Vegangelisten Nat

🌱 When People Call You a “Junkie” — Medical Cannabis Use When people call you a junkie because you believe in plant food and medicine 🌱😂 — I can’t even be hurt by it anymore. While they eat dead flesh, pop real synthetic pharmakia /drugs, drink alcohol every day, do cocaine, or just smoke cigarettes (which I don’t even do), and you can drink or eat cannabis… I’m not out there on the internet calling people drug addicts, even if they are. Because I know they are often hurt and broken people who need help, not judgment. It’s okay — we can’t help everyone. I don’t even speak to some of my own family members anymore because I can’t handle how drug addiction slowly takes over their soul and hurts themselves and everybody around them — way too often. But calling me a drug addict? That’s a bad joke — or just plain lies. Look in the mirror before you point fingers. I ran away from home at 13 partly because I wanted to escape my mom’s drug addiction and constan...

Tak til Dansk Vegetarisk Forening - DVF for få fokus på at Hjemløse veganere og vegetarer også vil have ret til mad i de offentlige køkkener.💚😁🌱   Link og screanshot  til artiklen i bunden  Mange steder imødekommer man allerede muslimer, ved have droppet grise Kød og kun lave kylling, fisk og ko på herreberrgerne / Krisecenterne / varmestuerne / natcaferne /hospitalerne, eller man har to slags kød, hvis de servere mad der. Vi forventer ik særbehandling hvor andre heller ik får mad. Vi vil altså bare også huskes hårde tider i livet og det behøver ikke være mere arbejde:) alle kan jo oftest spiste vegansk eller ihvertfald der hvor de allerde tænkes på muslimer, kunne de lave det muslimske vælg til også være veganer venligt? :) Jeg tænker bare højt her og igen, det skal ikke tages det skriv som jeg vil tvinge andre til være veganer. Jeg er pænt imod alle former for tvang og ved det valg skal komme fra hjertet som mit gjorde og ik den gang jeg første g...

NASA, the Serpent, and the Deception of Our Times — Why I Choose God’s Truth Over the World’s Lies There was a time I believed in it all. The moon landing… The space shuttles… The glamorous space missions. I believed it. Because the world taught me to. But the more I searched for the world’s knowledge… The more confused I became. Every answer opened ten more questions. Science twisted itself in circles, and instead of clarity, I was left in doubt, emptiness, and frustration. I started noticing the strange things. The name NASA , which sounds almost exactly like “nasha” (נָשָׁא) — the Hebrew word for deceived . The same word Eve used when she said, “The serpent deceived me.” And their logo? A serpent’s tongue, hidden in plain sight. Even the white circling shape in the logo itself — it looks like a serpent wrapping around. It wasn’t just a coincidence. It was a pattern — a sign of the serpent’s fingerprints all over this world system. Genesis 1:6 says God made the fir...

Er Bibelen ændret? - Hvad skete der med Esajas 66:3? Bibelen er blevet oversat mange gange, og nogle gange ændres ikke kun sproget — men selve meningen. Lad os se på Esajas 66:3 , hvor forskellen mellem gamle og nye bibeloversættelser siger lidt. Bibelen 2020 (Hverdagsdansk) — Det Danske Bibelselskab: “De slagter en okse for mig og slår mennesker ihjel. De ofrer lam og brækker hundes hals.” ( Bibelen 2020 ) Denne oversættelse lyder, som om det at slagte dyr er OK — det er kun, når de samtidig gør onde ting mod mennesker, det er forkert. Den autoriserede danske oversættelse 1931 — Det Danske Bibelselskab: “Den, der slagter en Okse, slår et Menneske ihjel; den, der ofrer et Lam, sønderbryder en Hunds Hals.” ( Bibelen 1931 ) Her bliver det helt klart: Det at ofre en okses liv, bliver sat lig med at slå et menneske ihjel. Gud siger ikke, at det er acceptabelt — Han fordømmer det. Hebraisk grundtekst (translittereret): “Shocheṭ ha-shor maḵeh ish; zove'aḥ ha-seh, ...

The Little Town with the Morning Bread - childhood dream's ✨🥖🌱 There was a time, long ago, when I was a child — maybe seven, maybe eight — when my world felt strange and heavy. I had just come to Denmark, everything unfamiliar, everything cold in a way I couldn't explain. But at night, when I closed my eyes, I would slip into "another life" sometimes. In this life, I lived in a small town that felt warmer than anywhere I knew. The streets were narrow, the walls sun-kissed like old Italian houses — though I never really knew if it was Italy. Maybe it was just a dream of peace. And in that town, I had a father. Not the father I would later meet in real life — the sailor, the wanderer, the man I barely knew, who carried storms instead of bread. No, this father was a baker. He owned a small bakery, waking before the sun to knead dough with hands that worked with love, not violence. Sometimes I would wake in the dream and walk to his bakery, the smell of ...