My Personal History of Philosophy to it's External Things

By KENNETH GUIMOND

About The Book: The pain we get from life and the moments of happiness we weaved into memories are all connected to one number that defines us. The science of numerology can explain where we are coming from and what we will face. My life experiences are proof of what Numerology holds for us. I did not live a simple life; all betrayed me, leaving me hopeless. Those heart-wrenching moments drive me reconnect to myself, aiming to find reason for failing so much. My curiosity brings me to aiming to find reason for failing so much. My grandchildren, my wife, and my sons' traumas were and are already predestined! My Personal History Of Philosophy To Its External Things could explain how my life was and is related to one number that shook me to the core. The book is record of my experiences that make you find the connection between every tinniest thing and the complex things and its ability to maneuver it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: KENNETH GUIMOND
• Release date: Feb 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224442119

KENNETH GUIMOND

I am 61 years old, born June 27-1962. Address: Fort Alexander, MB R0E 0P0, Canada Box 39, Tipi Road 227. I worked 35 years with septic tank service pump-outs. I own a septic truck with a 1600-gallon tank, Year is 2006 INTERNATIONAL 4200 Tanker 6 CYL WHITE. Need to find work because DPW bought two trucks in the year 2012 after I removed four hundred loads of waste from the townsite due to a 4-day nonstop rainfall Kenneth Miles Guimond

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Acknowledgements

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About the Author

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Preface

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Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Preface

Chapter 1: My Personal History of Philosophy to Its External Things

Chapter 2: Childhood

Chapter 3: TBD

Chapter 4: TBD

Chapter 5: TBD

Chapter 6: TBD

Chapter 7: TBD

Chapter 1: TBD

Affected by failures of memories in a residual risk of a place and time, life is about choices, and I made a lot of them, good and bad. The bad ones revealed to me how merciless fate was in its primal form. The failures I endured left all kinds of scars on my mind and body. But I learned to deal with it as any man would. I know I was never supposed to be someone who would become part of the elitist society. But I never imagined my life would turn out the way it did. I loved. I lost.

Twenty years passed by, and it still seems like it was all a while ago. Twenty years of grief, cruelty, and heartbreak almost drove me to insanity. How I managed to recover and gather what was left of my sanity still surprises me to this day. I guess you could say I was not entirely aware of the world I was born into. The world is embedded with racism and inhabited by the worst kinds of human beings that put down the weak.

I am a Native American man or an Indigenous person, as you would know them. An Indigenous man, just as traumatized as my ancestors, even though our experiences are generationally different. When I ever get lonely, I tend to connect with my ancestral spirits and ask them for advice. They hear me now and then. That is when I do not feel alone.

I am not sure which category of humans I fit in when it comes down to the victim and oppressor, but I do know that I am a survivor. And I know that I did the best I could to accept my circumstances and move on. But I cannot move on without writing my experiences down and telling you what someone like me had to deal with.

You could say my life boils down to six people in my story. I will go by their Indigenous names, The father (spotted the charging bear), the mother (Star Woman), the son (Man Sitting on Rain clouds), and Able (I do not know his Indigenous name). My mom, Me-Me, did not have an Indigenous name, only a nickname. Me-Me, was born with a mystical date of birth, 4th April,1944, fourth-month fourth day, 44 years? 4 4 4 in the phenomenon. Also, my 4-month-old grandson.

I will start my story with my scrap-hauling truck. I used that truck for a respectable number of years until it started to age and get rusty on me. It got to the point where it started falling apart. Finally, one tire gave in and came loose. The tire rolled ahead of me and crashed into the ditch. That marked the last time I ever used my truck. The truck was my main income, so I was out of work by then.

The year was 1997 when I met with Star woman's brother, Able. We would usually visit him now and then, but one day I noticed an old truck parked in his field. I decided to take a close look at it. The tires looked new. I asked Able if he would be willing to sell the tires, and he told me I could take the entire truck if I wanted.

All I had to do was fix it and get it to run. It was an old septic truck with a 750-gallon tank with standard steering and brakes. Able was a family head. He gave the truck away to me for free. He was simply happy to help a family in need. That was how we operated. We were a single-family unit looking out for one another through thick and thin.

It did not take me long to get the truck fixed and get the go-ahead from the Chief to clean all the septic tanks on the reserve. I started doing the tanks from one end of the reserve to the other end. I saw most of the septic tanks, which looked like they had not been pumped out for years. It took an exceedingly long time to pump out the tanks. The sewage was so thick it looked like clay. I had to use a spoon to stir and break up the septic waste to pump it out.

I