7 minutes of your time regarding 9/11

 

 

a road map to peace - look below to see the real map, the one which doesn't lie

 

While my mind has been absorbed with country, history and ancestors, I’ve been watching events unfold in the present day - the ongoing obscene situation in respect to the plight of the Palestinians in Israel is an ongoing disgrace in which a genocide, a holocaust is happening to the Palestinians, made worse by the efforts of Israel to continue to place themselves as ongoing victims of Nazi Germany.

Is this an anti-Semitic statement or sentiment? No it’s not. Death by whatever means is the end result for the victims of unrelenting oppression. How many holocausts has the world witnessed? Just within my lifetime, Rwanda and Cambodia immediately come to mind yet you’d be forgiven for thinking Jews are the only peoples who can use that term.

Just as not all Germans were Nazis so not all Jews are Zionists. Both Zionists and Nazis were masters at the art of propaganda. Both are political ideologies and have little to do with religion. Both see themselves as the master race and the strand of Jewish faith which uses the Talmud as its ‘holy book’ – a book which Christ railed against – makes no bones about it, Gentiles are here to serve the Jews and serve no other purpose.

If some God had made my race ‘chosen’ then I would immediately feel the weight of responsibility inherent in being so ‘chosen.’ That responsibility would demand of me and my tribe that I behave in a way which is utterly ethical and serves as an example to the rest of mankind. I would not decide that ‘chosen’ means ‘special’ and decide that I’m born to rule and lord it over the rest of mankind by whatever means I see fit. That would be to completely misunderstand what ‘chosen’ implies.

In the same way, the ‘Good News’ which Christ brought to the world is encapsulated within the Golden Rule – ‘do unto others as you’d have done to you’ …  and … ‘love your neighbour as yourself.’

In other words – you can stop stoning each other to death.

Heaven and hell can take care of themselves. The only God I would recognise as being worthy of that title is a God of love which doesn’t imply that God rescue me from every minor or major disaster which befalls me. We are born, we live, we suffer both pain and joy and we die. That’s inescapable. Along the way we recognise that both evil and good are realities although it’s not so easy to recognise either. If it were, then the saying ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions’ would have no meaning.

There is an agenda in place which is Luciferian in nature. A ‘One World Government’ with all that that implies. There’s nothing paranoid nor ‘conspiracy theorist’ about this - various presidents and world leaders tout the virtues of such a world. It’s another topic but entwined with every other topic in today’s world. Nothing related to ‘the works of man’ stands in isolation.

 

 

Israel - the only country with expanding borders

 

 

Arthur II and his resting place

 

It’s King Arthur II who has captured the imagination of millions through tales of chivalry, knights in armour, round tables and Camelot. As to the reality of such a person, that’s another matter.

As a king of Glamorgan, there is the evidence within the Llandaff Charters that he existed in the sixth century A.D. … why this is not more generally known, more widely accepted has more to do with politics, religion and academic reputations than the simple truth of the matter.

The authors of The Holy Kingdom make the point that a round table would not have been a practical item to have, around which a royal court held sway. It would need to be of enormous size. Leaving that aside for the moment, their research suggests that Lodge Hill, an already existing ancient hill fort near Caerleon, would have served Arthur’s purpose as one of several places in which he held court. Great stone castles weren’t in use, hill forts were.

Again, I’ll quote from the book rather than rely upon my own impressions which, no doubt, contain errors.

Caerleon, impressive as it is, was only one of Arthur’s courts. The real centre of his activity was in the Cardiff area and now Alan and Baram took me to Castle Field, a grassy hill fort, now part of Craig Llwyn- Greystones farm- just a few miles from the centre of Cardiff.

…. ‘This (referring to a field), believe it or not, was once the centre of King Arthur’s kingdom, the site of his fabled castle of Camelot,’ said Alan. Its real name, he went on, is Caer Melyn, the ‘Yellow Fortress’, on account of the yellow sulphur pits nearby, which coloured the waters of the springs. Mellitus means honey in Latin, which is, of course, yellow coloured, so it is easy to see how in the French legends the Welsh Caer Melyn could be corrupted to Caer Mellitus and this shortened to Camelot.

British – and that includes English as well as Welsh – kings generally had more than one place of residence where they held court. They were in the habit of touring round these various courts, which were administered by stewards in their absence, rather as assize judges do today. The king would spend a period of time at each court before moving on to the next. In this way the burden of supporting the large retinue which travelled with him would be spread out and they would not exhaust the supplies of any one region. Although all we could see now were some low grassy banks, as late as the fifteenth century there was a castle standing here. When it fell derelict it was, as usual, quarried for stone by the local farmers and now there’s not much to see. However, were archaeologists to dig here there is no knowing what they might find. It’s ironic, Alan pointed out, that this fortress can be seen from Cardiff University yet it has so far been ignored by the archaeological faculty which has spent hundreds of thousands of pounds fruitlessly excavating South Cadbury Hill in Somerset. Craig Llwyn is only a quarter of a mile away from the university.”

There is more before the following:

“A couple of miles to the south of Lisvane (now a suburb of Cardiff) is Roath, a name deriving from Rhaith. The Rhaith was a law court, a form of grand council or jury which was called to sit in with the king. So Roath would have been the place in Cardiff where the king sat in council with his ministers.

Camelot, then, was no great city with walls and battlements; it was simply one of the main manor house courts of the Glamorgan kings.”

Again, I can’t possibly place here the wealth of detail which the book provides. Although I’d prepared for my journey with placemarks on GoogleEarth, I still managed to pass by many places mentioned in the book which are of real significance. As to where Arthur II lies buried, there are chapters recording ‘the where and the why’ of it.

Arthur II eventually gets buried at a site nearby where a ruined church stands. St. Peter’s church, Mynydd y Gaer, probably founded by King Lleurig (Lucius) circa  A.D. 160 and rebuilt many times is where their evidence points to.

There is the legend of King Arthur lying sleeping in a cave awaiting some future time when he would be needed. The seeds of this legend are more prosaic, more practical than legendary.

King Arthur II dies but his son Morgan is too young to easily hold the kingdom and so Arthur’s death is kept secret for awhile. His body is placed in a cave – St. Illtyd’s cave which sits well above the Ewenny River in Glamorgan. From there, he is later transported to his final resting place at Mynedd y Gaer.

Quoting from the book:

“Now the Ewenny River, which flows near to the cave of Illyd, has its sources up on Mynedd y Gaer. This is where stands St. Peter’s church where Alan and Baram found the stone with the inscription ‘REX ARTORIUS FILI MAURICIUS.’ It is therefore tempting to think that this stone is what Nennius and others call an ‘altar’ and that it accompanied the body of Arthur when it was first buried in the cave and later, on the mountain. When they had the church excavated they hoped to find Arthur II’s grave close to where they found the stone. However, this proved not to be the case, though it is always possible that had they gone down further they might have found something. Accordingly, they have revised their opinions. They still think that he is buried on Mynydd y Gaer, but now believe he was not buried inside the church itself. Mynydd y Gaer is also significant because, as we have seen, it is the grave of Meurig, the father of Arthur II.

‘Let’s go back up the mountain,’ said Alan, ‘and I will show you where we now think King Arthur is buried.’

We went back to the car and drove the short way to Brynna and from there made our way up the west side of Mynedd y Gaer, parking near to the Mynwent y Milwyr. …”

There are further pages of detail which my instinct says ‘Let it be – stop here.’ So, Arthur II is buried in Glamorgan as one would expect of a king of Glamorgan.

I had no intention, a year or so back, when planning this trip to Britain, of doing any more than going back to where I was born and paying my respects to ancestors before my own health fails and I shuffle off this mortal coil. I am indebted to the work of Alan Wilson, Baram Blackett and Adrian Gilbert for their research which, in turn, meant that I wasn’t just being a tourist but a traveller.

I love my home in the Blue Mountains, Australia and am equally indebted to the Aboriginal tribal men I met and worked with in the mid 70’s and who opened my eyes in more ways than one.

I hadn’t planned on visiting many castles, while in Britain, but Harlech castle is along the way between Poppit Sands and the Llyn peninsula and I thought I’d drop in and have a look. I didn’t expect to find a parking spot at the castle itself but missed a turn off to a car park and so I continued on to the castle itself where – surprise, surprise – a space existed for me. As I parked and got out of the car so a canon fired off. ‘Wonderful’ thought I ‘Get the camera and see if I can capture the smoke.’ This I did.

Walking in to buy my ticket I remarked to the girl at the door that my timing was, happily, excellent in respect to canon going off. ‘Never heard it before,’ she replied ‘ It’s not a usual thing.’

I understood from that exchange that this was probably the work of re-enactment people who travel from place to place and when I asked those concerned, it proved to be the case.

Before I got to the castle ‘proper’ there was a small room where a brief filmic story was being told. I had a shiver of recognition when King Bran appeared, wading across the Irish Sea to rescue his sister. It’s a story from the Mabinogian and the shiver was felt because – in my brief foray into acting, decades ago – I played King Bran in an ABC radio play.

I had no idea what the connection was between Harlech and King Bran until this morning when I searched and found that, as the legend would have it, it was from Harlech that King Bran first gazed out over the Irish Sea to witness the arrival of the Irish fleet.

Synchronicities are wonderful.

 

 

why Watling Street matters

 

As part of my journey I’d wanted to literally set foot on Watling Street. If I look it up it’s usually referred to as a track which the Romans later paved. A track, to my mind, indicates a narrow pathway yet this ‘track’ was one of four major roads criss-crossing Britain well before the Romans arrived and it makes no sense at all to call them ‘tracks.’

Of what use is a track which runs across a country? It has to be wide enough for carts to use, to be of value as a trade route, yet such is the hold that the Roman period in Britain has on historians and such is the subtlety of language that track rather than road continues to be used to describe Watling Street prior to the Romans. It diminishes the achievements of the society which was already in existence.

The A5 now uses much of that road but not all of it. I found the village of Wall which has its Roman ruins to look at and so I bought a postcard and found the village postbox, turned around and much to my delight saw a sign saying 1, 3 and 5 Watling Street. Over a hedge behind these few houses ran the busy A5.

Again, I’ll take pause, make a coffee before coming back to my one fingered typing and quote from ‘the book.’

“… contrary to suggestions that prior to the arrival of the vagabond armies of the Caesars the country was a nearly empty wilderness populated by painted savages, Britain was already densely populated with possibly as many as eight million inhabitants. The majority of forest clearance having been achieved centuries earlier, the countryside of Southern England probably looked not that much different to today: a patchwork quilt of fields interspersed with small woods, forest and moorland. It was certainly a land of trading opportunities. However, the uprising of Boudicca taught the Romans a sharp lesson: that if they wanted the chance to make money, they needed peace, for which they required the cooperation of the British nobility. They also needed a fairly large standing army with which to police the borders of the areas they controlled and to intimidate any tribes that might be thinking of rebelling.”

“To administer the territories over which they had nominal control, and for their own safety and security, the Romans built five cities of their own with the status of either colonia or municipia: Camulodunum (Colchester), Verulamium (St Albans), Lindum (Lincoln), Glevum (Gloucester) and Eburacum (York). Most, if not all, of these cities existed in some form before the invasion but were now redeveloped on the Roman model. In a situation similar to that of Hong Kong following the Opium Wars, the cities were islands of alien culture grudgingly accepted by the indigenous population until such time as the outsiders could be expelled completely. In the meantime they provided role models for the British to redevelop their own towns and cities as well as providing outlets for trade.”

“To maintain their position and to protect the borders of the areas under their control, the Romans kept three legions on permanent standby: the sixth legion, stationed at York; the twentieth legion, stationed at Deva (Chester); and the second legion, stationed at Isca Silurum (Caerleon). Though at first these legions were composed entirely of non-Britons, drawn from around the Empire, in time, through native recruitment, their composition changed so that they became, in effect, British armies that could and often did intervene in the affairs of Rome itself.”

“As well as these Roman foundations there were in Britain at that time a large number of essentially British cities that were neither Roman coloniae nor municipiae. The most important of these were already, prior to the Claudian invasion, the capitol cities of the British tribes. They include Isurium Brigantia (Aldborough), chief city of the Brigantes; Ratae (Leicester) chief city of the Coritani; Viroconium (Wroxeter) chief city of the Cornovii; Corinium (Cirencester) chief city of the Dobuni; Venta Belgarum (Winchester) chief city of the local Belgae; Caleva Atrebatum (Silchester near Reading) chief city of the Atrabates; Venta Icenorum (Caistor by Norwich), chief city of the Iceni; Durovernum Cantiacorum (Canterbury) chief city of the Cantii; and Durnovaria (Dorchester) chief city of the Durotriges. Londinium (London) was, of course, the capitol of the Trinovantes as well as being one of the largest cities in the entire Western Empire.”

“Linking the regions was a complex network of roads. Historians regularly refer to these as ‘Roman’ but some at least may have predated the Roman invasion. The notable feature of the system is that the roads nearly always travel in straight lines, linking the cities of Britain with a spider’s web that in its day was the equivalent of our modern motorway network. The idea that the British never built proper roads before the invasion is contrary to the evidence of the written British histories, which state categorically that they did. According to the Brut Tysylio and other traditional histories, the road system, as well as the common law, in Britain owed its origins not to the Romans but to the actions of a king called Dyfnwal Moelmud  (Moelmutius or ‘Donald the Bald’). Tysylio writes:

‘He (Dyfnwal Moelmud) also restored the old form of government and established the laws known by the name of the laws of Dyfnwal Moelmyd [sic] (which the Saxons still observe); and gave privileges of refuge to the temples and cities and to the roads leading to the courts of justice …. He also made many other regulations, which Gildas has written of, but too numerous to treat of here; such as the guardianship of the security of the roads leading to the principal towns, and the granting of great roads to the temples and cities to the commonality, so that in his time theft and violence were suppressed.’

According to Tysylio, several very important roads were also built by Beli Mawr, father of King Lud.

‘At that time there was a contention as to roads, the limits whereof were not ascertained; and he [Beli] therefore assembled all the masons of Britain and commanded them to make roads of stone and mortar, according to law. One of these, passing through the chief cities which lay immediately in the line, went from Penryn in Cornwall to Penryn Bladon in the North, which is the extent of the Isle of Britain.

The other crossed the island, that is to say, Mynyw [St David’s] proceeding along the coast, and to Port-Hamon, that is Northampton. He also commanded two other roads to be made intersecting these, passing as the others did through several cities, and terminating at each end in the angular extremities of the island.

When the roads were completed, he ordered them to be made sacred and conferring on them a privilege of refuge so that whoever could escape to any of them was to be free of impediments, whatever wrong he might have done.’

These acts by early British kings seem to be the origin of the concept that the ‘King’s Highway’ offers special protection to the traveller. The most important roads in Roman times were Ermine Street, running due north from London to York, and Watling Street, which ran north-west from Canterbury and the Kent coast through London to Wroxeter via St Albans. This road also passed near Lichfield, through the ancient town of Letocetum (Wall).”

…. There is more about the Fosse Way and another road, the name of which I haven’t found, before the authors continue ….

“Thus it was that Britain entered the Roman Empire already in possession of much of the infrastructure one would associate with a modern civilised state. Indeed, ruled over by a dynasty of kings, it was not a country of savages but an organised state with cities, religious centres and universities all linked by a functional road network. As trade with the Roman Empire brought increased wealth to the country, so during the second and third centuries all these things were improved and developed; yet regardless of surface changes in the political and economic spheres, the fundamentals of the country remained the same.”

 

molmutine law in ancient Britain (thanks to Bill Cooper and Flinders Petrie)

 

After the Flood, by Bill Cooper

 

Appendix 6

The Molmutine Laws and Pagan Britain

 

Introduction

The following is an account of the law and society as they stood in ancient Britain during the centuries preceding the Roman invasion of 55 BC. It is based upon the surviving laws of king Dyfnal Moel Myd (Dunvallo Molmutius), who reigned in the 5th-4th centuries BC. The account, from pp. 20-24 of Flinders Petrie's paper, (1) bears repeated reading, for it reveals a level of culture and literacy amongst the early Britons that is quite unlike the popular image that has been cultivated in recent years by the modernist treatment of British history. It also speaks volumes for the existence of a king whom modernists have always said was a mythical figure, and it reveals our ancestors to have been a highly cultivated and civilised people, and not the illiterate painted savages of popular fame.

The Molmutine Laws and Pagan Britain

by Flinders Petrie

The condition of pagan Britain is remarkably preserved in the laws of Dyvnal Moelmud. That these laws are certainly long before the tenth century is proved by the gulf that exists between the state of society shown by them and that of the laws of Howel fixed to AD 914. The laws of Howel show a highly complex and detailed condition of law, and an elaborate royal court, with the rights of officials minutely fixed. In the laws of Moelmud there is very simple law, always subject to proved custom and to adaptation to circumstance; there is no royal court, and very few officials, with no defined claims. Moreover, the laws of Howel refer back to Moelmud. What takes the laws of Moelmud at least to Roman times is that they are purely Pagan, and the only Christian allusion is an addition to the forms of legal oath, saying that 'In subsequent times the form of oath was given by the Ten Commandments, the Gospel of St. John, and the blessed Cross' (no. 219). This stamps the previous oaths and the rest of the laws as of the pagan period, and therefore at least of the third century, as British bishops attended the Council of Aries in AD 314. How much farther back these laws may date, towards the traditional time of Moelmud, the fourth or seventh century BC, we cannot now enquire. Probably they were of gradual accretion, but apparently no part comes under the influence of Christian usage. We can, then, at least accept the picture of society here shown as being that of the Britons under the earlier part of the Roman dominion. Of the two series of legal triads, the short first series, 1-34, is here marked A; (2) the long series is simply numbered L-248. (3) Skene agrees to the laws of Howel being of the tenth century, but never mentions those of Moelmud. Stephens asserts that the laws of Moelmud were certainly not composed earlier than the sixteenth century. What writer of that date would forge a consistent body of punitive tribal law, entirely pagan in character, and why anyone should do so when the laws of Howel were celebrated and prized, are questions ignored by the easy assertion of a late date for which no reason is given.

First we may note the laws referring to the state of society. Wherever little children, dogs, and poultry are found, the place has a right to the privilege of the court and the sacred place (87). The fields were private property, but cultivated in common tillage (A 5). The wild land was tribal property, free for wood-cutting, hunting, and gathering acorns to feed pigs (142); but it could not be taken into cultivation without consent of the lord and his court (101). Iron mines were common property; but the ore dug out was private (49). A permit was needed to shift the family wagon or booth; if done without permission, the mover lost all rights, like a criminal or foreigner (A 33). The only general movement allowed was that of the public shepherd of the township, or the chase of wild beasts by the public horn, or of bards spreading knowledge. But bankrupt men who had no kin or land were free to travel (A 28). Thus the organized society was held together.

The idea of the bonds of society was very strong. The mutual bonds of a social state are equal protection, tillage, arid law (45). The duties of public help, which every person must render, are in invasion, the public cry of base deeds or murder, and fire (A 15). Society is disorganized by oppressive privilege, unjust decision in law, and negligence allowing regulations to be destroyed (31). The tribal bond is broken up by famine, earthquake, flood, or conquest, and the tribe must begin to form a new social state (A 32).

In more personal matters no arms might be shown in a convention of the country and lord, or convention of independence, or convention of the bards (58). The things indispensable to a free man were his tunic, harp and kettle. The indispensables of a vassal were his hearthstone, bill-hook and trough (239, 240). The property of which a man might not be deprived were his wife, children, clothes, arms, and implements of the privileged arts (53). The three ornaments of a tribe were a book, a harp, and a sword, and they could not be distrained by law (54). The hereditary owner of land could always reclaim it after sale by offering the value (93). This proves that strictly private ownership co-existed with tillage in common.

Government was not despotic, and the chief or king was hardly more than a spokesman. The chief was the oldest efficient man in the tribe (88, 165). The meeting of a country could be called by public proclamation, not only by the king or lord of the district, or the chief of a tribe, but also by a family representative (171). There were three privileged conventions--first, that of the bards for sound instruction on virtue, wisdom, and hospitality, to record events, actions, and pedigrees, and proclaim laws; second, that of the country and lord for court of law; third, for independence, to establish harmony by mutual reason and agreement of country and country, prince and prince, vote and vote (59, 61). The reasons for taking the vote of the country were to enact or repeal a law, to give judgement when the law is insufficient, and by the privilege of the country to guard against illegal measures by opposing the offenders (161). The consent of the country was needed to abrogate the king's law, to dethrone the sovereign, and to teach new sciences and new regulations in the convention of the bards (63). The native rights of all freeborn men and women were the gift and free use of five acres of land (eight English acres), the carrying of arms, and a vote to a man at puberty, and to a woman when she marries (65). A woman also had the privilege that if she had a son by a foreigner against her consent, as when in the power of foreigners in any way, by tribal order or accident, her son inherited as a free man, although a foreigner could not inherit privileges of free men for nine generations (116). Each generation of bondmen or foreigners that married a freeborn woman gained one degree of the nine necessary for freedom.

