downloading...AV is going nuts...delete before the system crashes and burns...
Oh Look...a fresh load of Spam comments in the Torrent Feedback areas...time to start deleting.
What do you mean that the Rep Point System is broken again?
Of course...I'll refresh your trackers for you! Glad to help!
I'm really sorry that I haven't been able to help you find a Native American Name yet...Perhaps when things calm down a bit...

Friends...understand that this is not just a "Me" scenario. What you have just read is what each and every Mod, Staff, and Admin goes through in 1 Hour...there is no distortion or exaggeration in these facts.

Why do I do it? Because I believe KAT is worth it. The makers of this site believe in me and trust that I will make the best decisions possible on the spur of the moment. We invest our time and ourselves into EVERYTHING we do here...so please be patient...we are far from perfect. When we do well...our reward is silence.

Thank you all for being a member of My Family. YOU ARE WORTH IT.
Sincerely Yours,
RC

Right around this time of year we all have a tendency to take many things for granted. Many of us choose to wallow in self-pity as well as dwell on the things that we have lost over the years.

I received an interesting reality check yesterday. I was sitting on KAT performing my typical moderation duties... When there came a knock on my door.

"Excuse me sir, do you have any work for me to do?"


It was a young fellow... I believe around the age of 10. This of course, caught me totally off guard. Very seldom do we have visitors that come by the house and especially on Christmas Eve.

I responded "Well I don't believe I have anything for you at this time. What is the occasion? What is the sudden need for a job?"

"Well sir, I got a Christmas present for my stepmother, but I don't have the money for the batteries that it requires. Are you sure there isn't something I can do so I can earn the money?"

"Well young man, why don't you come back tomorrow morning and I'll see if I have something for you at that time."

Bright and early this morning, I believe it was around 9:30 AM, once again there came a knock on my door. Sure enough it was the same young man. Again he asked that if we had any work for him to do.

My better half, Patti, reached into her purse and took out six dollars.

"Young man, take this money and go down the block to a local convenience store. This money should cover the cost of those batteries. Purchase them, and make sure that your stepmother gets them with her present."

This child's heart was in the right place. For the simple act, he was rewarded... And because of this, our family reaped the benefit.

Moral of the story... It is always better to give of yourself then to receive that which has no true value.


Allow this tale to embed in your soul. It is a story as real as the sunrise. I wish that we all can be more like this young man.

To ALL my Brother and Sisters in the World of KAT

River Coyote has returned...the Month of Jagged Rocks and Poison Arrows has finally come to an end.
Many of you may recall that this time of trials began with the sudden passing of my best friend, who died peacefully in his sleep on August 8th.


The very next day, I brought my wife into the Hospital, where she remained for several days.
Once she returned, I had to assist my best friend's wife with the arrangements for her husband. I swore to him a few months previously that I would see his ashes to their final resting place...alongside his son who had passed ten years ago. I traveled over 700 miles in one day, but I kept my word. Sage and an Eagle Feather took the Journey to the next world with his ashes. He was buried in the same way as the great warriors of old.

Oh, did I fail to say that while all this was happening, our Landlady gave us notice to move out...30 day notice, that is!
We were officially moved out on August 31st...and moved into a room at the local Motel. There, we discovered the fine art of cooking in an electric frying pan, Housekeeping, and the peaceful scream of a fully loaded Train at all hours of the day and night. Ahhh...sweet bliss!
wrong image
Finally, after many days of trials and tribulations, the sun started to shine through the clouds. We found a new place to live and have now moved in completely.
Many things have happened in the last month...many time I've shed tears of fire...the people I've lost...the pain I've endured...and yes, many times I've thought about the world of KAT and the friends that have been keeping me and my family in their thoughts and prayers.
This SALUTE is to all of you. Thank you for being there Spiritually for US. Together, we are one...and for that I am truly grateful.

Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake.

Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well.

Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street often worried us.



He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII.

Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity.

When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up.

He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened.

He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him.
Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, "Would you like a drink from the hose?"

The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah, sure," with a malevolent little smile.
wrong image

As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him down.
As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl's assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled.

Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him.

Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get there fast enough to stop it.

"Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet.

Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head. "Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday."

His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.

Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, "Carl, what are you doing?"

"I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately," came the calm reply.

Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place.

A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was unchallenged.
Carl again offered them a drink from his hose.

This time they didn't rob him.. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water.

When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done.

Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on with his watering.

The summer was quickly fading into fall. Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches.

As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack.

"Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time."

The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl.

"What's this?" Carl asked. "It's your stuff," the man explained. "It's your stuff back.
Even the money in your wallet." "I don't understand," Carl said. "Why would you help me now?"

The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. "I learned something from you," he said. "I ran with that gang and hurt people like you. We picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it But every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn't hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate."

He stopped for a moment. "I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back."

He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say. "That bag's my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess." And with that, he walked off down the street. wrong image

Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist.. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago.

He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather.

In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn't know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church.

The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life.

In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, "Do your best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden."

The following spring another flyer went up. It read: "Person needed to care for Carl's garden."

The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister's office door.

Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer. "I believe this is my job, if you'll have me," the young man said.

The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl.

He knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life around. As the minister handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, "Yes, go take care of Carl's garden and honor him."

The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done.

During that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl's memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.

One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn't care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, "My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him home on Saturday.."

"Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?"

"Carl," he replied..

Welcome to my World. RC

WoundedEagle's Trail
The world today is a complicated, confusing place that is slowly sapping Humanity of its spirituality and inner peace. This reality is something we are urged to accept and apply in our daily living, but this is not a requirement of life! We need to make a conscious decision to change for ourselves…without influence of those around us.
Lets turn from the chaos for a moment and focus on our basic needs for survival…food, water, air, shelter, clothing and last but not least, love. Without any one of these, we will perish. These basic needs are required of all living things…Man, Animals, Plants, etc.
You may notice that Material Wealth isn’t a requirement in life. Take this point to heart. The true wealth we gain on Earth isn’t measured in material things. Those who we have influenced along life’s long and winding road in fact measure our true worth. In the long run, our final value is calculated at Heaven’s Gate.
How does a person reach the point of going back to the basics? You know, the true necessities of life?
Unfortunately, in many cases, something catastrophic forces us to face reality. These may be quite complex situations… such as the mistakes we have made in our lives, the ones we have hurt, or the relationships we have destroyed. These life experiences can make you or break you. If you choose to make these experiences your tools during the rest of your walk on this earth, you will be able to hold your head up high and remain thankful for the dawn of each and every new day.
This is the path that I chose after a MAJOR event changed my life and my “walk” forever.
Extreme cycles of abuse existed in my household. In order to break these cycles, my family reached out for help through Social Services and the Local Law Enforcement Agencies. This was a desperate cry for help that proved to be very effective. I was forcibly removed from my family and was incarcerated.
During the time I spent in Jail, I was forced to examine myself, the mistakes that I had made, and all those who had suffered because of my words, thoughts and actions. BUT, before I could see the error of my ways, I needed to die.
As I sat in a small Holding Cell in a cold county Jail, the laugh of Satan rocked me to the very depth of my soul. “I’ve got you now you Son of a Bitch!” echoed throughout my Cell. Tears of pure anguish, hate, and fear burned down my face as I cried out for Death’s blanket to surround me. However, God had another plan for me. I reached out with trembling hands and grabbed the only book I was allowed to have in my Cell…The Bible. I opened it and started to read verses at random. Then it happened. The Great Spirit reached down and KILLED me.
At that very moment in time, the worldly addicted, self-gratifying “Me” was destroyed. Then, he reached down and grabbed me firmly by the hand, pulled me to my feet and instructed me to walk a new path like no other. It isn’t an easy path…full of vines, thorns and pitfalls, but this is his will. So be it!
Jail, of course wasn’t a pleasant experience, but it is one that I can look back on and smile. That holding cell wasn’t a portal to my end, rather the gateway to a new beginning.
After serving my full sentence, I was released on a cool November morning. I jumped into my car and drove about a half a block when I realized that something was wrong. Yup. A flat tire! I’m sure the Jailers were laughing, but I didn’t care! I WAS FREE!!! The air had never smelled so fresh! A light dusting of snow made everything so clean and refreshing! A quick tire change and down the road I went!
My home had changed dramatically. It was no longer the cozy 3 bedroom 1 ½ story house in a quiet neighborhood, instead it had changed into a 1 bedroom apartment above a small business right on Main Street! OK. It wasn’t home yet, but in time I could make it do. I had never visited this small town before, but now it was my home. This was the first step on my new walk.
It was on my second day of freedom that I received the call of the wilderness. This is something that is hard to describe. The peace that was growing inside of me was calling out to be fed by a place of solitude and true serenity. Actually, it was more like a conversation between two kindred spirits. A conversation in which I had no control.
My soul cried out to be fed…and the heart of the Minnesota River Valley answered. A knife that I had received in trade for a pack of Cigarettes now had new meaning to me. It no longer was to be used as a weapon, rather a tool in which to aid others in their walk through life. In a small park a short distance from my new home, I set out with my knife down a well-used ATV trail.
A whirlwind of emotions surrounded me. Fear, anger, loneliness and depression attempted to engulf me. It was at that time that I first heard the call of serenity. I spotted a young sapling, standing straight and tall against the chill of the fall air.

