Reviews of Powers That Beat

Powers That Beat by Elyssa Durant, Ed.M.
ASIN: B00BV7018


When Elyssa writes something, you should read it. She is one of the most intelligent and articulate people I have ever known. She is an amazing researcher and really digs deep for the important facts on any topic she focuses on. If you want to learn details about a topic and get some cutting edge viewpoints related to it, read anything Elyssa Durant writes.
Stuart Silverberg, Ed.D.
Columbia University

Ms. Durant has a talent for explaining complex legal issues in interesting, accessible format. Her level of expertise on the subject matter is impressive and comes through on every page.
Rick Silver, Esq.

Ms. Durant has drawn on her sterling academic background and extensive experience in health services policy development and actual service in the field to present a comprehensive analysis of the organ transplant situation in the United States. She thoroughly discusses all aspects of the situation - not only legal and medical, but also moral, social and ethical aspects and the dilemmas faced when this topic is addressed. Ms. Durant raises significant questions that must be addressed as organ transplants become more commonplace in today's times. A thought provoking book that should be read by everyone as this question touches every American. Highly recommended.
J. D. Yencharis
NASA Mission Planning & Mission Control

Ms. Durant has an amazing ability to discuss complex policy issues in easy to understand language. She has a tremendous grasp of her topic and of her audience. Easy to read and understand; Ms. Durant explains difficult concepts and evolving health care law and policy issues in a user friendly manner. A real eye opener!
Karen Baker, MSW


Personal Reference:
Tim Welsh, Executive Director AutismAid.org Traffic through the roof! AutismAid USA Goes the extra mile !! Go for Gold  WORLDWIDE

I just want all to know what a Hero for the Autism community Elyssa has been for us and how much we appreciate her advocacy and intelligent posts. AutismAid has been a dream of mine for ten years. my heart was just about broken when others took advantage of us. I know that in the end we meet people who we connect with and do the right thing. The 13 Service non profits under the AutismAid Umbrella and many others are in the fight for their life in this economy and environment. This Web and viral traffic is great. Thank you providing the support, documentation and logistics are needed to make the event happen.
@TannersDad
Tim Welsh, Executive Director
AutismAid.org

Educrap From an Educrat: Elyssa Durant's "Harangue" 📚

Fan Mail for ELyssa D'Educrat 📰

EDUCRAP FROM AN EDUCRAT

After reading Elyssa Durant's antf-standardized testing harangue in the Nashville City Paper ("Equity in Education," Aug. 21), I was not at all surprised to learn that the author is a product of a graduate-level education program. Schools of education have long taught future teacher - and other members of the education establishment - to blame everyone but themselves for children not being able to read, write, and do simple math.

The assertion that the ACT and SAT are racially biased is pure poppycock. A student's score on the ACT or SAT is an excellent measure of his or her ability to do college-level math, science, and writing. If a student cannot solve a simple algebraic equation, or if the same student has but a rudimentary grasp of the rules of grammar, the test that points out the student's shortcoming should not be impugned. Instead, the parents, teachers, and educrats who allow students to march toward graduation without receiving a proper education are the ones who deserve derision.

Furthermore, Durant's contention that standardized tests "do not accurately predict academic performance at the college level" is in desperate need of qualification. Some 40 percent of college freshmen require remedial courses in reading, writing or mathematics. These courses, according to Harvard education professor Bridget Terry Long, intended to address acadennc deficiencies and to prepare students for subsequent college success." Thus, high school students who a generation ago would have been forced into the workforce are given a fifth year to complete their high school coursework. And let's be clear: remedial classes may be, well, remedial classes; but students enrolled in such classes are expected to learn the material or face the consequences, i.e., a quick and inglorious end to their college experience. For many - nay, most - remedial students, it is the first time in their academic careers that they are forced to learn.

Jottin' Django ®

📰 Woo hoo! Made you look!

This was my first public lashing in the news. Definitely not the last.

I stand by my the original article and think this guy has a clear agenda. Long live Harvard, you elitist snob.

^ed

Sunset Prayer at Cemetary Gates

 

Several years ago, someone told me that Grandpa was not my "real" grandfather.

Looking back now, I know that was not true. Grandpa was one thing in my life that was, in fact, very, very real.

My grandfather embodied all things constant: consistency, reliability, and unconditional love. I could always depend on him to be there for me: as a child, a young woman, and an adult.