Law was but custom enforced. 'There are three pillars of the law: custom before record and tradition; the king through legal authority; and the decision of the country by vote where there has been neither custom nor law' (155). Three kinds of custom are to be maintained: first, the custom that sets the law aside; second, custom that excels law, but limited to local use; third, custom which excels law in the special circumstances, to be confirmed by the verdict of the country (28). Three things might supersede law: acts of the king to enforce truth or justice; privilege, which nothing can remove; and a contract with witnesses. The judge was to use his discretion widely; he must know the law, know the customs so that law may not injure them, and know the tendencies of his times and their consequences, leaving a wide opening for judge-made law (12).

The court consisted essentially of the king, or lord, to listen and declare what the sense of the law and its application is, the judge to hear the evidence and decide on what is proved of the facts, the clerk to write the pleadings (204, 210) and to destroy the record after the cause is finished (130). This entirely prevented a growth of law by precedents as in England.

Learning was greatly respected. Privilege of support was given to rank, to bards or teachers, and to orphans (A 12). The free man must support a wife, also a fighting man if he does not fight himself, and a family tutor (81). The family teacher was exempt from all manual work, bearing arms, or cultivation, like infants and the aged (55). The privileged arts, that give complete liberty, are bardism, metallurgy, and learning or literature. Those who profess these have an extra five acres of land besides their five acres as free men (68, 71). The smith, mason, and carpenter all had equal rights (73). No bondman was to learn the arts of freemen; if he did so he was free (69), but his sons reverted to bondage (70). Hereditary learning therefore kept the family free, before the nine generations of bondage were over.

The most remarkable part of the law was the respect to foreigners. A foreigner under the protection of the tribe must be assisted in travel (A 8). He was as a trader not to be oppressed or injured though speaking a barbarous tongue (78). The foreigner practising arts obtained the status of freeman in the third generation (70). He was to be allowed an advocate in law courts (209), protection and support from the taxes (209), and to be excused in case of capital crime, as ignorant (23). In case he was shipwrecked on the coast he had free maintenance (198, 199).

These laws give a remarkable view of a community with the greatest respect for weakness and misfortune, high rights for women, full consideration for foreigners, and great privilege for learning, for the arts, and the crafts. Social duty was strongly held, and the full power rested on the vote of every free man and woman, even to deposing the king. Arms were prohibited civil assembly, and the harp was as necessary to a free man his coat and his cooking-pot. The whole air is that of simple conditions and a free life, with much personal cultivation and sympathy in general conduct. It would be impossible to produce such a code from a savage or violent people, and this intimate view of their life is the best ground for judging of their qualities. That there was generally a well-organized peace kept in the country is shown by Caesar's statement that 'the number of the people is countless, and their buildings exceedingly numerous.'

 

Arthur the first

 

There’s a place now called Hartshill Hayes Country Park. It’s not far from Atherstone and can be found off Old Bury Road which is appropriately named because Hartshill is an ancient burial site.

When I arrived there, an area of ancient woodland, I asked one of the volunteers whether or not there were any tumuli within the park. He pointed just over the fence and told me that the tumulus in question had been excavated with a bulldozer in a single afternoon, some years back, but that if it happened now it would be done with sieves. I mentioned Arthur – not Arthur II but Arthur 1 – and told him of the book which I was using as a sort of road map while I ventured through parts of England and Wales – ‘The Holy Kingdom.’

We talked awhile and I got no sense that he was just being polite. The place is an ancient burial site and he was astute enough to know that not everything he’d been told regarding history was necessarily accurate.

I walked though the woodland park, as many others were, just absorbing the sense of the place. While the authors of my road map had mentioned many burial mounds within the woodland I can’t truthfully say that I could easily recognise what was natural and what was manmade. It was sufficient to have found the place within which the first Arthur, the one who fought the Romans in the late three hundreds A.D. lay buried, along with ‘multitudes of the eminent British.’

According to the book, Atherstone was originally named Mancetter, an ancient Romano-British town and Hartshill ‘graveyard’ belonged to the original monastery of Glastenic/Glastons/Glastonbury.

Quoting directly from the book as Alan Wilson and Baram Blackett showed Adrian Gilbert through that woodland, “Now we know that glastons in Breton and Cornish is said to mean ‘oak trees’ and glastennen in Welsh means ‘the scarlet oak tree’ – possibly a tree of sacrifice or religious celebration. What do you see all around you? Not like Glastonbury in Somerset is it?”

Adrian Gilbert agrees that it’s quite unlike the open treeless fens of Somerset.

I appreciate that those who have made Glastonbury in Somerset a place of pilgrimage would be shocked, perhaps dismayed, to know that they have been misled but when that Glastonbury’s monastery was burnt to the ground in 1191, the Benedictine monks carried out an archaeological dig.

Again, I’m quoting, “ …they were sorely in need of funds to rebuild it. At that time, as we have seen, stories concerning King Arthur were all the rage in the courts of Europe and nowhere more so than in Wales. Hearing from a Welsh bard that Arthur was said to have been buried at a place called Glastennen, Henry II passed on this information to his cousin the Abbot of Glastonbury. Equating Glastennen with their own Glastonbury, the monks set about looking for Arthur’s tomb in the vicinity of their abbey. In the course of a dig that they conducted in the graveyard they turned up some curiously large bones which they had no scruples in identifying as those of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, immediately informing Henry II of the success of the operation.”

On such misidentifications a whole tourist industry has been built.

 

Aboriginal Wales

 

How do I justify a comparison of the treatment of the Welsh with that of Aboriginal Australia?

If the aim is to destroy a culture then an attack on its language and history is guaranteed to further that aim. This happened here in Australia and also occurred in Britain – in Wales.

As a way in which a critical examination is disparaged in Australia the phrase ‘A black armband view of history’ is used. Another point will be made which suggests that the beliefs and prejudices of the time must be taken into account when examining ‘what happened.’

No doubt there was and still is a genuine belief in Australia that assimilation into white society would be beneficial to Aboriginal Australia but having a genuine belief doesn’t make that belief right and the dreadful results of ongoing policy are evident today where we’re yet to even give a dignity to Aboriginal Australia by virtue of a treaty. It’s a woeful state of affairs and given the immense recent effort and resources devoted to same sex marriage, it stands in stark contrast to the deafening silence given to Aboriginal requests for a voice, an advisory body attached to our parliament.

As for the ban on speaking Welsh in schools – this is courtesy of BBC Wales.

Welsh was actively discouraged in schools by means including the hated Welsh Not.

The mid-19th century was a turbulent period in Welsh history. Popular risings and riots broke out across the country. Questions were raised in Westminster as to why the Welsh people were prone to lawlessness.

According to some, one possible reason was the continued existence of the Welsh language. After a speech in 1846 by William Williams, a Welsh MP representing Coventry, a parliamentary report was commissioned on the role of Welsh in education.

The report eventually became known as the Treachery of the Blue Books - 'blue' from the colour of the reports covers and 'treachery' from an ancient Arthurian myth about the Saxon invasion of Britain. When published in 1847 it caused a furore - particularly certain passages in which the commissioners exceeded their educational brief to make disparaging remarks about the morals of the Welsh.

Predictably, the report found the provision of education in Wales to be extremely poor. The commissioners saw the Welsh language as a drawback and noted that the moral and material condition of the people would only improve with the introduction of English.

In response many questioned whether three monoglot Anglican barristers from England were the ideal people to investigate anything in Wales at that time, particularly the Welsh language.

This period is associated with that most hated symbol of English cultural oppression, the Welsh Not, or Welsh Note, a means of forcing Welsh children to speak English at school. A stick or plaque was given to any child heard speaking Welsh during school, to be handed on to whoever next spoke the language.

At the end of lessons, the child left with the Welsh Not was punished. Yet according to historian John Davies, it is unlikely that the use of the Welsh Not was as widespread as the mythology of the 20th century maintains.

There is strong evidence of the Welsh Not in Carmarthen, Cardigan and Meirionnydd before 1870, but it was never official government policy. A number of school organisations used it, from the national schools of the Anglicans to the British schools of the nonconformists, but attendance at these schools was voluntary and if a headmaster had a Welsh Not policy it was with the approval of the parents.

The speaking of Welsh in schools may not have been prevented by law, but nor was it given any government support or recognition. The long-term effects of the Language Clause in the 1536 Act of Union Act of Union were still playing out. Welsh was not an institutionalised or official language, and simply wasn't considered a suitable medium for education during the Victorian heyday of the British Empire.

In this era, convention had practically the same force as law. English was deemed by convention, and with popular support, to be the only appropriate medium for learning.”

So – there we have it, in that segment about the Welsh language there’s a ‘on the one hand this, yet on the other hand, that.’ approach to the subject.

As to the truth of Welsh early history, by which I mean British history, I’ve said my piece in earlier posts.

There’s a map of Australia in existence which shows the boundaries of the various Aboriginal nations rather than the present day States and Territories. As I understand it, these boundaries weren’t set by warfare but by an understanding in which the role of the individual nations was as caretakers rather than owners of the country. This approach to country isn’t replicated in the Western mind where individual ownership is the dominant approach to land.

 Individual fields are named in Wales – my family guide there agreed that this is true and that while she doesn’t know the names or meaning of those names on the family farm, her father does. I’m not suggesting that the Welsh have an Aboriginal approach to land but that there is a connection in which the history of the place is there in fine detail.

 

 

 

long gone but still here

 

After my journey around parts and places within Britain, I finish the time with a week on the Llyn peninsula, North Wales where family still live. It is as beautiful as Wyn Griffith wrote about (earlier post) – mystical, magic, such words are appropriate here and the cottage that I stayed in looked out over a landscape which included Bardsey Island, home to 20,000 saints … but who’s counting.

As dusk slowly misted the view on my last night there, my impulse was to take the laptop outside, find Gurrumul’s song ‘Wiyathul’, face his blind eyes to Bardsey Island and to let him sing. His music along with words that I don’t understand but do feel, make my own eyes well up, such is his quiet power.

Why Gurrumul? Why should he come to mind at this time? After almost sixty years away from Wales and living my life in Australia, of having some empathy for a culture in which language and that spiritual, real connection to country has, for the most part, been trivialised, diminished and demeaned by the society which later arrived and threatened to overwhelm Aboriginal life entirely, I see the parallels with Wales, the Welsh, the ancient Britons who, likewise suffered the same indignities.

How am I to know whether my ancestors or his approved of my action but it brought some peace to me and just felt appropriate.

 

 

perhaps you know of Gurrumul

 

 

making Arthur disappear

 

So … Arthur, son of Meurig and father of Morgan is clearly referenced in the Llandaff Charters – all three being kings of Glamorgan and Meurig being, in turn, the son of King Tewdrig yet when I look for further references to Arthur on wikisource.org and find an entry about Oudoceous who was a bishop of Llandaff round about 630 A.D. (absolutely clear dating is problematic)I find the following:

“In the 'Liber Landavensis' (pp. 140-60) is recorded a number of grants of land said to have been made to Oudoceus during his episcopate by various princes of South-east Wales. These documents, although they may not perhaps be authoritative as to the claims they were put forward to support, nevertheless appear to embody historical facts, and from them it would seem that Oudoceus was the contemporary of Meurig ap Tewdrig, king of Glamorgan, and his grandson Morgan Mwynfawr [q. v.], who flourished in the early part and the middle of the seventh century. This date, which is favoured by Haddan and Stubbs (Councils and Ecclesiastical Documents, i. 160), is consistent with the statement in the life that it was during the episcopate of Oudoceus that the 'English conquered the region south-west of Hereford, for the advance in this direction is generally supposed to have been made under Penda.

Oudoceus is the latinised form of old Welsh Oudocui, which in modern Welsh would be Euddogwy. In the catalogues of saints the name appears as Docheu, Dochwy, and Dochdwy (Myvyrian Archaiology, 2nd edit. p. 423; Iolo MSS. 103, 112, 134). The church of Llandogo, near Tintern, is dedicated to Oudoceus.

[Liber Landavensis, ed. Gwenogfryn Evans; Rees's Welsh Saints.]”

Much to my surprise but not really, Teudrig, Meurig and Morgan get mentioned but Arthur gets left out. This can only be deliberate. As to the reasons ‘why?’ … too much at stake perhaps, too much history in need of revision, too many careers jeopardised if Arthur is recognised as real and not as legend.

Around this time, apparently, a comet or a shower of meteors grazed Britain setting the country ablaze, devastating both population and the land and causing a migration to Brittany for a period of years before conditions got better. While Gildas doesn’t mention the comet as such, he does mention the devastation, the sickness which followed and the migration out of Britain. This was supposed to have happened somewhere between535 and542 A.D. although 562 also crops up as the year involved.

“Studies of tree rings going back thousands of years have shown that the world experienced a sudden and catastrophic drop in temperatures in 540 AD. The disaster led to repeated crop failures, famines and the spread of bubonic plague that may have wiped out around a third of the population of Europe, according to Professor Mike Baillie, a tree ring expert at Queen's University, Belfast.”

To back up this story are the vitrified stone forts of Scotland. They’re a puzzle for a few reasons. The vitrification doesn’t make the fort stronger, great heat is needed and, very often, the vitrification is at the top of the wall and doesn’t extend to the base.

Something exploding in the atmosphere could produce such an effect. Either way, the country of Britain lost a great deal of its population which allowed for the Angles and Saxons to move in.

I arrived here in the village of Rhiw, North Wales, last night where a mist prevented the view being revealed. The same conditions applied at dawn but now – what appeared as cloud is seen as hills and valleys, the sun is bright and the land is warm.

 

 

 

Llandaff Charters

 

 

As I’ve moved from Hadrian’s Wall to Stonehenge, to places in between and then to West Wales and soon to North Wales so the book ‘The Holy Kingdom’ has served as both a guide and a map.

It tells of a history which was, apparently, accepted in Britain until the late 1700 hundreds to early 1800 hundreds when such matters as to whether or not Troy was actually myth and legend cast doubt upon the story. As the genealogy of the Kings of Britain goes back to Brutus, who came to Britain after the fall of Troy, this matters. There were other factors at play, both political and religious which made this history unacceptable to the powers that be.

I can’t distill a book into a page or so but there are areas which I can delve into myself, one of which is the Llandaff Charters. Easier said than done as the only version of this, readily available to me, is an online, digitally scanned, Google version which gives the English translation but the scanning process is not without errors. It doesn’t make it unreadable but it isn’t easy.

The Charters detail gifts of land to the Church and gives the names of  those doing the giving, the witnesses and their familial relationships and it does so in fine detail.

It is within the Charters that King Arthur – the second King Arthur – makes his appearance. The way in which dynasties are remembered and recorded isn’t very different to the biblical ‘who begat who’ and so King Tewdrig has a son Meurig who inherits the Glamorgan throne. King Meurig has sons, one of whom is Arthur, who likewise inherits and his two sons Morgan and Ithael 1st  later take their respective turns on the throne. Arthur’s time was within the sixth century.

The Welsh version of Arthur’s name is Athrwys and this raises the question to someone like myself who doesn’t speak Welsh of ‘Are they the same person?’ It’s by comparing the events in their lives that this can answered.

I would add the sections within the Google version of the Llandaff Charters that I've found but the only way that this appears to be possible involves the pages stretching to infinity which doesn't make them easy to follow.

In section 622 Appendix will be found reference to the crowning of Arthur as King of Glamorgan.

 

 

taking breath at Poppit Sands

 

The changing light as dusk approached brought some rain and had me gazing out over Cardigan Bay from the cottage on the beach at Poppit Sands and reflecting on the journey thus far.

Most of the places that I’d marked on Google Earth, taken from the book ‘The Holy Kingdom’, got visited, photographed and somewhat absorbed and now I draw breath before writing about the significance of those places, what I’d missed and what I’d found.

As an aside, I did find Bethlehem (Wales) yesterday. It’s such a tiny place that my sat/nav told me that I’d reached my destination on a stretch of empty road. Bethlehem turned out to be a few hundred yards further on and consisted of a few houses and a chapel.

Gethsemane isn’t recognised by sat/nav nor Google Earth yet I’d seen a signpost a few days previously so I knew it existed. I backtracked to Nevern early this morning and still didn’t find it and so I followed a coast road, via Newport, back to Poppit Sands and there, to my delight, was the signpost – Gethsemane. I took the road, a quarter of a mile, and found perhaps six dwellings. Nonetheless, ‘perseverance furthers’ and driven by curiosity rather than technology, a small triumph was achieved.

As I looked back through the material I’d earmarked ‘for no obvious reason’ before I left Australia - ancestry details and the like - so I find a document written by my dad, probably a few years before he died. He’d gone to the trouble to transcribe, with some difficulty and from the written record, a talk given by his uncle in 1955.

I tidied it up somewhat – ‘Word notepad’ is almost impossible to read as the pages stretch sideways to infinity - and I’m sure that dad would be ‘tickled pink’ that I now find it both useful and moving. I’ll be staying in the cottage described, for a week, before heading back to Australia. I’d chosen it as a holiday rental because I knew that it had significance and had been ‘in the family awhile’ before being recently sold. I’ll forward the document below to CADW – the Welsh Historical Society - who may also find it useful.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

A talk broadcast by Wyn Griffith: I am working from an old carbon copy of the original and it is difficult to read because the carbon has run making it difficult to decipher some of the letters. I googled the place names to check the spelling.

 Chris Griffith 2:17 PM 12/04/2006.

 

WHERE SHALL WE GO?

A talk by LLywelyn Wyn Griffith

Broadcast on the Welsh BBC Home Service 10th July 1955.

 

Were you to ask me why I choose to wander around Lleyn this summer instead of making for Dolgellau and Brithdir as is my usual system, I have a host of reasons. In fact, I scarcesly know where to start. Everyone knows that it is in Lleyn that this year's National Eisteddfod is being held - in Pwllheli. Pwllheli folk say that the Lleyn is but a hinterland to their town, but don't you believe them. It is I am right: Lleyn is the head, Pwllheli the tail.

It is certain that thousands of Welshmen will go to Pwllheli for the Festival. And if they do not go to the surrounding countryside, it will be greatly to their loss as though one returned from Swansea without having seen Penrhys gwyr [The Gower]. The very place names in Lleyn - Mynytho, Llanongon, Castellmarch, Carreglefn, Aberdaron, Eulli, Rhoshirwaun, Meillionydd - they are like early morning pearls of dew on the grass.

But it was not because I wanted to take on the role of a kind of herald for the Eisteddfod, a sort of a servant of the Gorsedd to draw people to the pavilion - that was not why I spent a weekend in Lleyn and afterwards came here to talk about it. In fact, I think I can safely say - with all respect to the town and its people, that I chose the furthest place from Pwllheli:  Mynytho Rhiw,[Bardsley] in the farthest corner of Lleyn.

Whether seen close to or from afar, there is about the Lleyn headland something indescribable. Look at it from the shores of Cardigan Bay, across the sea from Barmouth or Harlech: Lleyn lies like the shoulder and arm of a maid stretching towards the West and floating lightly on the sea. Here is a picture of it from afar in the words of Tom Rowland Hughes:

“If I were an artist I would draw a wonderful picture of the sun setting over Lleyn's headland; Uwchmynydd and its rocks the portal of the night and Aberdaron's Bay golden.

Beneath the cliffs with the seagulls all wheeling above I would sit until all the colour had vanished from gull, rock, wave and hill. And then a path of precious pearls across the Sound to the Isle of the Blessed. A shaft of light in the background illuminates the Isle's secret greyness.”

And there is the "englyn" by Professor Glyn Davies describing the land, as it were, from the inside:

"Sunshine along the shores and the late sun's hues on the mountain; so is Lleyn at the end of the day; a place of peace for the soul."

But it was not poem or englyn nor anything to be found between the covers of a book that impelled me to Rhiw.

What sort of place is Rhiw? What is there to be seen or had there? A small, small village  - half a village - on the shoulder of Mynydd Rhiw, above the sea. A handful of scattered houses, heather, and gorse on the slopes, rocks forcing through the turf.

On one side, the land drops steeply down to Porth Neigwl - on a fine day the most innocent bay you ever saw. But the cemetery of the sea for small ships is Porth Neigwl [Hell's Mouth].

