The cult in the snowThere is a kind of cold that belongs to Canada alone. It gets into the bones and stays. Men build strange things in that kind of weather. Some build cabins. Some build churches. Some build little secret empires in basements and rented houses, where the curtains stay drawn and the lights stay low and the truth never sees a window

Walked in, grabbed a coffee. A group of wealthy men laughed—“Let’s ask Mr. Roy, the Earth Angel, Master Magical Healer… he talks to God, right?”They stopped laughing when I said: “A real leader serves. Not to be seen—but to see others.”Let me help you wipe that smirk off your face, genius—because real leaders don’t flex their ti