So now I ask myself and all of you to help me define what is "real?" I believe you will come to understand it as I have: "real" is something or someone we can touch; something we can feel.

My grandfather was a man I could trust, a man I could admire, and a man who stood up for what he believed in. My grandfather was, in fact, a man that was so real that he could single-handedly turn dreams into realities.

When I was little, I used to go to my grandparent's when I was too sick to go to school. Grandma would load me up with tea and cheese and Grandpa would load me up with Vitamin C.

As I got older, he continued to care for me. When I was hungry, he sent me food; when I was cold, he sent me clothing. When I was sick, he sent me more vitamins!

When I was scared, he gave me courage; when I was lonely, he gave me shelter; when I was sad, he gave me hope.

He was a man of action, a man of honor, and a man of truth. But most of all, he was a man of integrity. He was a man who exemplified all things wonderful that life had to offer.

He was generous beyond reason and he gave me those things in life money simply cannot buy: he gave me roots, he gave me foundations, and most importantly, he gave me wings.

Rest in peace, Grandpa. You were loved.

Read more:

• Relatively speaking: What is "real?"
• Does DNA alone define who you are? Where you came from? A relationship?
• Blood is not always thicker than water.

ELyssa Durant © 2008-2013 || All Rights Reserved ELyssaD™ || DailyDDoSe™ @ELyssaD™

Posted from DailyDDoSe

Just me,
e

@ELyssaD™
http://elyssadurant.com
http://powersthatbeat.com
^ed

via information4sale.blogspot.com

Internet Graveyard by ELyssa Durant, Ed.M.

I always send duplicate copies of every outgoing e-mail to myself to a number of free-mail accounts. Most have probably expired and I can't even remember most of the passwords to access them-which leads me to wonder what happens to my written works that I have so carefully created? Do they just float around in cyberspace forever? Are my words now immortal? Does that make me grandiose or paranoid?

via voices.yahoo.com

ELyssa Durant © 2008-2013 || All Rights Reserved ELyssaD™ || DailyDDoSe™ @ELyssaD™

A Letter to my Former Therapist by ELyssa Durant, Ed.M. || New York Voice © 2007-2013

A Letter To My Former Therapist

Elyssa D. Durant, Ed.M.

« Article 1 of 29 »

Hi Elyssa,

It's nice to hear from you, I had just been thinking of you. Is there a reason why you sent me two copies? Talk to you soon—Elyssa's Former Therapist

Now how can you call yourself a qualified therapist and ask me such a stupid question? I have at least two of everything!

So my alter-ego as a "cyberwhore" is no longer a secret! I always send duplicate copies of every outgoing e-mail to myself to a number of free-mail accounts. Most have probably expired and I can't even remember most of the passwords to access them, which leads me to wonder what happens to my written works that I have so carefully created? Do they just float around in cyberspace forever? Are my words now immortal? Does that make me grandiose or paranoid?

I had my first appointment with my new psychiatrist on Wednesday and he seems very "eager" to help. He is a very young resident, and I think he is kind of psyched that he got placed at Vanderbilt in Nashville rather than some community mental health center in rural Tennessee. For his training, he needs a number of hours conducting therapy—so I graciously agreed to be one of his guinea pigs. I negotiated a one-hour session every other week.

I hate therapy. It seems so staged and rehearsed. I actually spend hours before a session trying to think of what I should say.

That never seemed to work with you. That kind of annoyed me, because I wanted you to play the game with me. This is the way it is supposed to work: I'll tell you what happened as a child, and you tell me the source of my insanity.

I would try to remember the random things that happen each day and let you know that I was telling you the truth about my life, my world, and my family. On many occasions, I would forget my zinger, my "punch-line" if you will, and I would be so disappointed in myself. I would drop these little tidbits of information hoping you would recognize that I was not completely beyond help, and you might understand the method to my madness. Would that make it okay to be so fucked up? Loony. Crazy. Nuts.

You never once said, "Aha!" Instead, you would listen impatiently as I reflected on childhood traumas. Even the most elaborate reports of my childhood experience did not make you flinch—well, maybe a few times! At what point did you realize that there was some truth in what I was telling you? I would say the same thing over and over because I knew it to be true, to be fact, to be far more cruel and evil than anything I could I make believe as a child. I want to stop playing those games. I am ready to be a person. I am ready to love. I am ready to be "normal."