On the other side, the land falls gently towards Aberdaron. Small square fields, and earth walls green and flowered, every hayfield like an unironed pocket handkerchief. Bardsey rising from the sea like a dark forbidding battlement. A vast emptiness about you because you are on a peninsular between Cardigan Bay and the Irish Sea. If it is very clear, you will see Ireland, and Pembrokeshire also. But the most wonderful sight is the whole glory of North Wales - in its mountains, from Yr Eifl to Cader Idris with Snowdon in between. And there is Wales before you like a map. When the mist comes, the world is lost, and you are left between the earth walls, in the eternal silence.

And that's Rhiw - that's a little of what is there is to see there. But what is to be had there? There is nothing to do but live and keep house, no industry but tilling the land. It is about 14 miles from Pwllheli and were it not that electricity has at least reached here, I nearly said it was a hundred years as well. There is, strictly speaking, no seashore but you can stroll down to Porth Tego if you wish and there you will find a great beach. There is no point in my tempting you here in your hundreds - there is place only for a few to stay.

But it is high time I explained to you why I went to Rhiw. Son of John Griffith, Bryngoleu am I - and that's why. Bryngoleu is a small cottage in Rhiw, and my father's father built it, after moving from the chapel house of Pen Nebo where my father was born. My father's people are Rhiw people - back to the distant past. How do I know? We were never of importance as a family, no land owners or anything like that, without history, ordinary people that no one ever heard of.

Well, I'll tell you. My father gave me an old tobacco box, a brass box with the look of an apprentice's hand about it.

 

          "Where did it come from?" I said.

          "It was Evan, John, Robert's tobacco box." said my father.

          "And who was he?"

          "Nanw ach Evan's father"

          "Who was Nanw?"

          "My grandfather" said father, "but remember that Evan, John, Robert, John, James is who he was really, the father of Nanw".

 

Well, all this is enough to moider/toil one, but never mind. It is of little importance save for one thing. There are five generations in the name of Evan, John, Robert, John, James, and fewer between him and me, and there you have nine generations of us. Reckon thirty years to a generation and it is close to three hundred years that we have belonged to Rhiw. But, is that, in truth, enough of a reason for spending a weekend there?  If I knew who James was I should be one step nearer to Adam and Eve but I know nothing about him and I ought not to boast any more than I already have.

Do you know what they call the Rhiw folk? Not IN Rhiw, of course, Rhiw foxes - and here is one who had returned to his earth.

A place on its own is Rhiw - you will see no other town or village from it, and perhaps this has some effect on the people who live there. It was a very hard life, they had come here in the old days but things are much better now. As in every other village in Wales, there are too many chapels - three, where one would be ample. But, to be fair, they work together, and everybody turned to and worked hard to raise a village hall, and nothing remains but to use it fully throughout the year. I was exceptionally lucky - the children of the local school had a concert there on the Friday night. Singing and acting in Welsh, with a little bit of English - Welsh is Rhiw's natural speech. There are English people who have come to live in Rhiw, and I was glad to see them in the hall, enjoying the Welsh bits as much as, if not more than - the English. It was a concert to raise funds to send children to the Urdd Eisteddfod, and wasn't that a good beginning for the new hall?

But in one thing I was disappointed. Practically no Welshman or Welshwoman comes here for their holiday. Of course, some of Rhiw's youth come back to see their parents, but that is a different matter. Here is a small village of kind and welcoming people, of neat and clean houses, and strangers from England coming here year after year; some of them so fond of the place that they buy old tumbledown cottages and transform them into attractive homes. Some of Rhiw's children have returned here to live, from England's large cities, and they have built new houses and are making a big contribution to the life of the village.

But the strangers - the visitors - are all English. They are nice people and behave exactly as they should, fair play. Why don't the Welsh come here? I don't know. They could get all that the English get: the open sky, the wind from the sea and the mountains, the views, the quietness, walking the slopes and going to the seashore. They can go down to Plas yn Rhiw and see that noble house and the flowers in the gardens: walk to the top of Mynydd y Graig and see the world below them. Remembering, I hope, that we Welsh are indebted to three English sisters for putting all this in the care of the  National Trust. The Welsh would get all this if they came, but they would get something the English would not: pure unadulterated Welsh, and living and talking with people who think in Welsh. And that is a lesson and an education to all of us.

I said before that it is no use trying to persuade everybody to come to Rhiw because there is not room for them all to stay. But there are hundreds of villages in Wales whose children are spread over the earth. Let everyone, now and at once, for his holidays return to his own land and his people. Not only for his own good but for the good of his people and his land too. There is in our villages the need of a little "blood transfusion" - we might as well not pretend that this is not so - a need for new ideas, and experiences of the larger world to add to the older traditions and to make a new Wales in the age of electricity and the motor car. As I see it, the greatest danger that faces us as a nation is that the world uproots us from our soil and transplants us - sometimes in another country - to earn our daily bread. We have to raise our families far from our native soil and in so doing something is lost, a bit of the family tradition disappears from sight, even if it is not lost forever.

Well, we must make the best of the world as it is - it won't change to please us. But everyone of us has, somewhere, his own Rhiw, his village, his family, his people. And there, wherever it may be, there is something to be got that cannot be got anywhere else in the whole wide world.

If you are within reach this summer, come and have a look at the farthest end of Lleyn, the land of earth walls, of the heather and the gorse, and the flowers like many-coloured dust until you come to the sea and the craggy rocks. I know not if Wales be the "Land of White Gloves", but I do know that it is the land of "red fingers". And remember, it is of flowers I speak - not of maids with their shop-red nails.

Come and stand and meditate, as I did, on the top of the clip - Clip y gylfinir- one of the shoulders of Mynydd Rhiw - on a fine summer evening, to see the land from one sea to another, in the great silence with only the sound of the wind and the seagulls wheeling slowly in the blue sky. If you come here once, you'll return, I'll warrant you. Come here if you seek a place where the soul can find peace.

 

 

 

over thousands of years

 

It wasn’t the weather that drew me here, from Australia to Britain, but nonetheless the weather has beamed at me for all but one day of rain.

Fifty years since I’ve set foot here and none of us lasts forever so this is the time, while health still exists, to tread, walk and clamber to the places which interest me. Satellite navigation has been essential although it doesn’t take me precisely to where I need to go but the kindness of strangers has helped with these adventures.

‘You can see Wales in three days.’ says a sister who should know better and, I suppose I can, if covering distance is the aim. Probably do it in less if I use a helicopter.

‘A month isn’t long enough.’ says an aunt and she’s right but it’s all I have or really want.

‘And don’t forget that April can be a cruel month.’ she added while I thought ‘How poetic an expression.’

It’s places in South America and elsewhere, now in war zones, where gigantic megalithic walls exist, fitted together with great precision and into polygonal shapes with many angles which amaze me and beg the question – who built them? More to the point – how did they get built. Simple brute strength, ropes and pulleys don’t answer these questions to my satisfaction. The areas concerned are often high in the mountains, on precipitous ledges and there’s nowhere to stand.

So it feels quite appropriate that, after flying into Manchester, my first stop in the U.K. should be the Nine Ladies stone circle which is in the midlands. The stones aren’t large – perhaps knee high – but they carry a gravitas which belies their size. Sang a quiet song to them and wished them well as I contemplate the generations who have also touched and been touched by these stones.

Swinside stone circle is a fair drive north east and really required perseverance to find the place. The ‘kindness of strangers’ who pointed me in the right direction prevailed and eventually I found myself walking along a stony track until they came into view, across a fence and within a farmer’s field. Wild and weathered they are - with a magnificent view in every direction.

From there to Hadrian’s Wall much of which has been ‘borrowed’ over the centuries in order to build what must be thousands of miles of dry stone walls which separate one field from another. Spectacular country and not hard to imagine why Hadrian decided that this was the edge of the empire and that the Picts and Scots could keep the lands to the north.

Too long a drive to do in one hit, from Hadrian’s Wall to Stonehenge, and with places to visit along the way, I made my way to elsewhere and another time.

While it felt appropriate to pay my respects to the Nine Ladies, the Swinside stone circle and to the builders of Stonehenge, that’s it for megalithic sites.

My journey here, from the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney, to the calm and beautiful Poppit Sands at Cardigan Bay, West Wales had been delayed by a year or so due to financial difficulties followed by a broken foot. Both basically got healed and not everything which appears as a negative in life turns out to be so.

I had opportunity to do some research into ancient Britain and found the works of Alan Wilson and Baram Blackett while recuperating.

These historians have found no favour with the establishment but their research is meticulous and reveals a history of Britain far removed from that which is taught and accepted. When it comes to experts, Alan Wilson – paraphrasing – suggests that they have the advantage of colossal ignorance. That gave me a chuckle and perhaps my saving grace is that I’m not an expert on anything but am all too aware of my ‘colossal ignorance’ and so I keep an open mind but not so open that everything falls out when I shake my head.

Their books are hard to find without going to huge expense which is quite sad as it’s the content and not the rarity value which interests me. There are, however, many hours on youtube of them being interviewed which I found both enlightening and frustrating because I’d have to pause and rewind to establish the name of a person or place being mentioned.

Their video segments are filmed over a period of years and they start off as middle aged men, full of vim and vigour, sure of their facts and certain that it’s only a matter of time before their truth is accepted. Like many whose truth threatens the careers of the establishment experts this turned out not to be the case and towards the end of their interviews, Alan in particular appears worn down and worn out.

Into the picture comes Adrian Gilbert who has had some commercial acceptance and success and who writes a book with them called ‘The Holy Kingdom’ and which I’m able to find.

Ah – joy. Now I have a book to carry with me, reread and use as a reference while I’m still in Australia and using GoogleEarth to zoom in and add placemarks. It’s because of this ability that many places feel a bit familiar by the time I get to them.

I’ve had no particular interest in King Arthur any more than I have in Robin Hood. Like many of us, I placed them in the myth and legend category – a nice idea because both had some ethical character but somewhat shimmery just as Camelot dissolves in the bright midday sun.

While I’m aware that history is written by the victors, I’d tended to think that it just meant that the history concerned is slanted to favour the victor and show them in a good light. I hadn’t realised that the victors could just leave out the previously accepted history and who would know or raise their voice in protest after a few decades had passed.

Within my own lifetime I’ve seen how easy it is to manipulate public opinion and to utterly change, within a generation, what is considered acceptable, what is accepted as true and how sly, cunning, deceit and manipulation are often now seen as clever behaviour.

The significance of Nevern?

Nevern is now a quiet small village in west Wales but wasn’t always so. It used to be named Nanhyfer which is derived from Nant Hyfer which is an alternative name for the stream flowing through the village, now called the Afon Nyfer. Nant means stream and Afon means river. In an 1848 dictionary ‘nyfer’ means ‘pure or holy’ so the thought is that Afon Nyfer means ‘the holy or heavenly river.’ Running into it is another small stream called the Afon Bannon or ‘River of the Empress’. This passes by the village of Constantinople which is a couple of miles from Nevern.

Within striking distance of Nevern are the villages of Gethsemane, Jericho, Bethlehem and Dinas Cross (City of the Cross.) Why these villages are named ‘as they are’ relates to the journeys taken by Helen, the mother of the Emperor Constantine – he who adopted Christianity as the official religion of the Roman empire and she who travelled extensively through the middle east collecting holy relics and, apparently, the Cross itself.

 Whether that’s true is, of course, debatable as is the idea that Joseph of Arimathea arrived here within a few years of Christ’s crucifixion. When I offered that idea to the priest at St Illtyd’s church, he almost rolled his eyes and remarked ‘How would he have made himself understood?’ That made sense to me until I reflected later that Britain had been visited by Phoenicians and other traders for a long time before Christ so language may not have been such an issue as the priest suggested.

The present church at Nevern is approached through a gate and the path through the graveyard is flanked by ancient Yew trees – a symbol of eternity which predates Christianity. As an aside, a bough was cut off one of these trees, perhaps one hundred and fifty years ago, in order to wipe out the memory of someone who had hanged himself from that branch. The wound on the tree still bleeds a red sap as I witnessed the other day. That wounded stump of the branch isn’t high up the tree which begs the question – how could someone hang themselves so low to the ground? These Yew trees grow in the most fantastic and twisted shapes so the event isn’t impossible.

Welsh is a language which is almost unpronounceable to non-Welsh speakers and so place names don’t reveal their meaning to those, such as I, who are illiterate in that language but they do have specific meanings and even individual fields are named and, often so, to record an event, a battle or, in the case of Helen, to record her passing by.

On the way to Nevern, I passed a signpost to Gethsemane. It isn’t recognised by my sat/nav which proves the point – if I ‘believed’ the sat/nav was infallible, I’d miss a great deal. It does recognise Bethlehem but not Constantinople nor Jericho. Google Earth, now that the useful one has been replaced – not that I asked for it – by the newer professional version, doesn’t work at all unless I’m connected to the internet.

Anyway – within the graveyard of the church in Nevern stand two ancient stone pillars. The grandest stands perhaps ten foot high and is topped by a Celtic cross. It is the Stone of King Hywell Dda 948 A.D. while next to the church door stands the more ancient and smaller stone of Vortimer, son of Vortigern. 

Vortimer fought and drove out the Saxons – 456 A.D. … I’m assuming that this was a relatively local war and not across the whole of Britain. Either way, it stands to reason that the Stones of such people weren’t placed just anywhere and that Nevern had a greater significance than first appears. There are Dolmens placed in the general area which relate to the Cygnus star constellation and centre at Nevern and , thus, this area had significance which predates Christianity much as does Stonehenge and similar structures.

It doesn’t much matter whether Helen actually carried the ‘true’ cross and other relics to Britain. It does matter that she and others believed this to be true and brings me to the wider significance of Nevern.

Not far from the church and conveniently signposted is a path which leads to the Pilgrim’s Cross. It is set in and on a cliff wall. The wall looks partly manmade but not to a casual glance. Alan Wilson and Baram Blackett believe that a cave lies behind this wall and that this is the resting place of the Cross.

What I have come to understand is that history is not only written by the victors but that the victors leave out what doesn’t fit their narrative or suit their purpose.

If that be true then how would one know.

 

 

 

it's a bit of a pilgrimage

 

From Hadrian's Wall to Stonehenge  ... found my way to a section of Hadrian's Wall where I gazed out, looking for Picts or Scots, but saw none so had a bite to eat in the visitors center cafe. There I found, to my great surprise, a bottle of Dandilion and Burdock ( which I've dated to the early fifth century)

So I sat on Hadrian's Wall with a bottle of pop and looked out over the magnificent view. One of the guide ladies listened politely to my thoughts about Arthur 1 having ranged as far north as Carlilse and told me that local legend believes that to be true. It costs to visit places such as that area of the wall as it does to visit Stonehenge so I bought a nine day overseas visitor pass, the cost of which was covered by those two sites. For some unknown reason, this doesn't cover anything in Wales.

Ah - Stonehenge. I found a bridle path for the three and a half mile walk which took me along the King Barrow Ridge, complete with burial mounds, then over styles, through gates and across fields and there it was - miles away. Not to be put off, I continued and found that Stonehenge is fenced off with me on the wrong side of the fence. Followed said fence until I reached the end where a guide/security chap inspected my ticket and told me that I'd need to catch the shuttle bus to the visitors center to get it stamped. Ah - bureaucracy - After giving it a moment's thought and realising that I'd get no closer really than I already was ... no-one gets to touch the stones and 'following a path' is the best one can do, I took my photos, gave the stones a wry smile, and walked back across the golden fields, bridle paths and burial mounds stopping only to take a photo of some sheep who had numbers on their backs ... hmm ... 'must be teaching them how to count' thought I. It really tickled my fancy as a sheep gazed at me and went 'Baaa' .... 'Humbug' thought I.

Long walk, there and back but worth it of course.

 

walkabout

 

About to go walkabout for awhile. It’s been a long time coming. Back to places I haven’t seen since childhood’s end.

Australia is vast but so is Wales ... that might sound odd but it’s a matter of perspective rather than distances. Both lands are ancient and it’s the old places I want to touch, perhaps they’re now with little to see but still with much to feel.

It’s not the ruin but why it was originally placed there which interests me. Although I’ll be happy to be a tourist, that aspect will be secondary to the wild, misty and seemingly empty landscapes.

I’ll take my guitar and trust that my heart will sing.

 

 

 

.... who's on first .....

 

Russia is not my enemy, neither is China. The Project for a New American Century was written prior to 9/11 and was charged with the responsibility for articulating the possible ways in which America could maintain a posture, within world politics, of total spectrum domination.

To that end, regime change was deemed necessary throughout the Middle East and specifically in regard to Iraq, Libya, Somalia, Yemen, Syria, Lebanon, Sudan and ... Iran.

Not a word about freedom or democracy nor about the total destruction of all those countries ... and for what? So America can keep its pre-eminent position.

No regime change in Saudi Arabia and none in Israel yet both countries are barbaric in their treatment of those deemed enemies and neither can be called a democracy.

And ‘lest we forget’, 9/11 – contrary to the message portrayed in mainstream documentaries – was not due to the actions of some bearded terrorists who could not have flown those planes but, by the laws of physics, demonstrated free fall when three towers, not two, hit the ground, neatly into their own imprint and ‘shock and awe’ replaced the critical faculties we all possess.

‘Gee – that was lucky .... think of the mess if they’d have fallen over sideways.’

It beggars belief that this crime against mankind continues to ripple out with its disastrous effects while the perpetrators, the Donald Rumsfelds of this world, profit.

Evil men in high places and, no doubt, it always was so. And that’s my point, I guess. It’s easy to recognise the conspiracies of the past but there appears to be a ‘cognitive dissonance’ in recognising that such conspiracies are alive and kicking to this day and that, within their agendas, you and I are of no concern.

Small wonder that an alien presence tends not to land on the White House lawn. Having said that, I’m glad that my own UFO sighting happened before holograms and that it happened ‘out the back of beyond’ AND that it was lit up like an absurd, silent Christmas tree.

No mistake there. We are not alone and very strange it would be if we were.

A five minute video below speaks volumes for the curious.

 

 

.... from the General to the public ....

 

 

... the times - they are a changing ...

 

A cool grey sky, autumn hits its stride and the birds of the garden are all the more glorious. A few slices of bread brings in the Currawongs with beady yellow eye and intelligent gaze, and the ‘take yer breath away’ beauty of the Satin Bower birds, shy and flighty with deep blue eyes and camouflage green feathers, the description of which does it no justice, magpies swooping and carolling melodious – they all get fed. King Parrots, resplendent in greens and shades of red, fly in for the few sprinklings of seed and all of them drink from the small fountain beneath the TreeFerns.

What have I learnt in my quest to find a truthful ‘ancient’ British history? Much of it is a lie, a misrepresentation, a distortion and a dismissal of any evidence which conflicts with the established view.

Sources are few when it comes to the time before the Romans. Sources are few when it comes to the period known as the Dark Ages. Any and all of these sources are called into question regarding accuracy but there are real records which exist today and one of these is the Llandaff Charters. These charters record gifts of land from kings in Wales to the clergy. If the truth be known, there was a British Christian church established by Joseph of Arimathea within years of Christ’s ministry. These Charters not only mention ‘who gave what to whom’ but who was present as witnesses and their various relationships. Thus a king list, a genealogy is established and the reality of a King Arthur is established as fact.

Gradually a picture emerges in which a comet grazes Britain around 562 A.D. and sets the country ablaze, ruining the land for ten years and more and necessitating a migration out of Britain and into Brittany, France. This, in turn, allowed relatively easy access into Britain by the Saxons.

The suppression of Welsh history is not some mild form of paranoia but backed up by the decree in which printing presses were forbidden in Wales. During the 1800’s the language itself could not be spoken in schools without the punishment of the ‘Welsh Not’ being applied. The reality of a King Arthur of Glamorgan was still common knowledge and taught in the 1920’s.

None of this was taught to me in my childhood Welsh school.

As I look up references to the ‘Welsh not’ so the BBC blurb tells me this:

‘In order to improve pupils' knowledge of the English language, the Welsh education system of the late 19th century employed the 'Welsh Not' or 'Welsh Stick' as a method of discouraging children from speaking in their native tongue. This small piece of wood was given in turn to individuals overheard talking Welsh, and whoever was wearing it by the end of the week was often severely punished.’

Amazing – so it wasn’t to destroy the Welsh language but to improve the knowledge of English.

All things being equal – which they seldom are – and I should be walking those hills and valleys, drinking the air and touching the earth as their Spring approaches.