“Use me”, it cried.
Yup…I’ve lost it! I’m Funny Farm bound! Ahhh… soon my peace would come in the fashion of a 10cc syringe, loaded with Thorazine and a nice padded room in which to vegetate.
“Cut me and make me a new creation.”
Huh? You’ve got to be kidding! All right…what do I have to lose? I cut the sapling off carefully at the base. This wasn’t easy, especially because the tool I was using was intended for cutting flesh, not wood. However, in time the tree was freed from its mooring in the earth. I held the young tree and proceeded to strip the limbs from the trunk.
I thought deeply as to what this was to become. As I worked, I took a step back and stumbled over some vines.
As I braced myself for the imminent, the stick caught me. I staggered and regained my footing. My mission was clear now and my focus renewed. I should have fallen, but I was saved by this life that had been given for me. I stripped the bark from the sapling and brought it home.
The process of progress is a slow and tedious one. How one measures this progress is very difficult. Physical progress is rather easy to see, while emotional progress can only be measured in time.
I sat alone in my kitchen, slowly shaping the crown of my wooden savior. The knots in this walking stick proved to be rather difficult to work with, but success was the only option…failure was not. The knots were carved down to an acceptable texture and the tedious process of drying began.
I had no fancy drying machine to aid in this process, just a small, wall mounted furnace with a rather powerful fan that circulated heat throughout my apartment. This is where the stick found it’s temporary resting place.
Due to the nature of my incarceration, it was one of my conditions of probation to complete a formal program of therapy and after care.
I was hesitant at first because I didn’t want to face the atrocities of my past. I wanted to forget and get on with my new life. But, that was not to be the case. In order to be healed, I had to face the ill of my ways.
My counselor, “Ted” is of Native American heritage and has a depth to him that cannot be measured. I told him of my experience in the heart of the Minnesota River Valley.
I shared, in great detail, the selection, cutting, and shaping of the stick. He listened quietly, absorbing my every word. When I finished my Tale, he sat in silence. After a few moments, he looked up from his notebook.
“When you took the tree, what did you leave in its place?” he asked.
“Huh?” I replied.
“What right do you have to take something that isn’t yours, turn your back, and walk away? What price did you pay for it?”
He was right. I had stolen the stick. But, from whom?
“In all of life, there is a give and take. We go to the store and PURCHASE food. The cashier totals the value of the items we have selected and then we pay for them. The exchange is complete. We express love towards another person and we receive a response in return. Once again, the exchange has been made.”
I had stolen from nature and, in fact, God.
“The next time you cut a tree, make sure you make an exchange. In the Native American tradition, we would make a gift of Tobacco, a drop of our own blood, or something of great value to us. I encourage you to do the same.”
The next day I trudged back to the woods like a little boy who had taken a piece of candy from the Five and Dime without paying for it and was caught by Mom. My exchange was to be made in the form of a fine, darkly roasted style of Coffee.
I left the woods that day with a much deeper understanding regarding the exchange between man and all other living things.
The feelings that I experienced that day cannot be described, only experienced and absorbed. A seed had been planted. Peace had begun to grow within me. "WoundedEagle" was born.