As I grow, I would like to become more direct, more assertive, and more sure of what I am saying and how it is being received. In the past, I would sit with silence and ambivalence and just fall into situations by default. I don't want complacency to guide me through life. I am not incapable of protecting myself anymore. I hated being such a passive participant in my own life not knowing where I would be living, with whom, and for how long. Learned helplessness. I wonder how things might have been different...if only.

I will never know how events shaped my life and broke my mind. What caused my mind to break? Was I too weak? Was there some point where I should have thrown in the towel and taken my own life? Was there anything, anything I could have done differently to survive? Is there a "normal" breaking point? Did I put up a good fight? Did I do okay?

I want to act with purpose, speak with conviction, and be confident in my decisions. I want to choose action rather than inaction and feel comfortable with the choices I have made. No more ruminating over what I should have, might have, or almost done.

How did you manage to put my mind back together again without knowing what went wrong? Is my head okay? Can I have children?

You were a good therapist, you are a great therapist-- the best!

New York Voices Newspaper Article by ELyssa Durant, Ed.M. 

via powersthatbeat.blogspot.com

Trapped by Elyssa Durant, Ed.M.

Trapped

Have you ever been trapped?

I am not talking about your every day run-of-the-mill subway congestion or an elevator that is filled beyond capacity.  

Trapped.

No way out.

Paralyzed.

Frightened, frustrated, angry and desperate.

Like any ordinary "normal" person, you are going about your daily activities and the next moment you are drowning in unfamiliarity.  In reality, little has changed.  Sadly, nothing has changed.  Minutes, hours, years have passed... but nothing has changed.

Despite evidence to the contrary, your actions seem to have no consequence.  

This is how I feel.  Not as often as I used to, but more often than I care to admit and more often then I would like.  It leaves me paralyzed-- much like a deer frozen by the illuminating light of oncoming traffic.

It is a short journey from the trigger back to the beginning.  

I wonder what I may do if my task was completed.  It is my greatest hope to find a place where I can end this debilitating madness.  Just break the cycle. Free. Free from the need to provide objective verification of my physical existence and a rational basis for a seemingly bizarre obsession.

I know these things.  I organize my life in a sequential, numerical, historical, logical order where everything has a designated beginning, middle and end.

There must be a place where reason and purpose replace obsessions and insanity.  

Can anyone understand this madness?  Why can't you see how simple everything is for me?

I need things to be simple.

My patterns seem so obvious. Pay attention!  What seems like chaos to you serves as my salvation.  Don't you see how resourceful I am?  I know my methods are rigid but they are clearly consistent with my "mission" in life.  

Few can be bothered with the elegant simplicity of my rituals.  My behaviors are rational! They protect my delicate foundation. I do not have far to fall.

I need an out!

Why question my methods? 

By collecting physical evidence of my experiences and transient existence, I can be someone. Someone with a past, a present, maybe even a future.

I collect, therefore I am.

Look! I have proof! History. References.

I want to be part of your world.  Really I do.  

I want roots, consistency and foundations.  I want high school reunions and a hometown.

My task must be finished!  It is destroying my relationship with my future self.  My soul is withering away beneath this desperate facade.  

Please give me a moments consideration and see me.  

I am not cruel.  I am not evil.  Nevertheless, I am so alone and isolated.  I am here and I am ready.  I am ready to end this endless search for home.  But how?

I need you.  I need you to help me find a place where I can feel comfortable ending this vicious cycle.  

I am looking to you... the collective you of humanity to help me through this time of need and uncertainty.  

All I seek is compassion, empathy, and understanding. I continue my search hoping I am not completely alone in my quest.

Restoring order dominates my very existence.  Keeping me trapped in the past; invading the present; dictating my actions through repetition, ruminations, anxiety and fear inhibiting my growth and progress.  I do not have it in me to climb out of another depression.  

Don't you see how this life is breaking me?

If only I had the same resignation and grace of that lone Buck crossing a quiet country road, I would cherish the instant where I am faced with certain death or total salvation.  I would search for a sanctuary where forgiveness replaces damnation.

For one instant, I would welcome the challenge to live freely in this brave new world...  to explore and run free on a distant, winding path.

I would stand proud, defiant, and free.

Really, truly, trapped.  

Elyssa Durant, Ed.M.  © 2002

via darknightdurant.blogspot.com