 

 

... youtube and its form of censorship ...

 

 

... a bit of a palaver ....

 

I’ve migrated my web site to the updated version. I was quite happy with the old version but bits and pieces no longer work.

In the process, I’ve made a few songs free downloads, one is ‘So happy birthday’ – a two chord, joyous song ( played in G and C. ) The others matter to me or are just fun.

 

 

 

.... the history mystery ...

 

Magpies sing their throaty, musical notes as dawn brings shafts of sunlight through the eastern window, laying light right through the house. The contrast between the deep, still and pleasant warm morning here and the winter storms raging elsewhere couldn’t be more pronounced. Here, it’s the first days of Autumn – a beautiful time of year. Elsewhere, local conditions prevail.

It’s still the case that there is no treaty with our Aboriginal population, no acceptance by our political leaders that the need for an Aboriginal advisory body, attached to parliament, is a wise move.

Another stark contrast as the gay/lesbian community celebrate the acceptance of same sex marriage within the context of an annual Mardi Gras while nothing happens to alleviate the ongoing pain and suffering of our Aboriginal community. Why not? They both represent a small percentage of the wider population but the wealth, power and influence of the one compared to the other is immense.

It’s sickening to witness the silence. I write to the local newspaper to no avail, they don’t print the sort of letters I write yet their pages were full of the angst regarding same sex marriage.

Gatekeepers are everywhere.

I’ve been watching Bettany Hughes’ ‘Seven Ages of Britain’ – a BBC production, complete with computer generated imagery, very well put together but completely missing any reference to the Welsh who were, of course, the ancient Britons that she was supposed to be illustrating within those programs.

History is not only written by the victors but the myths and legends, the truths and half truths are also rearranged and re-purposed to suit the status quo. This doesn’t need to be a conspiracy theory as such but can arise when the Professor of History happens to be a religious bigot and thus dismisses anything which contradicts his prejudice.

The late 1700’s and into the 1800’s reflected just such a situation in Britain. An unpopular Hanoverian king on the British throne, the French revolution and American War of Independence still fresh in people’s minds and the established order requiring a history which took no account of the already established ancient British history.

As that ancient British history took itself back to Troy and Troy was yet to be rediscovered, it was relatively easy to dismiss that history and give us the incomplete and basically false early history which Bettany Hughes now presents.

Why should this matter? Surely King Arthur was myth and legend ... not so, a King Arthur existed in Wales as King of Glamorgan and is recognised and noted as ruling in the mid 300’s A.D. and six generations later, another King Arthur fought the Saxons in the 500’s A.D.

It’s worth noting that many British kings were uneasy about the Welsh. Printing presses were banned in Wales until the end of the 1600’s. Welsh teachers were replaced, wholesale, with English speaking teachers in schools across Wales. The speaking of Welsh was forbidden in schools. These are easily verified facts.

I suppose my main point is that you destroy a culture by dismissing its history, its language and its religion ... and it’s still occurring. It’s not a theory, it’s fact.

When I arrived here in the late 1960’s, Aboriginals hadn’t been counted in any census, they were considered part of the fauna and flora which indicates that, at least by previous generations, they weren’t necessarily seen as humans.

Change had to wait until the 1967 Referendum when more than 90% of Australians voted to give the Commonwealth Government the power to legislate for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, and to include all Indigenous Australians in official estimates of the Australian population.

It’s only fifty years ago and it can be argued that not much changes.

While people believe what they choose to believe, those beliefs are moulded by those with the power to do just that.

It’s a strange word is Discrimination. I discriminate between right and wrong and that’s considered o.k. ... but if I draw attention to the dreadful conditions being foisted on the Palestinians by Israel, it’s considered discrimination of a different order. It’s nothing of the sort. It’s not anti Semitic but it is anti evil and more than sixty years of failed, half hearted efforts to provide a two state solution is exposed as the lie and the illusion it always was. The power lay with Israel, the Goliath of that story.

 

... Gaza - still the largest open air prison ...

 

 

... weapons of mass distraction ....

 

‘Weapons of mass destruction’ led the world into regime change throughout the Middle East. There were no weapons of mass destruction to be found but, no matter, regime change is part of America’s Project for a New American Century and so the attempts at regime change continue with devastating results for millions.

Weapons of mass distraction and weapons of mass deception continue to be used with no end in sight.

There’s a quiet migration happening here in Australia as real estate prices soar, rents become unaffordable and money laundering from overseas further boosts the price of a home.

On the surface, all appears well – after all the houses don’t move. Where I live was once a half day drive from Sydney. An improved highway cuts that time to a few hours and so prices increase here, on the outer fringes. The people already here who rent move still further away from the city, desperate to find a job and a roof over their collective heads. The homeless grow in number as society fractures further.

My sleep patterns are awry and I’m usually awake at dawn. I go for an hour’s walk, listening to the ‘news’ as I go. Gun Control, or rather the lack of it in the U.S.A, makes the news again. What appears madness from a distance is explained with a tortured logic which indicates to me that the ‘my gun is bigger than yours’ approach should lead to mums taking their kids to school in an armoured vehicle.

One out of three school principals here have suffered violence and are ‘stressed’ – as you would be – by their occupation in these times.

There’s a litany of misery which is mirrored in other countries yet a brave new world of technological marvels is portrayed as being an answer to our collective woe. I don’t believe it just as I don’t believe much at all.

The birds of the garden perch on a handrail as I return from my walk. Some like a bit of bread, some like a handful of seed and some, like the Sulphur crested Cockatoo, will eat just about anything – including the handrail. They are the vandals of the bird world and are wary of me now that I have a ‘you beaut’ Star Wars ‘lock and load’ water pistol which does no more than startle them but makes me feel better anyway. The Satin Bower birds are exquisitely beautiful, very shy and lift my spirits by their presence. The same can be said for the King parrots resplendent in their colours and their regal manner.

It’s an overcast morning, late summer but feels like autumn. Time to go quiet again.

 

.. play it again, Sam ....

 

 

.... meanwhile ....

 

 

... on a note, more worthy of wonder ...

 

 

.... unedifying ...

 

What to make of a book which openly states that all who don’t belong to the same tribe as the writers of that book are soulless creatures, less than human and only here to serve the members of the tribe.

Not written by the white supremacist although I don’t see a difference but those of Judaism who leave the Old Testament with its Ten Commandments in favour of that same book which Christ railed about and who named its followers as belonging to the Synagogue of Satan. The Talmud.

There are many sects within Judaism just as there are in any other religion. I listen to Jewish voices, and listen closely to those who dissent from Zionism and its aims.

Can I question the power, political and otherwise, of Zionist Israel, the abysmal manner in which they treat their neighbours, without being called an anti-Semite? I can’t, yet the truth is there for all to see.  

The Balfour Declaration (it its entirety)

Foreign Office
November 2nd, 1917

Dear Lord Rothschild,

I have much pleasure in conveying to you, on behalf of His Majesty's Government, the following declaration of sympathy with Jewish Zionist aspirations which has been submitted to, and approved by, the Cabinet.

His Majesty's Government view with favour the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavours to facilitate the achievement of this object, it being clearly understood that nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine, or the rights and political status enjoyed by Jews in any other country.

I should be grateful if you would bring this declaration to the knowledge of the Zionist Federation.

Yours sincerely,
Arthur James Balfour

 

“ ..... it being clearly understood that nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine, or the rights and political status enjoyed by Jews in any other country.” 

It didn’t happen and shows no sign of happening.

Since that time and against the wishes of many Jews, the political organisation known as Zionism used their influence to create the modern state of Israel. Those branches of Judaism faithful to the Ten Commandments know that such a State can only be brought into existence by God and, thus, Israel has no religious right to exist.

Zionism is a hundred years or more in age.

I have something in common, as do all who profess that what we really have in common IS our humanity, with those who follow or attempt to follow those Commandments by which a fair and just society has a chance of flourishing. This includes those with or without a religion.

Anti – Semitic is a nonsense phrase designed to deflect and confuse any criticism of Zionism or the more odious side of Judaism as expressed by The Talmud.

 

.... Earth's magnetic Flip ....

 

 

... weather isn't climate ...

 

 

... when Atlas held up the world ...

 

While I dig into ancient history, modern history is busy being written, revised, sanitised and otherwise dressed up as fact.

History itself is a war. I witness 9/11 and understand, within hours, that this was - absolutely not as the later official story would have me believe. No conspiracy theory but inescapable conclusion due to the laws of physics – ‘free fall’ does not occur unless every impediment to a slow collapse is removed.

I stand alone within my extended family over this matter. Life continues and it’s difficult enough without entertaining such a monstrous idea that a controlled demolition – with all the hideous implication – brought down, into its own footprint, two towers hit by planes and Building 7, a forty seven story building which wasn’t hit by a plane.

I’m not so busy that I can’t find the time to investigate the event which plunged the world into an unending war on terror. How can it ever be other than ‘unending’?

Empires arise, stay awhile, and disappear. During the last years, perhaps the final centuries if the Empire is large, the population is unaware of its coming demise but the crumbling infrastructure tells the tale.

Such is America. Where the idea of American exceptionalism comes from, I don’t know but it’s suspiciously similar to both ‘the chosen people’ and Nazi Germany’s master race. Ultimately – just another ‘who’s the boss’ scenario.

Blessed by God? Every despot, fraud and liar can claim ‘blessed by God’ but that claim doesn’t make it so.

The idea that the world is a grand chessboard is familiar to most and, if you play chess then you’ll understand strategy. I’m not so good at chess but do understand that moves are planned with more than one purpose and deception is integral to success – you don’t telegraph the purpose of your moves. I suppose that approach could be called a conspiracy of silence. It applies to life and to the life of nations as those nations strive to promote their interests in a political reality where ethics don’t apply.

The story of the privately owned Federal Reserve and the system of Central banks is the other glaringly obvious – but not unless you’ve investigated – fraud upon mankind.

Money is printed out of thin air and banks ‘too big to fail’ become part of what is considered normal. NOTHING is too big to fail but banks need to be bailed out and so it is that you and I pay for that ... and the very system which is parasitical in nature continues to feed upon the host body – the people.

‘ ... and it was always so.’ murmurs a friend who knows something of human nature but hasn’t investigated the Federal Reserve.

I’ve been immersing myself in ancient history – not as a scholar already well read in such matters – but as a curious human, late in life, attempting to see the ‘bigger picture.’

There isn’t the consensus that I’d have expected. It’s true that enough sources coincide to make clear a date upon which something happened of enough consequence to make it worth writing down but that’s the equivalent of a bone from a skeleton without a context in which to view it.

I’ve a hodge podge of books and atlases and ‘British History 55 B.C. – A.D. 1688’ comes to mind. I’d expected more than a paragraph about the Britons of that early time but it was as if they didn’t exist. It’s a school book. It reads easily but tells me almost nothing except Julius Caesar arriving, a few hundred years of Roman interaction and then – the Anglo Saxons.

So history is air-brushed, much is omitted, things are presented in a favourable light - or otherwise - and all of these previous times go back no more than 10,000 years or so which takes us back to an Ice Age which I’d understood to be ended but perhaps not ... we’re just in a warm period. Either way, the ice retreats from much of the world and sea levels rise.

It’s well after this that ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia flower as civilisations, that mankind moves from hunter gatherer to agriculture and a relatively settled state. Perhaps starting 6000 years ago.

According to my time line chart, 3,700 B.C. Ancient Mesopotamia, 3,150 B.C. Ancient Egypt, 2,900 B.C. Ancient India, 1,850 B.C. Ancient China, 1,850 B.C. Ancient Israel, 900 B.C. Ancient Greece, 800 B.C. Ancient Rome ... it all looks very neat and tidy and yet the world is littered with megalithic structures which exist but don’t fit in to the established order. Not only do they exist but they defy the ability of modern man to duplicate.

When the ice melted and flooded the low lying coastal areas whole cities sunk beneath the seas and oceans. They exist in the Mediterranean and off the coast of India. For them to have been built and then sink indicates that they were built before the Ice Age ended. Perhaps I’m missing something here but if we’re busy dating civilisations then it makes sense that earlier vestiges, now beneath the waves, need to be taken into account.

It puzzles me that Australia appears to have no megalithic structures, no hidden cities in the jungles as occurs in South America, no pyramids yet – when it comes to ancient – the Aboriginal nations rightly claim an unbroken history of 40,000 years and more. As to a civilisation ... none of mankind’s civilisations have endured yet the Aboriginal culture endures.

“Where are their buildings, their cathedrals, their roads?” enquired my father when I returned from time spent at close quarters with some tribal aborigines, full of wonder, exhausted but enthusiastic.

It is only recently that maps of Australia have become available which show – not the various now existing States and Territories – but what looks like a map of Europe, the whole country clearly divided or rather delineated into areas in which each Aboriginal nation becomes responsible for that land.

It’s an entirely different world view to that held by my father who could not help but see through a world view of Empire, past and present, and all else is primitive and of dubious value. Culture is a very different and far more serious matter for Aboriginal custodians than is evident in the Western mind. For one thing, of paramount importance, we don’t have initiations into the shared spiritual life of the tribe. Not in the same sense. As to cathedrals ... if the whole country is a cathedral, what need for a building.

Anyway, Australia remains an enigma. It’s almost as if it’s been dropped into this world, to develop in its own unique way without reference to other civilisations.

The concept of Uniformity – basically that the conditions which exist now within the solar system have prevailed for aeons – is a comfortable idea and dovetailed quite neatly into Darwin’s theories regarding evolution and the aeons of time required for that slow march. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a slow march nor require a uniformity but the ideas sprang within a few decades of each other and ‘that was that.’

It doesn’t square with the evidence which Velikovsky provides of a catastrophic recent past where planets moved in their orbits.

All part of a bigger picture in which 10,000 years doesn’t seem so ancient.

 

.... dutchsinse ....

 

The prevailing view is that ‘you can’t forecast earthquakes.’ ... and that was true until technology made clear, in real time, what had been mysterious.

I’ve been watching Dutchsinse use technology, in the form of Google Earth, the various earthquake reporting centres, the volcanic ash advisory website and a quite marvellous visual aid – a picture’s worth a thousand words – to make the case that ‘you can forecast earthquakes.’

His premise is simple and should/could be self evident ... pressure transfers across the plate. It is this pressure, coming up from various depths below the plate, which results in the earthquakes which, in turn, tend to follow the existing fault lines ... the earthquakes are the ‘fingerprints’ left behind as this pressure continues to move across and below the plate.

His presentation is detailed, clear and his videos allow for the fact that many are ‘new’ to these concepts. He doesn’t claim anything earth shattering – no pun intended – but his work has the established academic bodies doing everything possible to destroy the man ... and the message.

If earthquakes cannot be forecast then the bodies charged with the responsibility for recording these events have no reason to be either speedy or accurate in that recording. If earthquakes CAN be forecast then those bodies should be galvanised into a proactive stance but this hasn’t been the case. Too many professors, comfortable in their tenure, would find that the ideas upon which their careers depend are no longer viable.

The same sort of attack happened to Velikovsky, yet the evidence he produced to back up his assertion that the Earth has had a recent catastrophic past hasn’t been disputed in terms of facts. Again, should his ideas prove to be correct then many ‘learned men’ lose their jobs. So much for scientific objectivity.

I’ll put a video of Dutchsinse below.

 

.... earthquake forecasting ....

 

 

.... geoengineering ....

 

 

... it matters now as it did then ....

 

 

... once upon a time, far across the sea ...

 

 

.. to that fair Isle I sail in dreams of plenty ...

 

When I started this site many years ago, it was as a vehicle within which I could upload my recorded songs. Has music been a success story? Not in any commercial sense but that’s not to dismiss commercial – being commercial indicates a popularity due to the songs resonating with others. My songs resonated with me when I wrote them and eventually became what is presented here.

Without that creative outlet I don’t know how much of my tattered sanity would remain. I’m quite comfortable with ‘having had a go’, regardless of commercial success, just as my brief forays into acting were good for me to do – a way of stretching the boundaries.

‘You’ve got to have an interest.’ is true for those of us not completely weighed down by the struggle to survive. Music, the creativity of a changing garden and a consistent sense of mystery along with some minor knowledge of there being much more to our existence than meets the eye – these are constant companions.

I turn away, as best I can, from the obscenities of life in a time of post 9/11, perpetual War on Terror, and the resulting waves of refugees pouring into the seas around Europe as their own societies are devastated in the name of a ‘freedom’ which is itself a hollow nonsense.

I go back to a Syria of three and a half thousand years ago when a mass migration of people made their way to Troy, in what is now known as Turkey. From there, some portion of those people, at a later date, made their way to Britain.

This is a hidden history in the sense of not being well known but this wasn’t always the case. The simple - but not only reason - for this dismissal of the British history of that time was that the city of Troy, considered legend, wasn’t discovered until the 1920’s and if Troy is legend then that British history, whose kings of old trace their lineage to this migration, must also be considered a fabrication.

I’d have thought that this re-discovery of Troy would have a prompted another look at early British history but it hasn’t happened to any degree which would have the established opinion changed.

Having read Velikovsky’s ‘Worlds in Collision’, that date of approximately 1500 B.C. – when this mass migration is supposed to have taken place – resonates. Velikovsky presents evidence of a planetary body passing close enough to Earth at the time of the Exodus to cause devastation in parts of our planet.

Being originally Welsh and now having some time to follow my inclinations, I’ll pursue these lines of inquiry and put together a time line over which people and events will take their place.

As to why a history should be hidden – prejudice, political expedience, greed, corruption and vested interest. Same old story.

When laid up with a broken foot last year, I re-read the Mabinogion – Welsh myth and legend. I still found it difficult to make much sense of those wondrous tales, of other worldly powers, of treachery and courage and of time stood still. And of real magic.

Many years ago, I played the son of a sea god for a radio play which was based upon a story from the Mabinogion. I don’t think I did a very good job – a bit difficult to put oneself in the mindset of such a being - but that’s not really the point. There’s a reality about such stories which mirrors the Aboriginal Dreamtime ‘other dimension’ quality.

In the mid 1800’s the speaking of Welsh was forbidden in schools within Wales and to reinforce this message a wooden board called a ‘Welsh not’ was employed. A bit like a nasty version of ‘pass the parcel’, this piece of board, with a rope attached, moved from pupil to pupil, if a Welsh word was uttered, and hung around the neck. The last pupil to wear the ‘Welsh not’ before school broke up for the day got a thrashing.

As for writing in the Welsh language - that started centuries earlier and the first to make an outright attempt to suppress the Welsh language was Richard ll (1367 – 1400). He attempted to prohibit writing in Wales. His successor and cousin, Henry Bolingbroke, deposed Richard in 1399 and became Henry IV. He continued with that strategy.

Suppress the language, suppress the history.

So it’s a bit of a detective story with sources to check and leads to follow and to put me in good stead for a later voyage back to the ‘Land of my Fathers.’

 

... perhaps not 'solved' - the precision of those angles remain ... ..

 

 

... elsewhere in reality ...

 

So ... Poole Harbour was built 300 years before the Romans arrived in Kent. A comet devastated the whole of Britain in 562 A.D. There were two historically verified King Arthurs who were separated in time by 150 years – one born around 345 A.D. and who apparently fought and killed the Roman Emperor, Gratian, and one born around 503 A.D. I say ‘apparently’ because I’ve yet to check the sources. Wikipedia makes no mention of this in their article on Gratian - perhaps because Arthur is believed to be no more than legend.

There’s a small problem with the dates in earlier history because the British of the period used the date of the crucifixion as Year 1, thus Year 1 is 34 A.D.

In the British history, as taught to me in school, not much happened before 1066 ... ‘and all that’. And certainly ‘not much happened’ before the Romans paid a visit and beat a retreat 1000 years before.

Yet this runs counter to the British history, accepted as fact prior to the mid 1800’s, and then discarded in favour of that which suited the understanding and prejudice of the time. The sources of early British history in which genealogies are revealed and events recorded aren’t hidden as such – it’s more that they’re seen as suspect.

In the mid 1800’s the physical existence of the city of Troy was yet to be discovered and the story of Troy was understood as something that Homer had perhaps invented. Thus it was an easy matter to assume that British history was also invented because the genealogy of British kings goes back to Brutus who had come from Troy to Britain around 500 B.C.

According to Alan Wilson, himself a historian much ignored by other historians, the first wave of migration into Britain occurred around 1500 B.C. – Albyne was sent by sea from Syria. The second wave of migration arrived with Brutus around 500 B.C.

