{"id":2133,"date":"2025-07-07T18:35:25","date_gmt":"2025-07-07T18:35:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/travelingboy.com\/adventure\/?p=2133"},"modified":"2025-07-07T19:01:28","modified_gmt":"2025-07-07T19:01:28","slug":"childhood-teleportation","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/travelingboy.com\/adventure\/childhood-teleportation\/","title":{"rendered":"Childhood Teleportation"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
Raoul’s Two Cents: July 4, 2025<\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Pepito<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

This is an original story from a dream this week<\/em> — Raoul<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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In the dusty town of San Isidro<\/strong>, where the sun baked the cobblestones and the sea\u2019s salty breath clung to the air, lived a boy named Pepito<\/strong>. Barefoot and clad in a patched shirt, he roamed the market, selling fish from a rickety cart. His voice, sharp and hopeful, called out, \u201cFresh fish! Caught this morning!\u201d <\/em>But his pockets stayed empty, his meals meager, and his dreams small\u2014except for one: every Holy Week, the grand church at the town\u2019s heart held a retreat, a sacred gathering where God\u2019s word echoed through candlelit halls. Pepito longed to attend, but the entrance fee was a fortune he could never scrape together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The church loomed over San Isidro, its stone walls cold and imposing, ruled by Father Burgos<\/strong>, a priest whose heart seemed as rigid as the iron gates. His rules were law: no running in the courtyard, no speaking out of turn, no unwashed hands touching the pews. Break one, and the consequences were swift\u2014public shaming, lashings, or worse. The townsfolk whispered that Father Burgos\u2019s God was one of wrath, not mercy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One spring, as Holy Week approached, a stranger arrived in San Isidro. He was old, with a face creased like weathered parchment and eyes that held a quiet warmth. His name was Mateo<\/strong>, a wanderer come for the retreat. On his way to the church, he paused at Pepito\u2019s cart, drawn by the boy\u2019s earnest calls. They spoke\u2014Pepito shy at first, then spilling stories of the sea, his fish, his dreams. Mateo listened, his smile soft. When Pepito admitted his longing for the retreat, Mateo reached into his worn cloak and pressed coins into the boy\u2019s hand. \u201cCome,\u201d<\/em> he said. \u201cGod\u2019s word is for everyone.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pepito\u2019s heart soared. Inside the church, the retreat was a revelation. Candlelight danced on the walls, hymns filled the air, and the scriptures spoke of love and redemption. For the first time, Pepito felt close to something divine, as if God Himself whispered to his soul. He sat wide-eyed, drinking in every word, unaware of Father Burgos\u2019s gaze\u2014narrow, suspicious, tracking the ragged boy who didn\u2019t belong<\/strong>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The retreat ended on a somber note, the villagers filing out into the twilight. As they left, Father Burgos\u2019s voice cut through the murmurs. \u201cStop!\u201d<\/strong><\/em> he bellowed, holding up a hand. \u201cThe sacred chalice is gone!\u201d <\/em>His eyes locked on Pepito, the outsider, the poor boy who\u2019d dared enter his sanctuary. \u201cThief!\u201d <\/em>he accused, pointing. \u201cYou took it!\u201d<\/em> The crowd gasped, turning on Pepito, whose protests were drowned by their murmurs. Father Burgos\u2019s verdict was merciless: theft of a holy relic meant stoning, a punishment from ancient times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pepito trembled, tears streaking down his cheeks, swearing his innocence. But the priest\u2019s rules were ironclad, and the crowd, fearful of Burgos\u2019s wrath, began to gather stones. Then Mateo stepped forward, his voice steady. \u201cIf you must punish someone, take me instead,<\/em>\u201d he said. \u201cThe boy is innocent.\u201d<\/em> The crowd hesitated, but Father Burgos, unyielding, agreed. Mateo was led to the square, where stones flew until he fell, silent and still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The chalice was found the next day, misplaced in the sacristy by a careless altar boy. Whispers of guilt spread, but Father Burgos offered no apology, only a sermon on obedience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pepito, heartbroken, left San Isidro, carrying Mateo\u2019s kindness and the bitter truth in his heart: rules do not make kind hearts<\/strong>. True compassion, he learned, comes from those who listen, who give, who sacrifice\u2014strangers like Mateo, not priests like Burgos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Hope you liked it. I woke up from this dream with tears in my eyes. Of course I had to clean up a lot of ambiguity (as most dreams go) but I think I captured the essence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

TGIF people! Happy Fourth of July America!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If you like my emails, please do me a favor and spread it around. Thank you!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thanks to Colleen of Washington State<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\u201cIntegrity has no need of rules.” <\/em>— Albert Camus<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIntegrity is telling myself the truth. And honesty is telling the truth to other people.” <\/em>— Spencer Johnson<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“When the whole world is silent, even one voice is powerful.”<\/em> — Malala Yousafzai<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.\u201d<\/em> — 1 Peter 2:24<\/p>\n\n\n\n

JOKE OF THE WEEK<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Thanks to Tom of Pasadena, California<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Original art by Raoul Pascual.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Parting Shots<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Thanks to Frank of Modesto, California<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Thanks to Tom of Pasadena, CA<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Thanks to Boris of Washington, DC<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Thanks to Maling of New Manila, Philippines<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Thanks to Lito of Anaheim, CA<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Thanks to Art of Sierra Madre, CA<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Good to know:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Good to know:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Thanks to Norm of Encino, CA<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Good to know:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Thanks to Colleen of Washington State<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

I found these:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

My good friend (and jokester) Terry and I came up with these.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Got any good jokes? Come share it with rest of us!
Know someone who enjoys a laugh? Share this website.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

SUBSCRIBE<\/a><\/h2>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In the dusty town of San Isidro, where the sun baked the cobblestones and the sea\u2019s salty breath clung to the air, lived a boy named Pepito. Barefoot and clad in a patched shirt, he roamed the market, selling fish from a rickety cart. His voice, sharp and hopeful, called out, \u201cFresh fish! Caught this morning!\u201d But his pockets stayed empty, his meals meager, and his dreams small\u2014except for one: every Holy Week, the grand church at the town\u2019s heart held a retreat, a sacred gathering where God\u2019s word echoed through candlelit halls. 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