The mention of a comet grazing Britain and setting the country alight from end to end around 562 A.D., devastating both the land and the population, reminds me of Velikovsky’s works on our catastrophic past. He maintains that within that catastrophic and recent past, the timelines of Egypt in relation to other timelines are inaccurate. His book ‘Ages in Chaos’ presents the evidence. I haven’t read it as yet.

But these are topics which do interest me partly because of Welsh birth but more to do with the bigger picture of histories hidden, distorted, ignored or revealed.

That the universe is electric should be seen as self evident when planetary scarring on Mars mirrors the effects of plasma discharge in a laboratory but, as yet, it’s not accepted by the establishment which, in turn, is often motivated by self interest rather than fact.

That the universe is wondrous to behold ... that our true histories go far beyond what has been told. I know this albeit through a glass darkly.

I’ll link to a talk about ancient British history by Alan Wilson.

 

..... ancient British history ...

 

 

.... james corbett ....

 

 

... almost in place if not already here ..

 

 

..smart meters and why? ...

 

 

..... oh happy daze ....

 

‘On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me....’ plays as a carol on the radio. Christmas got replaced by Xmas during my childhood – at least by the commercial world whose interests aren’t well served by Christ’s message. It was disconcerting, as a child to see X replace Christ – ‘X’ marks the spot on treasure maps and ‘X’ also indicates a crossing out.

Symbols exist and run deep through our minds. The use of ‘X’ to replace Christ isn’t trivial and as the decades roll on, Christmas cards get replaced by ‘Happy Festive Season’ pleasantries.

Even in childhood, Santa Claus was replacing Christ, as the primary reason for Christmas, with the emphasis on presents – and who’s going to argue with that?

O.K. – much of the world aren’t Christians but so what? Has the world dared to play around with the festivals of other religions?

This comes up for me as Donald Trump does away, yet again, with reason and placates and appeases the Evangelical Christians who voted for him, by declaring Jerusalem the capital of Israel. As much of the thinking of this branch of Christianity has little to do with good feeling towards Judaism and is more bent upon hastening ‘the End Times’ than a  ‘love your neighbour as yourself’ and ‘Do unto others as you’d have done to you’ approach to life, it doesn’t bode well for anyone – apart from weapons manufacturers. And, as I understand it, any Second Coming can neither be hastened nor denied by the machinations of mankind so the idea of hastening a Second Coming is an arrogant nonsense.

What a heartbreaking year.  

Fracking – if one looks on Google Earth and zooms in on California, thousands upon thousands of fracking operations are revealed. They exist in the midst of orchards and green hills, on the sides of ancient volcanoes and those thousands of wells are multiplied many times over as one moves to the mid west. Can’t help but wonder if the wildfires now occurring in California are being fed by both the weather patterns existing there and also by releases of gas from fractured wells which themselves are being subjected to small earthquakes on a daily basis. You wouldn’t know any of this existed if you didn’t look but I remain astounded by the extent of these operations. They run from the mountains to the sea and exist side by side with suburbs. The countryside, itself, is deeply fractured and reflects those deep divisions in the mindset and world view of much of the world’s population.

It’s the attitude of you’re either with us or against us, permeating the world, which disturbs. If politics and religion aren’t fit topics to discuss, I don’t know what is ‘fit to discuss.’

Meanwhile, many turn off the ‘news’ completely, basically because it’s almost always dreadful. A character from ‘Struggle Street’ – a t.v. program – here in Oz, wails that he only wants to be happy just like everyone else and it’s a heartfelt cry mirrored across the land by those struggling to pay rent in a system which encourages all to ‘get on board’ with a parasitic system – a top down pyramid without the solidity of a real pyramid, a literal house of cards ..... and, of course, the relatively few who play the cards, as they see fit, and with no regard for anything but profit.

No wonder then that Christ’s message challenges the power structure now as it did two thousand years ago.

‘Exit stage left, humming strange and half remembered melodies.’

 

 

... row, row, row your boat gently down the stream ....

 

The world turns, earthquakes rattle round the globe, wars and rumours of wars, ... and so it goes. Artificial intelligence, the internet of things, smart meters and a brave new world doesn’t just beckon, it hurtles towards mankind as does the cashless society with all the implications seen and unseen.

Meanwhile, here in Oz, ‘same sex marriage’ has dominated the airways and been deeply divisive. Being deeply divisive is no reason to not have a debate – life itself is ‘deeply divisive’ – but there was no debate, just words of fury and resentment sprayed.

Am I in favour of gay/lesbian couples having the same rights as heterosexual couples? Yes I am. Am I in favour of redefining marriage? No, I’m not. Call it a union and leave marriage as it is. This position puts me at odds with two thirds of the population and doesn’t endear me to them but the reasons why I hold that view aren’t accepted as valid by those who just see the same sex marriage issue as one of discrimination.

Tradition? Dismissed as irrelevant but is it when it’s not just a religious tradition but cuts across both culture and religion and has endured as the basic building block of society for thousands of years.

It’s not an issue for which I’d go to war and I’m happy to accept that the majority view prevails but the suggestion that this issue should have been decided by parliament alone and that ‘it’s a waste of money’ doesn’t wash for me.

Some of my family still love me regardless of differing views whereas others just see me as a bigot. Bit sad really. Spent most of my working life cleaning up after others and looking after the disabled and, all the while, accepting people as they are and not as I’d wish them to be. It’s the content of ones character which matters to me and not the sexual orientation. That being said, I have to wonder about such slogans as ‘Born this way’ as if that wouldn’t also apply to less accepted forms of sexual behaviour. There is an agenda at work which will not be satisfied with a same sex marriage victory and I hold that view because nothing in life stands in isolation and agendas are evident everywhere. But perhaps you have to look beyond an acceptance of truth as revealed by the media – a media controlled by those with their own agenda.

It’s depressing but there it is. ‘Same sex marriage’ becomes of critical importance yet the idea of an Aboriginal Advisory body being attached to parliament gets dismissed by our Prime Minister. Who is discriminated against in this society? Not a word from those who have spent so much time, energy, influence and wealth in pushing the agenda of ‘same sex marriage.’ That may not be ‘the truth’ as my own ‘letter to the editor’ on the value of having an Aboriginal Advisory body didn’t see the light of day and, perhaps, there were other letters which suffered the same fate.

Twin towers and Building 7. The hole in the Pentagon. The hole in the ground at Shanksville with no bodies found. If this means nothing to you then you’re not alone but, to me, these are the vital aspects of 9/11 which lead to an understanding that this was not the work of some bearded terrorists of Middle Eastern background.

The system of Central Banks, privately owned and able to print money out of thin air. Banks too big to fail. Wow. Empires come and go but banks are somehow immune from disaster? How is that possible? Sleight of hand and trickery. My intelligent brother in law insists that the Federal Reserve is not privately owned but he’s wrong. The name ‘Federal Reserve’ is very clever. It implies a government connection which doesn’t exist.

It’s a cool misty morning here in the mountains. A Currawong pierces me through the window with a beady yellow eye and I give it some morsel of food. My sister quietly asks me what brings me joy. The playing of music helps and, of course, there are joyful exceptions to my somewhat bleak view of humanity. That there is a spiritual aspect to life, largely unseen and unspoken, is deep in my heart .... or wherever such perceptions reside.

I’m in the midst of a second game of correspondence chess with an old mate who lives on the other side of this continent. The first game took ten years and this second one started in 2009. The games aren’t the point. The connection via infrequent letters are a delight and stand in stark contrast to twitters and facebook connections. I don’t know how much those connections mean to others but they don’t appeal to me. We don’t cover the sort of issues raised here, it’s more about the garden in which both of us take pleasure, his motorbikes, my musical endeavours and the small but beautiful aspects of life.

 

... grandparents day ...

 

It was a long trip to attend a Grandparents Day at a primary school the other day. It was worth the effort and it was a wonderful and inclusive day.

An ‘Auntie’ gave a welcome to country in which she spoke with clarity about elders and their honoured place within tribal society. She didn’t speak for long and kept it simple and while her words were directed to the children she was also speaking to us – the grandparents. Reminding us of our ongoing responsibility.

I drove home feeling uplifted by both the event and her words. She spent some time talking about respect. That focus stayed with me and, the following day, when our Prime Minister decided that not only would there be no Aboriginal Advisory body attached to parliament but that it would not be a question for a referendum because it wouldn’t get the votes needed to pass it into law, I too  felt as though I’d been kicked in the guts.

I can’t afford despair but it doesn’t stop me from feeling such emotion.

You are wrong, Prime Minister. You show no respect and dishonour our nation.

 

... is it safe ....

 

It was placed in the space between thumb and first finger and they were very pleased with the result. Now they could open locked doors with a wave of the hand.

It was a small news item the other day. It won’t be long before the microchip in the hand does more than open doors. Pay bills with the wave of a hand. Store essential medical information.

Phones which can only be unlocked by fingerprint or retina scan.

In a multitude of convenient ways, the population is databased and it is convenient but more so when it comes to keeping track of everyone.

I don’t know if people have read 1984 or are just aware that it shows a grim totalitarian future. It’s not the future.

The cashless society can’t be far away. While cash exists the people can take their savings from a bank and will certainly do so if a negative interest rate is attempted by the bank. In a cashless society – there’s nothing to withdraw.

More to the point is the ability of governments to then cut off access to funds to those deemed ‘problematic.’

If that future arrives, full blown and all in place, then the biblical prophecy .... ‘no man may buy or sell but that he have the mark of the beast’ .... will have come true.

Strange. When I was a child and still going to Sunday school, I couldn’t conceive of a society where ‘the mark of the beast’ would appear in subtle forms, invisible to the eye, a microchip, a retina scan, a fingerprint, a device.

 

two planes, three towers, impossible ...

 

 

... every breath you take ....

 

It wasn’t always this way. Cold facts of the day are so numerous, so obvious, that keeping mental illness at bay becomes a full time occupation. Jobs are scarce so it’s just as well.

For my first ten years, throughout my formative years, there were few televisions in our village. Some called it the idiot box. Some lauded its arrival as an educational and entertainment tool. There were very few commercials. It was ‘understood’ that commercials break the flow of the drama and so commercials were placed at the beginning and the end of a program. The point here is that it was ‘understood.’ By anyone with a brain cell. What common understandings are there now?

9/11 recedes into history and it remains a false history until it is explained quite how the laws of physics as it relates to ‘free fall’ were suspended on that day. It cannot be explained by the official narrative.

And in the world I inhabit there’s many a false narrative and plenty to act as distraction. Witness the almost universal acceptance of hand held devices designed to what? ... keep us in touch?

‘To act as distraction.’ Not quite sure what I mean. Anything can be seen as a distraction but perhaps the question is more to do with distract from what?

9/11 matters. The implications are profound. It doesn’t prevent me from enjoying activity but it does alter my perception of the bigger picture. Yet the mainstream media cannot and will not touch this subject. No common understanding here.

How is money created out of thin air? Another miracle of the present day given to us by Central banking. The fact that this is fraudulent doesn’t rate a mention in a society weighed down by the cost of living – a by product of this criminal enterprise. Mainstream media won’t touch it yet it profoundly affects the whole world. Again no common understanding.

It’s bitter cold here in the first week of Spring. Howling winds from the Antarctic stream across the mountains. Rising energy prices are of greater concern for many here than the far off floods and hurricanes visible elsewhere. And it’s dry. Been dry for months and the fire season arrives early.

I love this garden. Within twenty years it’s changed shape from a ‘bush block’, beautiful though it was, and become an oasis of Tree Ferns. Don’t know why but I have an affinity with Tree Ferns. The slow growing variety really are slow but they’re tough. They're so tough that you can saw them off from their base and replant the top section. This happens because the whole trunk serves as a root system. Tough, delicate and primeval, there are now a tribe of sixty or so, each with individuality. Some stand solo, few stand tall, others have baby Tree ferns appearing next to the parent. One has a half dozen small Tree Ferns growing from the actual trunk of the parent plant. Like suckling children. They’re remarkable creatures.

In the bitter cold of winter here I have the time and space to continue exploring the wonderful world of UFO’s. It’s just part of that bigger picture, hazy though that aspect be. I’ve seen, briefly, my ‘own’ UFO at close quarters, tree top level and brightly lit, but regardless of that experience I’ve always understood that the universe is not sterile and that it would be teeming with life. To think otherwise is odd – to my mind. Not only doesn’t it receive the focus it deserves, it is still reported with vague amusement if a sighting makes the news. No common understanding there either.

Here in Australia we now have the opportunity to be surveyed regarding same sex marriage and I can’t help but look at the wealth, talent and power with which the gay/ lesbian lobby has pursued its aims and contrast that with the great wall of silence, the lack of input and vigour needed regarding the more important issue of a treaty with the Aboriginal peoples of this country.

So it’s agenda at work, multiple agenda, and many feel unease about the directions being taken.

Sting wrote a beautiful song – ‘Every breath you take’ – it was beautiful for its melody and was taken by most to be a love song. It wasn’t. It’s a song about stalking as the lyrics make clear.

‘You belong to me.’ indicates possession.

‘You belong with me.’ indicates a relationship.

The difference is very clear to me but not to others. It matters because the meaning of words is critical to our understanding – our common understanding.

I’m not equating same sex marriage with the song but pointing out that words have real meaning and that all slogans are lies for what they leave out as much as what they say.

‘Same sex marriage’ is two questions entwined. Am I in favour of gay/lesbian couples having the same legal protections as other couples? Yes.

Am I in favour of redefining marriage? No.

I don’t know that anything stands in isolation and ‘same sex marriage’ also has an agenda attached. We have an Anti bullying program called ‘Safe schools.’ Sounds innocuous but within the teaching programs, until recently removed, is a book called ‘The Gender Fairy’ in which is contained this gem of social engineering aimed at four year olds and up.

‘Whenever a baby is born it is decided by doctors whether the baby is a boy or a girl.’

That’s a twisting of the truth. It’s not ‘decided’ – it actually is. Perhaps one in fifteen hundred babies is born in which sex is indeterminate.

The book goes on to say:

‘Only you know whether you are a boy or a girl. No-one can tell you.’

Again, a twisting of – for most – a self evident fact.

I won’t go to war over this subject but neither will I remain silent. No letters to the editor of our local paper, just this piece to clear my mind and quiet conversation as it arises.

It's still bitter cold and time to water the garden. There are clouds appearing, no rain as yet and none forcast. Nurture and nature, everywhere at play.

 

...climate change ...

 

 

... first casualty of war ...

 

It’s been a cold winter and Spring comes late up here. The Magnolia now blooms on a leafless tree, buds opening slowly to reveal purple and cream. The leaves come later. It’s as beautiful as the daffodils beneath the Treeferns - the familiar with the exotic.

We have earthquakes in Australia but they rarely make the news. Not sure why except perhaps a paternalistic attitude which decides that we don’t need to know that.

There’s more to it than that. I’ve been watching Dutchsinse’s youtube channel about daily earthquake activity and the way in which pressure transfers across the plate. He’s informative and passionate about the subject. He’s passionate because, if he is correct, then earthquakes can be forcast, people can be warned and perhaps danger be averted.

The prevailing academic view is that earthquakes are random and thus there’s no great rush for the bodies entrusted with the task of recording such activity to be either focussed or accurate.

These bodies have a vested interest in maintaining outdated dogma even in the face of evidence which contradicts these beliefs. It’s not scientific but it is a human reaction. Close ranks and vilify the heretic.

Google, youtube and facebook – all three entities which promised so much but, ultimately, are now little more than the tools of censorship and data collection.

So many agendas being promoted into societies which are badly - if not mortally - fractured and in need of more than a papering over of the cracks.

Free speech is slowly being suffocated by a mentality which suggests that if others are offended then that free speech is somehow changed into hate speech.

I’ll go to a wedding this weekend. They delightfully don’t want presents so I’ve got a copy of ‘The Life of Brian’ to add to their belongings. I’ll need to not talk about 9/11 or the corrupt and criminal system of Central Banks which enslave mankind. Bit gloomy.

Ah – war – who needs it.

 

... are you the same, now, as you always were? ....

 

All slogans are lies – for what they leave out as much as what they say.

August 2017 and here in Australia there’s more space given to same sex marriage than there is to World War 3. Unless the figures have changed, the percentage of gay and lesbian persuasion still stands at about 10% of the population.

We’re having a non-binding postal vote on the subject of same sex marriage and it’s unfortunate and ‘by design’ that the question is likely to be phrased ‘Are you in favour of same sex marriage?’ There are actually two questions being asked.

If the question were asked of me – ‘Are you in favour of same sex couples having the same legal rights and responsibilities as heterosexual couples?’ – I would answer ‘Yes.’

If I were asked – ‘Are you in favour of redefining the word ‘marriage’ – my answer would be ‘No.’

This isn’t a trivial matter. Marriage has always been defined or rather been understood as being between a man and a woman. Cuts across all religions and every culture. The family, whether a family of two or greater, is the building block of every society. I see no reason, other than a desire, for changing that definition.

‘You’re on the wrong side of history, dad, ... me and my friends are in favour, we don’t care.’

I’ve paraphrased that quote because it’s the ... ‘..we don’t care.’ which niggles at the edge of my mind. Of course they care and it’s why they’re in favour of same sex marriage. They see it as a matter of unnecessary discrimination – as simple as that. They haven’t seen that there are two questions being asked – all dressed up in a neat little slogan. ‘Same sex marriage.’

The rainbow coalition looks like it encompasses every shade of sexuality but, if that were true, then it should include –  paedophilia, bestiality and whatever the imagination can dream up. Does it?

‘All love is equal.’ ... define love. Not so hard to name aspects of love – selflessness, compassion, empathy and so on, but to suggest that ‘All love is equal’ doesn’t stand scrutiny if love means differing things to differing people. And it does.

This isn’t about whether or not two women can bring up children in a safe caring environment – they’ve been doing so regardless of convention because men went to war and never came back ... or for many reasons. The family was never ideal and neither was marriage.

Am I in favour of change? Depends, doesn’t it.

 

 

... dual deception ...

 

 

... how to carve up the world ...

 

 

... symbols of an alien sky ...

 

 

....................................

 

First casualty of war is truth. We’ve been at war since someone decided that they were special. Special to the extent that everybody else becomes of either lesser importance or of no importance at all.

Nothing new in that – there have always been the rulers and the ruled and slavery has always been an outcome of empire. Still is.

Throw in the power of religion and any obscenity can be justified.

Man creates God in his own image and not the other way round. Perhaps it is the other way round but man has debased this idea, creating and maintaining his religions. This is the religion of Judaism and the Talmud is its ‘Book of Rules.’ They are horrible ‘rules’ and they make clear that those who aren’t followers of Judaism are soulless creatures whose only purpose on Earth is to serve Jews. Difficult to accept that this is the truth of the matter, as seen by followers of the Talmud, but there it is.

So their God is not a universal God but a tribal god, a capricious, vicious god - a useless god to me. A false idol. That’s what I mean when I say that man creates God in man’s image. A limited, cramped and maniacal image.

Where is the love? Where are any of the virtues which are held high – the kindness, compassion, care which I find in Christ’s message.

‘Love your neighbour’ and ‘Do unto others as you’d have done to yourself’ replaces the Ten Commandments or rather, there is no need of the Ten Commandments if Christ’s way of being is lived in reality.

I can’t live that way without recognising the value and the need of anger – righteous anger rather than the anger felt by personal slight or injury.

I don’t know what God IS so my limited image makes of God a universal creative intelligence whose purpose is not slavery to dogma but something ‘more.’ That ‘something more’ is not to be found in hatred, nor in power or control.

What I make of this isn’t described by some words, cleverly or clumsily expressed.

The path I take through life is mine alone. The multiple experiences are common to us all but our reactions and perceptions are a different matter. There are also those experiences which aren’t common and, perhaps because of that, they occupy a special place within us. It doesn’t make me special to have experience which I know to be special.

Not my purpose to talk about experience other than to state that, in my experience, there is that ‘more’ that I’ve mentioned. It includes awe.

I don’t know what to make of Islam. If Christ’s message wasn’t sufficient, what need for Islam, what need for yet another ‘Book of Rules’?

So convinced of being right, of having the only truth, man becomes a zealot, an extremist and love is displaced. Perhaps it was never felt.

An appeal to self interest is always present in life. Throw in an afterlife and a potent brew is manufactured.

This isn’t about being anti Jewish – my neighbour is Jewish and knows nothing of the Talmud. More importantly, we are both human. We’re special in that equal sense of being human – it’s not because we’re chosen and find need to maintain that position, by fair means or foul, but because we’re not.

 

 

... sun shines on good and evil alike ...

 

Blasphemy – as an idea – has to be one of the most hideous inventions that man has created. Not God but man.

If there is but one God and that God IS the universe and ‘all that is’ then how can God possibly be insulted? The arrogance of man, in religious form, has no bounds, allows for every monstrosity on behalf of what? – protecting God’s thin skin?

Monstrosities, atrocities – plenty of real abominations occurring within mankind’s behaviours to not need blasphemy added to the list.

There is such a thing as blasphemy. Man’s inhumanity to man.

There wouldn’t be ‘The Palestinian question’ is not for Israel’s obscene behaviour. All in the name of religion warped. That’s a blasphemy.

 

... a keiser report ...

 

 

.... world views ....

 

In my cosmology, once were giants – literally. Does that make me a pygmy I wonder. What is the truth of giants apart from mention in the Bible, in the myth and legend of the Mabinogion, the earliest British history. That ancient British history, tracing itself back to Troy and beyond, was, until the 1800’s, probably accepted as fact. Almost certainly accepted because there was no other British history.  

Names, dates, genealogies were passed from generation to generation as were the stories which linked them together. The Mabinogion interests me because my Welsh childhood contains such stories. Giants too.

In the 1800’s a great deal of that which composed accepted world view changed. Darwin published his ‘On the Origin of the Species’ in the late 1850’s and did so about thirty years after Lyel’s  concept of Uniformitarianism was published. This idea suggests that the world and cosmic conditions which are present today were always present. Seems a bit daft to me when the world is littered with catastrophic events.

Darwin didn’t have to tie his work to the idea of an evolution which required settled conditions, for eons on end, but he did. The idea that evolutionary leaps or changes could occur because of catastrophic conditions doesn’t present a problem for Darwin’s evolution but it is more unsettling than slow gradual change.

Part of the reason that ancient British history was dismissed in the 1800’s was because British history goes back to Troy and Troy was believed to be a legend therefore – if Troy is a legend then that British history is a myth. No factual basis. Then in 1873 Troy was unearthed. While this was a great event it didn’t change history, didn’t indicate that a new look is needed for this ancient British history. It didn’t suit the purpose of the ruling or the academic elite.

Many of the text books of history, geography, geology and other areas of interest were  written in the 1800’s and were still in use in my father’s time at school ....  they’re probably still being used. It takes enormous pressure to change the ‘status quo.’ Too much vested interest and it appears that a generation dies out before accepted wisdom is changed.

I’m watching this happen in real time.

Velikovsky was vilified by a small group of academics when his ‘World’s in Collision’ was published in the 1950’s. The public loved his work but his central idea that mankind has a residual consciousness of a time when the planets moved from their orbits and that ‘myth and legend,’ in all cultures, faithfully records these events, did not find favour with them. It is a wonderful work with footnotes and references in abundance. ‘Not good enough.’ cry the critics, ‘This is folklore and nothing more.’

Our ancestors were liars? Not discouraged by sly attack, Velikovsky looked to geology – a subject which is not based on folklore – in order to make his case for a catastrophic past. Although he made that case, his work is largely unknown. But it is known by those who propose an electric universe and continue to offer proof after proof of the truth of their claims. Not yet accepted by conventional wisdom.

‘So many mysteries.’ murmurs a sister of mine as I ‘bend her ear’ with such subjects. Well – there are and one of the mysteries is why so much is suppressed.

Alan Wilson’s books are hard to find so it was through youtube that I witnessed a hale and hearty middle aged man talk persuasively about the historical King Arthur – there were two, one in Roman times and one a few hundred years later. Dismissed as legendary because he’d have been about 250 years old if there were only one Arthur, Alan Wilson refers to ancient British history to make his case in this and many other matters. One of these was the far fetched but perhaps not, tale of a wave of migration, out of Syria, whose people tarried awhile in Troy and then landed in Britain when it was empty of people but inhabited by giants. Alan Wilson’s purpose isn’t to do with giants but I make the connection.

I watched all the interviews I could find and the sad truth was that his work is largely ignored and he appeared an almost broken man in the final interview. He’d been convinced that the truth he’d uncovered would be accepted because it was factual.

Where’s the profit in that?

Enough of this and changing focus. Yippee for versatility.

 

... webbots, webhits, it's still a web ...

 

A shaft of early morning sun slices, comes sliding at an angle, through a northern facing window. As we move from mid winter, the sun rises closer to the summer solstice high point and comes bursting in the eastern window, straight through the house – just as it does with megalithic structures such as Stonehenge. I know that this apparent change in the position of the sun is due to the tilt of the earth. Nothing magic about it.

Watched an item about the massive increase in ‘Flat Earth’ videos. To me, the whole subject is a nonsense but the web is full of gems mixed with rubbish. The item was worth watching not because it exposed flat earth as a nonsense but because it exposed the massive increase, over a short while, of these videos. They’re in the hundreds and the bloke posting the item notes that he himself makes videos and it’s just not possible for an individual to create so much material on an almost daily basis. Some weird operation is in progress to confuse the many.

Gems amid the rubbish. Went sapphire mining and found the same situation. Sapphires aren’t all bright and sparkly in the rough – you need to look closely. There’s a lot of dirt between the gems and much hard work needed with no guarantee of success.

Clif High – of ‘half past human’ is a gem. A big picture character with the fine detail to match. And he has a delightful sense of humour.

Among the rubbish surrounding UFO activity lie some dubious characters. Money making enterprises which muddy the waters regarding this subject. It’s a strange aspect of the alien reality that direct observation by hundreds of thousands of people are dismissed as though those observations can all be explained as ‘swamp gas.’

And, of course, the speed of light and the distance between stars would make such contact unlikely ... but that’s putting the cart before the horse. If they’re here then the speed of light isn’t an issue – it’s been bent, warped or otherwise overcome. Why is this not self evident. Limited information – not that. Limited interest perhaps.

A magpie fixes me with beady eye. All fluffed up against the cold it waits to receive a slice of bread. The parrots do likewise and get some seed. It’s a connection I enjoy. Simple pleasures of life and too cold for me to jump into the garden. Those autumn tasks were done and nothing needs my activity for another few weeks. Time for guitar practice and pleasure in playing.

I’d started this website, years ago, as a place to host my songs. Perhaps they weren’t very ‘good’ which doesn’t much matter if that’s the case. Music – that’s another matter. It’s a lifelong pursuit in which I’m making some progress as a guitarist. Thanks to excellent teachers online and something within which perseveres. By the time I hit seventy – not too far away – I’ll be singing cheerful blues.

 

 

.... a winter's tale ...

 

If we are a flock then children are the sacrificial lambs. I’m so tired of the use of that phrase ‘conspiracy theory’ when there’s no theory involved. Did you never have a secret? Are there family secrets, corporate secrets, government secrets, church secrets? What does it take for a secret to become a conspiracy? A few people who have a vested interest in not revealing facts which threaten their position.

Facts leading to a conclusion. There’s no theory involved.

People are dismissively called Sheeple, perhaps because sheep are easily led and aren’t renowned for thinking - but they aren’t easily led, it takes sheep dogs and shepherds to keep the flock quiet, to get them to follow direction. As to whether the sheep know that they’re being led ... well ... does advertising work?

I count my blessings that I’m not a paedophile and that the opposite sex, with a developed body, is what attracts my interest. It didn’t stop me from being in the clutches of a child molester, for many months, at about aged eleven. A sailing club instructor who, in retrospect, followed the usual path of grooming.

Did it affect my life, my trust, my spontaneity - of course ... to some extent, I can’t see why it wouldn’t. This was more than fifty years ago when awareness was lower about this issue than it is today. Why didn’t I tell anyone?

‘It’s a secret – do you promise?’

It’s sad. It’s more than sad that paedophilia runs rampant in the churches and temples of all religions, is rife throughout the political world.

I was fortunate, I suppose, that my molestations weren’t sadistic or cruel but – I didn’t need them, didn’t ask for them and they didn’t help. As for giving me plenty of time to reflect upon man’s sexuality and the reality that – if you can think a sexual situation then it’s been done and done with gusto. Plenty of room for thought.

The vow of celibacy – how can anyone make such a vow. Sexual energy will not be denied. Temporarily, no doubt, is possible but it will find a way to manifest. That’s my male experience.

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ asked my parents. How could I when sex was never mentioned and, if I swore, I’d get a clip around the ear.

‘Ah well – you’re all right now aren’t you?’

It’s not about me as a separate individual but more about our common human experience. How else can I explain or understand why this sexual aberration holds such sway over so many.

Not many have the fairy tale life where ‘they lived happily ever after.’  Even if your sexuality conforms to what is seen as acceptable, it doesn’t run smooth and may not run at all. There are the millions – billions throughout time – who have never held a partner in their arms. Does their desire falter or die just because of that reality.

I’d suggest that many with great intellectual awareness have an emotional age which never left the school yard. How would that colour sexual desire? I don’t know – just musing while the third highest Vatican official is about to return to Australia to face child molestation charges.

It’s not a taboo subject but it is difficult. When I was a confused teenager – before I became a confused adult - I swore that if I ever found myself attracted to children that I’d kill myself. I understand that, just as homosexuals do not choose to have that orientation anymore than do heterosexuals, then wouldn’t the same hold true for the whole spectrum of sexual desire  .... unpalatable though that may be. I don’t suggest that people kill themselves but I can’t see how an ethical approach to life can be anything other than a fraud if acting upon paedophilic desire is realised.

It’s the difference between the luciferian doctrine of

‘Do as thou will.’ – which isn’t about freedom of expression but depends upon an attitude of not caring – and  the ethical  ‘Do no harm.’

 

 

... earthquake activity ...

 

For months now I’ve tuned in to Dutchsinse and his youtube channel which forcasts earthquakes. Problem is that earthquakes are random or so the mainstream opinion maintains. This would be a reasonable position to hold in a time where technology was minimal and knowledge of earthquake activity took awhile to be shared.

Not so today. Google earth and some fancy software allows Dutchsinse to show the globe and spin it like a ball. To show earthquakes appearing in real time. This allows for a growing appreciation that earthquake pressure transfers across the plate.

This directly threatens the academic position of those who teach otherwise and whose salary depends upon Dutchsinse being wrong in his work. And so he is attacked.

He uses the earthquake lists which many countries provide but the surprise for me lies in the fact that earthquakes can appear on one site but not another. Not only that but the magnitude of earthquakes come from many stations and an average is sought. The average is then often downgraded by a half magnitude. I don’t know whether this is due to incompetence or some other reason but I wouldn’t have thought it too difficult to be up to date. It’s only data entry.

It’s very informative to watch his detailed daily analysis. Not only regarding earthquake activity but also for a better knowledge of exactly where countries are located.

It’s sobering to witness quite how much his ideas are attacked. Self interest trumps scientific truth until that truth becomes self evident.

 

... and now the news ...

 

The news is rationed – there are only so many minutes in a twenty four day. The news is filtered – how can it be otherwise.

The Russians didn’t do it – whatever the present ‘it’ happens to be.

Anyway, wars and rumours of wars, including wars in Heaven and Earth, dot the landscape where my news comes from RT – Russia Today, Al Jazeera, Israeli News Live and other sources.

There’s something cartoonish about ‘The Leader of the Free World’ tweeting his thoughts about trivialities while carnage prowls the world stage. Isn’t there a bigger picture needing attention.

The Chinese don’t have scores of military bases throughout the Middle East or Europe. Neither country is threatening anything except the complex which runs America and which has no interest other than its own continuance.

Saudi Arabia buys the huge arm deals from Britain and the U.S. and exports a hideous fundamentalism which is a primary source of brutality dressed up as piety. Exports it to Europe. Europe cannot cope.

Israel gains settlements by ongoing force and the map of 1947 which shows Palestinian and Israeli territory is in tatters. Israel – what is there to say about a country which has expanding borders and which dominates so much of world affairs in such a devious fashion.

In that present bigger picture is the weather. I don’t mean the changing seasons and their variations over time but the way in which ‘Global Warming’ has become ‘Climate Change.’ What changed?

I’m all in favour of solar panels replacing fracking – as a cleaner way to find energy – and I’d accepted that CO2 is a ‘villain in the piece.’ I’d simplified the issue to ‘smoke stacks obviously bad’ and, because ice changes from frozen to liquid within one degree, any rise in global temperature threatens catastrophe.

I hadn’t taken into account that while the freezing point of water may be zero, that great mass of ice covering Antarctica exists within a weather system with a temperature of many tens of degrees below zero – it would take more than one or two degrees to melt the ice. And CO2 apparently makes up a tiny fraction of one percent of the atmosphere.

How easy it is to make assumptions, how easy to be mistaken.

A climate warming which became a climate change and then turns out to be inaccurate is ‘news’ to me.

Climate change in the sense of weather modification is a reality and while chemtrails aren’t common in Australia, the same isn’t true across the U.S.A.

In a bigger picture, the Earth hurtles through space, subject to incoming waves of galactic energy – sort of sad that our eyes only see in such a small part of the spectrum.

In a bigger picture, aliens exist, UFO’s are real and are here in our skies - as witnessed by more reports than can be counted. Yet the threadbare fantasy that we are perhaps alone in the universe continues as a dominant view. The ridicule which surrounds the subject testifies to that.

Layers upon layers of bigger pictures, all with fine detail

Back to local news where the wonderful Frank Drebin of ‘Police Squad’ is on t.v. and I love that sense of humour.

Just as well that the news is rationed.

 

.... fine detail ...

 

 

The big picture is full of fine detail, regardless of how I define that big picture. Earthquakes rumble around the globe, climate change on a grand scale cannot be denied and, yet, ‘business as usual’ continues, the wars grind on.

It’s not an accident, not on the human level. Plans are made regardless of the climate, perhaps not much noticed, because there are so many climates. Political, social, financial, religious, personal – all climates and all having a big picture aspect which is full of fine detail.

9/11 and the changed world which has directly resulted from those events is one such ‘big picture which is full of fine detail’ and it’s within the detail that the official story falls apart, crumbles to dust.

It matters.

It’s a big picture within a bigger picture. It needs to be treated as a criminal investigation which is why I’ll put up useful videos – full of fine detail -  here. 

 

... james corbett, 9/11 ...

 

 

... enemy of a state of mind ...

 

What do you do if you’ve got ‘all the money in the world’ and can print as much as you like because you own the banking system? This is the true state of affairs regarding banking. It’s not a theory, it’s a fact. Not one country in the world has a financial system independent of Central Banks. The wealth of the world is in the hands of privately owned entities. This should be front page news but we’re used to it and don’t understand that this is not what previous generations had to deal with.

Greed knows no bounds and ‘enough is enough’ is an alien concept to the ‘powers that be.’ After the baubles and trinkets cease to fulfill, the mind turns to the exercise of power and, how heady it must be to know that this power allows for reality to be changed. Not the reality of our interactions with each other nor the fact that the sun shines on good and evil alike but the background noise which indicates national interest and global concerns and which affect us all, indirectly or directly via immediate and real death and destruction.

The idea that the world is a grand chessboard upon which ‘the powers that be’ strive for domination, using fair means or foul, isn’t a foreign idea to most. Of course, chess has rules whereas ‘fair means or foul’ indicates no rules at all. Chess is two dimensional while the world is more complex but one aspect of chess readily transfers to matters of state and it lies in the idea of making every move serve more than one purpose. In this way, many possibilities can be catered for.

Why should you care? Take away the fine words of our various leaders and arms deals matter more than life - life for the millions destroyed by those arms deals.

‘We don’t care.’ is the hideous truth behind our common circumstance. It runs through humanity, individually, to a greater or lesser extent and is an essential component of the mentality of those who rule. ‘Collateral damage’ is easy to say and masks the inhumanity of those who use such phrases. Mental shrug and ... ‘let’s move on.’

The struggle for survival, for a job, a living wage and a future becomes more difficult.  It’s a direct result of giving a monopoly over the supply of money to private individuals. In pursuit of a goal in which total control over populations becomes, not only ‘essential to everyone’s security’ but welcomed by those populations tired of terrorism, a cashless society awaits in the wings - just off stage. It will be touted as sensible and as a way of ... er ... getting rid of black markets, preventing the transfer of funds by dubious characters. The problem is that such a power also allows for any who disagree or protest or threaten the State by their continuing existence to have their access to funds cut off completely.

This possible reality echoes that biblical idea that there will come a time when no-one will be allowed to buy or sell but that they carry ‘the mark of the beast.’ The logical next step towards a cashless society is to do away with the cards we carry and have a retina scan or something similar. I was familiar with this ‘mark of the beast’ idea within the context of my Roman Catholic childhood but that was decades ago and it made no sense in a time before credit cards and ‘paywave’ technologies. My understanding then was to ‘know with certainty’ that all people would be familiar with this prophecy so no-one would be fooled but neither conclusion is true.

Talking to grandchild about ‘Once upon a time’ stories and whether these stories are true. It’s not a simple matter to convey to a small child.

Once upon a time there were two towers. They stood mighty in their strength of construction, each rising one hundred and ten stories high. Wicked men plotted as wicked men always have. They wanted war in many countries but knew that the population would not be galvanised into conflict without good cause. They gave them that cause in the destruction of those two towers. To make such a huge event work seamlessly, they needed much to be working in their favour but these men were at a pinnacle of power and could contrive the following.

The might of their air force were otherwise occupied in a country wide training drill which prevented that force from recognising the hijacked planes, to be used as weapons of shock and awe, as a real threat until it was too late. That wasn’t a lucky coincidence for the hijackers or, if it was, couldn’t not have been planned better.

The hijackers were poorly trained on light aircraft yet managed to hit a target that the best pilots we have will maintain could not be done by any but the ‘best of the best.’

Two towers, built to withstand such an attack, fell into their own footprint. Have you any idea of just how difficult it would be, using controlled demolition, to bring a building down and into its own footprint? Still - it happened and this suited the rebuilding purpose and minimised collateral damage to other buildings. Except for Building 7 - a forty seven story high building, not hit by a plane nor much debris from the Twin Towers yet it also fell, free fall, into it’s own footprint. Did it do so in sympathy?

Although the planes and then the Towers were utterly demolished, an undamaged passport belonging to a hijacker manages to float to the ground to be offered up as conclusive proof that a group of Muslim terrorists were involved. Nothing else floated to the ground.

The Pentagon was hit, but not one photograph exists which shows that plane. A picture of the moment of explosion exists but nothing which shows a plane. No cameras around?

There were many facts about that event which indicated something other than the official story but finding a convenient culprit and going to war preempted any other consideration and then - people forgot or were unaware or didn’t care. Life was hard, not because of too many people but because the chess game has been going on for longer than any of us have been alive and people and their lives don’t matter to the wicked men and women playing this game.

The aim of the game is to literally change the reality of mankind. While accidents do happen, they’ll serve the greater purpose if conditions prevail which make such accidents inevitable.

It’s hard to explain why ‘once upon a time’ stories can contain truth yet be a lie.


 

... doubling down and fake news ...

 

An elephant trumps, stomps and bellows. Belligerent use of power. Travesty replaces Democracy and freedom is hedged with restriction and splattered with blood money. Small wonder that my mind gravitates to elsewhere and there are plenty of elsewheres to explore.

Is it possible for the financial system to freefall to a crash in the same way that the Twin Towers and Building 7 defied the laws of physics - from which the laws of engineering and architecture are firmly based?

If I accept - because the evidence is there - that the Twin Towers and Building 7 which were all demolished on 9/11 did not defy the laws of physics and were, in fact, a planned demolition, then the inescapable conclusion is that the event was rigged rather than miraculous and, if that be true, then very little on the world stage is accidental.

It’s not just a matter of ‘connecting the dots’ but of selecting the dots that I connect. And that’s where we all differ. Our conviction that we’re correct in our assessments isn’t in question although the very word ‘conviction’ is uncomfortably twinned with convict. It’s possible to be both bound and blinkered by our convictions.

‘Fake news’ and ‘doubling down’ are phrases now used constantly in news reports but they come into common use very recently - with the Trump presidency and they are indicative of the man himself - both personality and character. Doubling down is a gambling phrase but I had to look it up just to make sure of its meaning.

Criticise Trump and, rather than answer the criticism, the man attacks. He is a cartoon, a hollow man

‘It’s a rigged game’ is an idea that all but the most innocent understand. The extent of the rigging is .... complete. That isn’t quite so readily understood. The financial system of the world is hijacked by a system of Central banks who print money out of thin air and call it quantitative easing as if such a grand phrase can disguise this fraud.

It wasn’t always this way. The fact that our leaders will not touch this subject is almost beyond belief but not really. It comes back to the dots we care to connect. The power inherent in the ability to manipulate the financial system is unlimited, at least in Earthly terms.

So - how’s your mental health? I go quiet with my troubled mind. I’m able to be nourished by gardening and creative activity and look to wider sources for my news. It’s not just a matter of looking but of seeing what I’m looking at.

‘We want to be treated fairly.’ says Trump who mentions this on his European trip having just sold billions of dollars worth of military arms to Saudi Arabia - the very country which nourishes much of the extremist ideology now existing, the very same country in which human rights do not exist. The ally of Israel.

‘It means jobs, jobs, jobs.’ says Trump. No. It means death, death,  death. Utterly dishonest.

It’s a puppet show and, in that sense, the puppets play their part, join the Ponzi scheme, leave the stage and return to a roof over their collective heads. Meanwhile, most of humanity are left in the dust of their respective dreams and the idea of a roof over their heads is a bad joke.

Aaron Russo asked Nicholas Rockefeller ... ‘What’s the point of all this?’

If you have the time, it’s worth the effort to find his youtube interviews.

The point is very dark and completely uncaring. A world in which total control via a cashless society becomes the new world order.

Here’s the other recent and increasingly popular phrase .... ‘That’s just crazy talk.’



 

... in these times ...

 

Going quiet.

 

http://sorendreier.com/the-healing-darkness/

 

... beautiful event ...

 

 

... movement everywhere ....

 

A beautiful Autumn day with barely a breath of air to stir the leaves of changing colour. So still as to make easy the thought that the world itself isn’t moving. Such is the deception of the senses which easily assumes that local conditions reflect the conditions prevailing elsewhere -  ‘As above, so below’ isn’t the whole story..... unless, perhaps, we know ‘all’ that is above and what is below. I don’t.

Picture the solar system and, the chances are, that the sun - our local star - sits quiet at the centre while the planets move around that sun in leisurely orbit. All very orderly but far from the truth.

The sun hurtles through space - a space which isn’t empty but filled with charged particles. The sun drags the planets behind it and, as those planets are in orbit, the whole effect is similar to a corkscrew motion. Very different to that placid picture presented in text books.

That interstellar medium itself is not static,  nor do the charged particles which make up that seething space remain the same type of particles. We are mobile as is everything else and just as differing types of stars pour out their energies in various forms, so we are being impacted by differing energies as our star continues on its way.

Meanwhile scores of earthquakes ripple around the globe every day and the pressure released by one earthquake pushes its way along the edges of the fault lines and produces yet another. None of that energy disturbs the leaves on the trees here, in this garden.

But it exists just as the drums of war exist whether they’re heard or not. The financial world - based on fraud - is due for collapse as that game of ‘pass the parcel - it’s musical chairs’ becomes more frantic. How can money be printed out of thin air and this not be the case.

‘Quantitative easing’ - I defy anyone to explain this phrase - a phrase designed to deceive. A large bottom shifting position on a chair - ah - that’s better.

There is no certainty in life, security is an illusion and change - paradoxically - is the only constant. On a personal level, this doesn’t impact upon the values which I hold. Neither should it. Honesty in behaviour allows one to, perhaps, see clearly.

All I mean by that is that dishonest behaviour often indicates a certain unease because unwanted disclosure is an ever present threat thus the events within the wider world are of lesser interest.

Or - it’s all too much. The paedophilia surrounding the corridors of power - church, state and institutional - erupt into the news and then disappear or are labelled ‘fake news.’ They’re not, of course, but power gets used to smother that news and it’s not a subject on which many wish to dwell.

And when it comes to ‘news’, what to believe? Propaganda replaces news and so I must look elsewhere than just mainstream outlets in order to find the difference in outlook or in events not reported in the mainstream. Along the way I find that the old idea of left wing, right wing ceases to have much meaning. Republican, Democrat, Labour or Conservative - lines are blurred but what is clear is that people everywhere have had enough. Had enough of centralised power, had enough of Wall Street manipulation, want their national power returned. Quite what that means is open to question but one aspect of today’s reality is clear - ‘open borders’ is a disastrous policy just as it would be if scaled down to ‘open house.’

Naive to expect that ‘we’re all the same, we’re all equal’ is true beyond an acceptance that we all breath, live and die and have common needs. Beyond that and this equality frays quickly and does so because we don’t all have common values and many of our needs are uncommon. This leads to conflict as it’s bound to do.

It’s ‘values’ which allow such criminal gangs as Islamic State to behead and destroy wherever they go and do so with conviction, with a blind stupidity and a total disregard for the Ten Commandments yet all the while bellowing ‘God is great’ with the same enthusiasm as a gang of football thugs chanting their particular slogan. It’s obscene.


It’s as obscene as the constant regime change called for by America as it seeks to maintain a military presence around the planet.

Trump casually swats an airfield in Syria and sends messages to everyone. Confused messages but this is a man who is so used to lying that he just ignores his lies and blusters through and now threatens Iran. I don’t claim anything but a rudimentary knowledge of world history but Trump has no idea at all. Doesn’t remember how America has already effected regime change in Iran, has already interfered in the internal affairs of Iran because - he never knew. It wasn’t important.

What a Clown and surrounded by the same cabal who advised previous Presidents that their real purpose was to serve Israel’s needs. This is true. It’s woeful but sits snugly with the uncomfortable truth inherent within Judaism that they are chosen and - not necessarily so by implication but generally accepted anyway - that the rest of the world is only here to serve Judaic interest. The Talmud is full of nonsense like this.

Hurtling through an electric universe, vast and teeming with life. Is it teeming with life? Can’t see why it wouldn’t be the case. Particularly so when Earth itself is constantly being visited - as the eyewitness testimony confirms, as my own experience testifies. Doesn’t make me special to have witnessed UFO’s but the event is so unexpected and other worldly that it immediately becomes special. As to why this subject is still considered dubious for anyone of sound mind to pursue is a sad reflection on the mainstream media and a matter of money and power elsewhere.

It’s still a quiet day in the mountains with barely a breath to stir the leaves. I’ll stop here and watch Dutchsinse predict earthquakes on youtube. He talks sense and I love the passion with which he explains the detail of the day with reference to what has already occurred.

It’s excellent but, like much which happens to be ‘true’, has not found ready acceptance by academia.


 

.... just a reminder ...

 

 

... on a whim and a prayer ...

 

I don’t know anyone who wants war. Those people obviously exist. Dictator Trump swats an airfield in Syria - just to keep ‘em guessing. What a dreadful approach to world affairs. Whim and a prayer. Both of no substance other than to ratchet up the drums of war.

Robotic voices deliver the news. I don’t mean the talking head commercial news nor do I mean to be dismissive of their bewildered efforts to deliver anything of substance. No - talking about the alternative news sites which use robotic technology to speak the narrative. I can’t listen to it. Pauses get delivered where none should be and my irritation level rises because - perhaps these people think that a mechanical voice somehow hides their identity.

Here’s something which has niggled in my mind for decades. I’m in my mid sixties and ‘Judeo-Christian’ - as a phrase -  was not even faintly on the horizon of my Roman Catholic childhood. I’ve looked as to when this absurd phrase first appears. In the mainstream? Not until the 1970's.

‘Judeo-Christian values’ is another phrase which puzzles me.

To Jews, Christ was a fraud and his followers deluded. Add to that the inherent psychosis in believing that you - for no good reason - are ‘chosen’ and that the rest of humanity are here solely to serve the Jews and you have an answer as to why ‘Judeo-Christian’ has no meaning other than to obscure real meaning.

I’ve nothing against individual Jews - it’s not the issue. No doubt we all share values with Hitler or Netanyahu - or whoever happens to be the bogeyman of the moment. They all liked dogs. What’s wrong with that?

The value I hold dear is rooted in the idea of fair play. This is inherent in Christianity or I’ve missed the point. It isn’t inherent in Judaism. Again - if I’ve missed something here then Israel would not be treating the Palestinians in a way which mirrors every jack booted criminal gang bullying their way to temporary success. Where are the common values? They’re  not there. Another case of the Emperor’s New Clothes - and I see that nakedness. In this case, it isn’t a pretty sight.

To suggest that the ruling class in any western society actually is composed of firm believers in Christianity obviously isn’t true but the concept of fair treatment - or so I believe - is a core belief of those societies.

 Perhaps this is true within Islam and - maybe - ISIS and their clones are no more indicative of Islam than the Inquisition was of Christianity.

The only people who ever wore masks fifty years ago were bandits, bad guys and bank robbers. As an example of those who hide their faces - with good reason - and the Klu Klux Klan comes to mind. They claim to be Christian yet ‘Love your neighbour’ and ‘Do unto others as you’d have done to yourself’ aren’t their guiding principles.

I can’t help but see that Islamic dress code which demands that women are covered head to toe as equally indicative of ‘religion gone wrong’ as is the dress code of the Klu Klux Klan.

Slavery isn’t acceptable in Christianity. Is this true elsewhere.

Yep - I know it’s complicated but get too complicated and words cease to have meaning.

Judeo-Christian-Islamic .... what shared values? No doubt the huge differences within the various factions of Christianity are mirrored within Islam and Judaism.

For me the New Testament replaces the Old Testament. There is no New Testament in Judaism. ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’ isn’t replaced by Christ’s message.

Funny thing is that I’m probably as Buddhist as I am Christian - and as I am for the ‘whatever it is’ that precedes and predates every religion and doesn’t need a name.


Anyway - just a train of thought. Quiet Autumn day. Autumn tasks include pruning, cutting back, clearing the undergrowth.


 

...weapons of mass deception ... er .. what?...

 

Strange how words change in meaning. I can’t think the word ‘regime’ without ‘change’ being added. ‘Conspiracy’ gets married to ‘theory’ but it wasn’t always this way. If the facts indicate conspiracy then there’s no ‘theory’ about it. This is self evident to me but not to others who have similar or greater intelligence.

This is the list of countries in which regime change was deemed essential for the re-shaping of the Middle East - re-shaping so that The Project for a New American Century could become reality.

 Iraq, Syria, Iran, Libya Lebanon, Somalia and Sudan.

This is not a theory but a plan. I suppose it constitutes a conspiracy but it’s quite open in the sense of being in the public domain. Who knows about it? Very few of the intelligent people I know.

In September 2000, the PNAC group released a document titled ‘Rebuilding America’s Defenses – Strategy, Forces and Resources for a New Century’, in which the group discusses the need for the U.S. to assert its military authority around the globe to secure its strategic objectives.

Strategic objectives? Military authority? Nothing about peace or freedom mentioned here. President Carter, in 1980, asserted that the United States would secure Middle Eastern oil and natural gas by “any means necessary, including military force.” and twenty years after that, in the year 2000, and a reason is needed to galvanise the world into war...... a short while later and 9/11 did that. The official story there may still be believed in the heartland of America but I doubt it is accepted so readily elsewhere.

Trump’s air strike in Syria helps ISIS. His gut reaction to babies being gassed isn’t mirrored with the same concern over the paedophilic cess-pit which is woven into the fabric of political life in the U.S.A. - and elsewhere. Too strong a claim by me? Not at all..... but it’s such a hideous subject that most would shy away and retreat into that wonderful world of cognitive dissonance where conflict arousing facts just don’t need to be looked at.

‘Common sense’ - I wonder if it ever was common or if the idea itself is ironic wishful thinking.

9/11 was and is a house of cards. Architects and Engineers for 9/11 truth continue with their efforts to investigate Building 7's collapse.

And I come back to 9/11 over and over again precisely because it is that event which leads directly to the state of the world now.

Meanwhile ... weapons of mass deception walk hand in hand with weapons of mass destruction.... not forgetting mass distraction.

Still - there's plenty to be cheerful about but I won't be making a list.


 

... and after Syria? ....

 

Apart from retaining a sense of wonder, I’m baffled. ... well .. that was short and sweet.

Youtube and Google have their uses but, as time moves on and my world-view changes, so the control of social media becomes more obvious. That the mainstream news is filtered is obviously true when the commercial news is devoted to the local while political and social upheaval erupts around the world.

Because of this I get my ‘news’ elsewhere - the internet. This is where world-views collide and fake news and truth aren’t easy to separate.  Checking facts used to be what news was about. Don’t write about something without doing the research. That approach is basically gone and twitter replaces thought and Facebook is now censored.

I’ve watched a great deal about what interests me on youtube. One such site that I recently came across belongs to Dutchsinse. His passion is related to earthquake activity and his premise is that earthquakes aren’t random and that pressure follows the fault lines. It all sounds sensible to me in the same way that the electric universe is equally so. Neither of those positions are warmly accepted by the mainstream.

The same mad men who have taken world into the Middle East and into endless war over weapons of mass destruction which never existed, now shake with rage over a gas attack in Syria which serves no purpose at all for the ruling regime. It suits the purpose of the rebels to have such weapons but not those who rule. Why does Trump blame Assad? Is he a moron? Not obviously so, but his grasp of real conditions prevailing, the reasons why those conditions prevail and how propaganda is used, are limited. He threatens retaliation and whose purpose is served? It’s a sad state of affairs when the traditional bogey men of the West are now the most transparent and clear voices raised within the Asylum now masquerading as politics.

To baffled, one could add bamboozled and discombobulated, but none of that’s true. The Project for the New American Century which needs to destabilise the whole of the Middle East, except for Israel, in order to achieve its aims, requires that Syria like Iraq and Libya ... there is a list of countries where regime change is essential .... fall and be replaced by the best democracies money can buy.

It can’t fail to work, can it?


 

... hope springs eternal ....

 

“Truth is gaining ground” says the latest mail out from ‘Architects & Engineers for 9/11 Truth.’ And it is. Here’s what he says.

“Last week, we learned that our resolution calling upon the American Institute of Architects (AIA) to officially support a new WTC 7 investigation was accepted at the national convention for a third year in a row. Although we found out at the last minute that the AIA now requires a signature from each sponsor, we managed to get 70 of our 225 sponsors to email us their signatures before the deadline.

And so, on April 26th representatives of the AIA’s 90,000 members will vote on whether the AIA should add its powerful voice to the call for a new investigation. In 2015, we won 4% of the vote. In 2016, we nearly tripled our share to 11%. This year, our goal is to triple that number again — and perhaps even win.”

O.K.  - what is being asked for is a new investigation into the collapse of Building 7 - a 47 story high building which was not impacted by any plane on 9/11 but collapsed at free fall speed nonetheless.

As the world in which we all live was - and continues to be -  so deeply impacted by the events of 9/11, why wouldn’t any rational human want answers to the huge numbers of questions which are raised.

It’s precisely when individual investigation proceeds that a list of odd co-incidences start appearing.

It just happens that the U.S. airforce is having a drill that day which prevents any response other than confusion. This is fact. There are pilots by the hundreds who say that they would find it impossible to have flown that flight path into the twin towers. So how is it possible for some middle eastern terrorists with little experience of flying small aircraft to have performed this feat? The short answer is that they couldn’t and they didn’t.

Then there’s the money trail and not just the stock market oddities just prior to 9/11 but who owned the twin towers, how were they insured, who had the security contracts for those buildings and what maintenance work was occurring in the weeks leading up to 9/11.

The Pentagon and the lack of even one image of a plane hitting that building. Not one - why not? Are they not released because of National Security? It would be laughable if it weren’t so monstrous.

It was a gigantic conjurers trick. Yes, two planes hit two towers so why did three fall down. Not just down but - very convenient for rebuilding purposes - into their own footprint. The twin towers were built to withstand attack such as this.

I could continue with such detail as who turned up for work that day and who didn’t, the actual investigations that those people were involved with and who died along with the work, and who benefited.

It is sobering to have to come to the conclusion that many people, at a very high level, conspired to take the U.S. population to war and to drag the rest of the world into continuous regime change. And regime change always involves destroying those same societies and liberating most who survive into becoming refugees.

‘Regime change’ is a Western phrase. Has China called for regime change or invaded anyone recently? Has Iran? Has Russia?

Sad truth is that this is Israel, the U.S. and their allies who talk about the need for regime change.

The most recent film clip I’ve seen regarding 9/11 is the testimony of Peter Ketcham on youtube. It’s had 40,000 views thus far which is encouraging until youtube informs me that the trending subjects on youtube, reaching millions at a time, relate to trailers for upcoming silly movies and not much else.

Hope springs eternal. I don’t know why but I’m glad it does.



               
        

 

.... two planes, three towers - impossible ....

 

 

...fixed with a cool stare ....

 

The message separate to the messenger. I can’t trust Trump because - it doesn’t really matter why - but I do trust that enough Americans had  had enough of the status quo to want change. Isn’t that what Obama promised? But Trump promises to make America great again.

I don’t know what his message is apart from draining swamps and building walls. It sounds almost solid. Constructive. Perhaps the crumbling infrastructure will be improved. Nations everywhere are building walls and fences across their borders as the homeless and the dispossessed threaten to overwhelm society. Why wouldn’t populations be uneasy and quick to anger. Wanting a ‘strong man’ and a strong man appears.

I like China. Whatever complaints are made, it can’t be an easy matter to keep such a huge society functioning. While Western alliances bring destruction to foreign lands, China invests in infrastructure, also in foreign lands. This isn’t a glossy advertisement for the Chinese political system but democracy is a flimsy cloth in reality and I’d imagine that the present Chinese society is familiar with the substance of what has guided their society for millennia.

Whether it’s a president, king, emperor, or a parliament, someone occupies that position so it’s within  the ‘checks and balances’ that a society prospers - or it fails because there are no real checks and balances.

The United States aren’t united, the United Kingdom is fractured,  the Soviet Union collapses and the European Union is a question mark for the many who welcomed a Common Market but never expected it to become a clone - in terms of centralised power - of the Soviet Union.

America can’t manage to create an affordable health system while many counties, with less resources, have managed that basic ‘right.’ America does well with the privatised prison system in which - to make a viable business - a constant supply of prisoners is essential. Doesn’t take much thought to see how this can be abused.

A society worthy of that name depends upon an educated and healthy population but we’ve moved from that understanding to one in which ‘user pays’ is the determining factor and the word ‘citizen’ is replaced with ‘consumer.’ What a hideous change in perception and even more so because it goes unnoticed.

I’m not a ‘talking head.’ I’m not particularly bright. Just an average human being trying to make sense of that which doesn’t make sense.

Mental illness is a huge issue everywhere and it is acknowledged, programs are put in place, medications offered but who among us is so astute that they can cut through the difficulties which surround our individual lives, our mental and emotional health,  when so many of the ‘ills’ which assail us are a reflection of just how sick our society’s  condition actually is. ... and I live in the lucky country.

I got myself a gun. The grandkids will love it. It’s a ‘you beaut’ water pistol which shoots a jet half way across the garden.

I live on the fringes where traffic noise is replaced by bird song. Wonderful variety and the various behaviours are something to behold. This is their beauty.

King Parrots - unafraid and resplendent with an iridescent green stripe along the wings. They eat the bird seed but aren’t fixated on feeding whereas the pigeons are so intent that they’ll land on each other’s backs without pausing in their meal. The Satin Bower birds, the females camouflaged in their cream and green, the male in black and with blues eyes. Flighty and shy, much like many other birds and they all have their social behaviour.

Sulphur-crested Cockatoo, white, muscular and with a yellow crest on the head - these are the terrorists within the garden. They’re infamous for their penchant for destruction. I’m sure they don’t see it that way as they casually chew a deck, a doorframe or a window sill and  splinter what I hold dear.

But I can’t feed one bird without feeding all. The magpies with their melodic throaty song, fix me with beady intelligent eye and I throw some bread. In swoop all the birds who don’t eat the bird seed while the colourful parrots perch in the trees and quietly wait.

Not only do the Sulphur-crested Cockatoos eat seed and bread but eat the house itself. They are the vandals of the bird world and will tear the heads of flowers just for fun. They look at me from a safe distance as I survey the splintered damage.

‘Get yourself a gun.’ suggests my neighbour and so I did. It’s a bit absurd but a lot better than hurling stones and curses. Ultimately I just want to discourage one species of bird because their behaviour is unacceptable. I can’t change their nature but perhaps I can ‘move them on.’ ..... and it’s uncomfortably echoing of human behaviour.

Anyway, the gun is specific in aim and does no more harm than to startle with water. It works. Doesn’t take long before the other birds recognise that my Star Wars pistol isn’t aimed at them.

And the Sulphur-crested Cockatoos are getting a message about boundaries.

Small victory and it’s great fun to pick up a gun and see that gang take off.

‘May the force be with you!’  Off to the garden while the Autumn sun shines and time to wonder why so much interest is being shown in Antarctica. Perhaps it’s the ice.




 

.... 'I did it my way' sang the crooner ...

 

‘Love your neighbour’ - in that Christian sense and in the way in which I’ve understood it - can bring out the worst in me.

Not only does it take time, effort and resources, which is to be expected, but - what can I say but - ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions.’

What prompts this, apart from personal experience, is the stark divisions apparent between people with seemingly, equally good intent - could be my neighbour - and which leads to the rise of Trump and others like him to power. The man lies and thinks nothing of it. He blusters and preens and loves the adulation. Perhaps he will achieve something positive but quite how is a mystery. He is surrounded by the same cabal who have steered Presidents in the desired directions for decades so ‘draining the swamp’ now has no meaning. He is within the swamp which is also the top of the pyramid .... and trickles down through society in a way in which economic benefit never did.

I’m surrounded by good neighbours but not completely so. They help out as needed and while I’ve had a broken foot, shopping has been done for me and real concern demonstrated. I’m recovered now.

‘I did it my way.’ - or so the song would have me believe. It sings to the overcoming of obstacles in pursuit of ‘success.’ But taken to extreme and ‘doing it my way’ easily becomes a way of control - a ‘My way or the Highway’ approach to life. And doesn’t it bring misery to those bound by responsibility or circumstance to such a person and completely unable to take to the Highway because the one demanding ‘My way’ has blocked the Highway.

The swamp that so many Americans, who voted for Trump, want him to drain isn’t just about the mucky abuse of money and power but the paedophilia which runs through so many of the people associated with wealth and power. It’s a hideous subject and it isn’t ‘fake news’ yet it disappears from the mainstream media as if it were.

After a month of record breaking heat we’ve followed it here with three weeks of rain. My rain gauge is a large cylindrical bucket which stands fifteen inches high. I’ve emptied it twice in three weeks so - that’s two and a half feet of rain.

At the Oroville dam in the U.S. a 900 foot high earthen dam with a badly damaged causeway holds back a lake. If repairs fail, millions will be affected and the warnings given about the use of this dam - only approved for ‘interim use’ - will have been ignored with catastrophic results.

Oroville dam strikes me as a metaphor for where we all stand today. And like those who live and work in the towns and cities below that damaged dam, there is no-where to go.

Baalbek, Machu Picchu, Gobekli Tepe, - these are places I’d like to go. Just to visit. These sites beggar belief - and the standard belief is that not much happened before the Greeks and the Romans built some large, magnificent cities. This isn’t to forget the wonders of Egypt but history predates both these cultures and in places like Puma Punku, the massive building works, the accuracy of  the stone cutting and the sheer size of these blocks makes a nonsense of the idea that these works belong to a bronze age culture. So where do they fit in?

The rain here is now just a misty dampness which shrouds the trees, the birds and the distance with a pearl grey light.

In terms of being able to access information about almost any subject, I couldn’t ask for better times in which to live but, of course, some areas are difficult to investigate precisely because the information is hidden for what is undoubtably considered good reason and disinformation is a tool used by those who want to keep things hidden.

Ah - disclosure. Bring it on. Not just with Earthly matters. We’re not alone in the Universe. Strange that any should think otherwise given the experiential evidence constantly being put forward.

Can we handle the truth? - whatever that may be? Why not when the everyday realisations about human nature can be so grim.


 

..... megaliths and true wonders ...

 

 

.... making more cents - but not sense ...

 

 

.... 9/11 will not go away - for good reason...

 

 

.... earthquake weather ...

 

 

.... the lucky country ...

 

I suppose I could start with the growing numbers of homeless people who sleep in the local parks. Not just parks local to me - it’s too hot or cold in the mountains for most - but show-grounds and recreation reserves in and around beach front towns. Finding a roof for your head, a shelter, has become impossible for growing numbers of people. There is no answer and never really has been .... ‘supply and demand’ gets trotted out as a reason but this takes no account of a system in which to become ‘lord of the manor’ requires that others become serfs. It’s that old pyramid structure disguised as .... ‘that’s just the way it is’ ... ‘what you going to do about it?’

In terms of the low pay which has attended almost every job I’ve had, having that modest roof over my head has taken blood, sweat and tears plus the thirty years of interest paid to the same ruthless banks who now don’t matter to me. I know about being relatively powerless within the bigger picture but still holding fast to ethics, to that which endures.

The have’s and the have nots. The gap grows to become a gulf and this, to me, is clearly shown by the rise of Uber. My well established relative sees an Uber approach to business as being not just acceptable but a very good idea. I am amazed but not really ... he has never known nor had to work within a system where ‘piece work’ and ‘no benefits’ are all that are offered. It’s a choice which grows starker by the day.

And into this mix is the scourge of drugs like ‘ice’ - something to change the consciousness while ‘no work, no jobs, no hope, no future’ is the daily reality. Mental illness is reflecting the society which spawns it.

Our Prime Minister grins in the public display of brotherhood with that poor specimen of humanity who represents Israel. State visits, strengthening bonds, creating chains.  We share the same values according to our man who mentions ‘freedom and democracy’ but it’s bullshit. The people on the streets recognising Palestine don’t see Israel as a democracy nor somewhere where freedom has any meaning at all.

‘When words lose their meaning, society is in grave danger.’ It sounds self evident in a time where words still have commonly understood meaning but these are not those times.

‘Alternative facts’ ... as a phrase I heard it first when a Trump spokeswoman used it as her rebuttal of the factual information presented by a reporter regarding numbers present at the presidential inauguration. The reporter was rightly incredulous and said that ‘alternative facts’ are a lie - no such thing as ‘alternative facts’ exists. There are facts. And there are lies.

This is significant to me. When words lose their meaning.

I get my space weather from Suspicious Observers - odd name for a factual and informative site devoted to the behaviour of the sun within the context of an electric universe. Earthquake weather comes via Dutchsinse’s site. It’s good to know what’s happening.

For my local weather - I look up and often that works for me. The garden vegetable beds I’ve built because I had the space, now that a tree has been removed, are already showing seed sprouting strong notwithstanding that Autumn starts next week. My broken foot is almost mended, the work and effort was great for building up strength and now - a week of rain is forcast. Excellent.

Alien life and visitation to this planet, to my mind and experience, are a fact. The Speed of Light is known and assumed to be an unbreakable barrier and, thus, travel between stars is unlikely and too lengthy to happen. That’s been the prevailing view. I’d suggest that the fact that aliens ARE here suggests that their technology has found a flaw in our assumptions. That doesn’t surprise me. What does wearily surprise me is that the mainstream media still report on these matters with such a predictable approach - always started with a ‘You won’t believe this ...’ grin. Silly people. It’s not a matter of belief but of knowledge. The craft I saw, many years ago, was so brightly lit up as it passed overhead, that I couldn’t make out the shape. It was silent and gone ... gone where I don’t know. Viewing time - about three seconds. Impression left - a lifetime memory. Beliefs drawn from that experience. None.

People upload their photos and videos of UFO activity and it’s unfortunate that fakes are now so easy to manufacture. Still - doesn’t take much research to see the quality of the reports available. They’ve been there for decades and easy to find. Astronaut testimony, pilots, police - it isn’t a silly subject in which to have an abiding interest. I get a cool weekly update from Filer’s Files for ... er ... alien weather.

Political weather? Storms continuing.

Both the sites reporting on space weather and earthquake weather end their broadcasts with ‘no fear.’ It’s a cheerful note on which to cease.


 

... the vision splendid, rogue state revealed ...

 

 

... more than this ...

 

Trump is an ugly man - not because of his looks but because of his casual and distant relationship to truth. He lies and has done so consistently. Still does. Was Clinton any better? No. They are both hideous.

Israel makes its move and ‘gives the nod’ to more settlements on Palestinian land and Trump shrugs and suggests that ‘If they’re both happy about it then One State will do.’  Breathtaking in its deceitful approach.

There’s plenty to loath about what mankind does with religion. What is there to like or appreciate about gangs of thugs masquerading as ‘godly’ when death and destruction are the fruits of their labour.

Judaism is a religion not a DNA configuration. Palestinians have similar genetic marks as those who claim Jewish descent. There’s debate about genetic markers for Jewish heritage but no-one claims Christian DNA nor Islamic DNA .... the idea is absurd. Jewish DNA is equally flimsy.

Earthquake prediction still has a question mark - who can predict where and when an earthquake will strike - but Dutchsinse has been able to use technology to do exactly that and Youtube plays ‘silly buggers’ with his site. Youtube and Google are tools and while I can use those tools, the control is still not with me. My access can be switched on and off and it happens. It happened the other day when I suddenly found that I couldn’t access my subscriptions on Youtube but could if I allowed Google to ‘manage’ my accounts. It was more of a demand than a request and - yes - I could have just said ‘No.’ but I still have need to speak via this and other mediums and ‘the gloves are off’ as far as the powers that be are concerned.

A headlong rush to a smart society with smart meters and smart phones and there’s nothing smart about any of it unless it’s in the grim, black humour of finding it ‘smart’ to be dumbed down and dependent on devices which can save us from needing to be smart.


Ah well ..... it’s a changing world which explains nothing. There was discussion on the radio where the rationalisations for theft were casually batted back and forth. It was a specific form of theft which involves the self serve checkout at the supermarket where the odd error can occur and be discovered later or, alternatively, the item didn’t scan so, after two attempts, it isn’t paid for. Justifications for it not being seen as theft were many but they were still just justifications for dishonesty. I’ll eat a grape in the supermarket if I’m feeling like getting a bunch. If I like the taste I buy that bag and if I don’t - I move on without buying. It’s very simple, I don’t do this with other items and I see nothing wrong with this approach. Being honest is not a legalistic matter.... ‘Theft is theft’ doesn’t tell the whole story.

One caller rang to say that she’s gone back to the supermarket to pay for an item which had somehow slipped through and this was met by the radio host with almost disbelief. He’s an excellent radio host and the caller thought that it was sad to see so much self justification for dishonesty. She was in a minority. She wasn’t being scolding or ‘holier than thou’ .... she just found it sad that, when it comes to values - what values? I couldn’t agree more.

We live or survive in societies based on lies and deceit. Bombarded by commercials which glorify .... crap.... if I don’t have a sound ethical base - and a sound ethical base comes with cost or it doesn’t come at all - then I become a Trump, an Israel, a thief at the supermarket.



 

... foundations ...

 

Another brick in the wall ... looking at photos of Baalbek and other megalithic structures and marvelling at the workmanship and the questions raised. Not just another brick in the wall.

Been immersed in British history during the centuries before and after Christ. Resourced with ‘The Chronicle of the Early Britons’ - ‘Brut y Bryttaniait’ as translated by Wm R Cooper, I’ve alternated between this history and the wider one presented by Velikovsky.

When it comes to present events, I’ve nothing useful to say so I’ll go quiet awhile.

 

... bonds of the past ...

 

 

... resizing Israel ....

 

I can be Anti this and Anti that and it's all fine if I've a just cause ... or think I do. But anti Semite is unpardonable in the public mind. Don't know why as the phrase is meaningless and deliberately obscured.

Judaism is a religion not a race. Plenty can call themselves Semitic without being Jewish. The Jews were thrown out of Israel - by their own admission - and by their God for the falling away from their faith. As God didn’t actually carry out the exile of the Jews from Israel  - it appears that the Romans were adequate to the task - they were then scattered far and wide and were told to live peacefully within the nations which would accept them and remain there until God reinstated the land of Israel.

This is my basic understanding of the situation. Lots of sleight of hand to engineer a favourable result for those who engineer world events.

So it didn't happen in the sense of a God directly intervening and they - not 'the Jews' but Zionist Jews, a political throng - decide to take matters into their own hands. Having laid the foundation for that future state with the British Government of the day, via The Balfour Declaration of 1917 - which promised  the British Protectorate of Palestine to the Jews - waiting for God became unnecessary. Thus - not only to my mind but to those Jews who follow the Torah - Israel has no right to exist. Certainly not to be taken by force.

The Balfour Declaration was a letter dated 2 November 1917 from the United Kingdom's Foreign Secretary Arthur James Balfour to Walter Rothschild, 2nd Baron Rothschild, a leader of the British Jewish community, for transmission to the Zionist Federation of Great Britain and Ireland. It read:

“His Majesty's government view with favour the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavours to facilitate the achievement of this object, it being clearly understood that nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine, or the rights and political status enjoyed by Jews in any other country.”

Anyone ask the Palestinians?

The dishonesty which has accompanied Israel's 'peace talks' with the Palestinians is made crystal clear in the changing map of the borders of Israel since 1948.

Crystal clear notwithstanding the poor resolution of the map concerned.


poorpalestine.jpg

 

SILENCE_html_4137b327.jpg

 

... trust me ...

 

‘Trust me.’ ... that’s the message from just about everyone. I don’t trust in governments who talk about values without explaining exactly what those values are and how they differ from the values of whoever the current ‘enemy’ happens to be.

I haven’t lived under Russian or Chinese rule but regardless of the prevailing political culture in either nation the fact remains that America’s excursions into the affairs of other nations - in terms of regime change - far exceed that of any other nation.

‘Regime change’ is a particularly Western phrase. No other country, bar Israel, ever uses such a phrase. Neither America nor Israel have done anything constructive by their meddling. Behaving constructively has nothing to do with National Interest. America behaves like a schoolyard bully while Israel pulls the strings and neither are trusted by the rest of the world. Death and destruction attend their every move and talks of peace are absurd.

As Donald Trump has managed to offend just about everyone who actually ‘looks’ at what he says and at the mindset which accompanies such silliness as ‘No- one has more respect for women than me.’ then I have to wonder why he is still alive and for how long he may last in his Presidency. As there’s a much more acceptable vice president waiting in the wings, it’s perhaps one of those situations where it’s ‘win win’ for those prompting a march towards a ‘one world order.’ And if martial law needs to be implemented ....

Donald Trump’s lack of political correctness delights many but he still represents a man with no ethical character. A perfect candidate for the times in which we live. Never apologise even when clearly wrong, attack the messengers of truth, repeat lies until they’re accepted as truth - this is and has been his personal model for success. He is still the small child who operates on a gang basis. ‘Right or wrong’ doesn’t come into it just as it doesn’t for any gang. It’s a loathsome way in which to operate and I come ‘full circle’ to the start of this train of thought - ‘trust me.’   ‘Trust me’ is what has brought us to this point. With no moral compass within our various leaderships, trust me’ becomes blind faith in empty words. A recipe for disaster. I’m not suggesting that moral compass is missing within individuals operating at high level but ‘we’ - as the world - cannot help but be deeply impacted by the new Emperor of America.

I’m adding here the Molmutine Laws - ancient British rules of behaviour. As I understand it, these laws predate Christianity by centuries although what I read now is ‘Christianised’ to my mind.

It’s a righteous way in which to order a society in a fair manner.

    There are three tests of civil liberty: equality of rights, equality of taxation, freedom to come and go.
    Three things are indispensable to a true union of nations: sameness of laws, rights, and language.
    There are three things free to all Britons: the forest, the unworked mine, the right of hunting.
    There are three property birthrights of every Briton: five British acres of land for a home, the right of suffrage in the enacting of the laws, the male at twenty-one, the female on her marriage.
    There are three things which every Briton may legally be compelled to attend: the worship of God, military service, the courts of law.
    There are three things free to every man, Briton or foreigner, the refusal of which no law will justify: water from spring, river, or well; firing from a decayed tree; a block of stone not in use.
    There are three classes which are exempt from bearing arms: bards, judges, graduates in law or religion. These represent God and His peace, and no weapon must ever be found in their hands.
    There are three persons who have a right of public maintenance: the old, the babe, the foreigner who can not speak the British tongue.
    There are three things free to a country and its borders: the roads, the rivers, and the places of worship. These are under the protection of God and His peace.

 

.... saving grace - in threadbare times...

 

Stopped in my tracks by broken foot and it’s a slow process to heal.

I don’t know what Donald Trump will bring to the world but my instinct immediately conjures up a comparison with Mussolini. Both men strut.

When Britain voted to leave the European Union, my sense of it was that the British were ‘fed up’ with laws being passed elsewhere which directly and negatively impacted on their lives. We haven’t grown beyond tribe and nation and a European Union was not what the British ‘signed up for’ when the Common Market was first proposed.

I think that Americans voted with much of the same deep dislike and mistrust of where our leaders have taken us to as the British.

War and the consequences of war.

My relative immobility hasn’t been a negative event inasmuch as I’ve been able to investigate and collect material about ‘ancient’ British history. Because the Dark Ages don’t give us much in written form I’ve needed to take into account what was happening elsewhere in the world - what civilisations were rising or falling at that time. Thus the collecting of material. Not everyone agrees when it comes to history.

But it’s further back in time than the ten thousand years or so in which mankind moved from hunter gatherer to agriculture which raise more questions for me. Who built the megaliths -  huge walls of gigantic stones, using no mortar and fitted together in such a way that a knife blade cannot penetrate the cracks. The massive blocks of stone used in construction aren’t laid like modern brickwork but more like a jigsaw puzzle full of odd angles which precisely align and make the structure somewhat earthquake proof. They are a marvel. They don’t fit in to what appears to be the timeline used to illustrate the rise of different cultures.

It was in 1995 that Gobekli Tepe started to be unearthed. It predates Stonehenge by six thousand years. This magnificent temple site in Turkey is dated at twelve thousand years old. It doesn’t fit with accepted thinking yet there it is. Built and used and then completely buried, it is remarkably preserved. With the jostling back and forth, by way of  ruthless force, in all the surrounding countries, it’s unknown if it will survive the present turmoil.

Two to three months appears to be the healing time for a broken bone like mine so I’ve time to follow my inclinations and curiosities.

Heatwave conditions prevail here but the Spring growth within the garden has had time to harden up and can withstand a week or so of hot condition. The Tiger lilies have had their day and the Canna lilies rise in their place, spears of pale and bright yellow, reds and orange.

I’m at a point in my life where I can take pause, take stock. Just as well, all things considered. there’s a great deal which needs considering.

‘Horrible histories’ is a program which still runs on t.v. here. It’s very funny apart from any educational value and brings history to life with quirky insights into what was accepted belief at various times.

I wonder if alien races have humour. It’s a saving grace for humanity.





 

.... uniformity and otherwise ...

 

Much was written and printed throughout the 1800's which became the text books of following generations. It’s as though there’s a rush to ‘get things settled.’

Darwin’s theory of evolution appears in 1859 and he tied his thinking to a theory of uniformity, put forward by Charles Lyell, geologist, in the 1830's - no great catastrophes, no literally earth shattering events, although mass extinctions are recognised. A slow and steady evolution of species over millions of years. A key requirement within this idea states that past geological events must be explained by the same causes now in operation; Velikovsky presents proof after proof that this was not the case, that different causes were in operation within mankind’s memory. He uses geology to make his point in ‘Earth in upheaval’

Velikovsky, writing in the 1950's, references much which was written within the preceding hundred years. Within that hundred years, much had been discovered which indicate that ‘things are far from settled.’

This is the position I find myself in with the history of ancient Britain as told by Alan Wilson. When it comes to source material, much was written or collated, again in the 1800's, by the literary forger Edward Williams, best known as Iolo Morganwg. If, in fact, he was so tainted then his work with the Coelbran alphabet is also suspect.

It’s not a dead end - just needs more research. Alan Wilson presents evidence of carved standing stones using this alphabet and which he can translate. If true, then perhaps Iolo Morganwg wasn’t fraululent in all he did. Alan Wilson uses more sources than just Iolo and does more than present two historical King Arthurs, he brings in the Ark of the Covenant, the holy family and, of course, this is somewhat sensational and rewrites history.

Whereas Velikovsky’s work has been beyond reproach and been taken up and expanded on, inspiring others and pointing the way to the concept of an electric universe, Alan Wilson is now old and infirm, and appears to be generally ignored. I will keep an eye out for his books. They’re not easy to find. I’m not going to ignore his thirty years of research just because they question a favoured, established view - it’s a view of the moment. Not much is ‘settled’ at all.

Just the faintest hint of a breeze comes through the summer window here, on the first day of the year. It is very quiet, the odd passing car, nothing more. Three days and the cast comes off my foot. Five weeks of relative immobility ends. The garden has grown both luxuriant and unkempt. Beautiful in its early summer colour. Made two jars of red and white current jam which are a bit tart but yummy nonetheless. First effort of jam making. Red currants are small and luminous with deep red when the sun catches the berry.

It’s a far cry from the hustle and bustle.



 

..... cheers ....

 

‘Those who forget the lessons of history are condemned to repeat them.’

Who could argue with the commonsense displayed but if you never knew your history or the history - always written by the victor - was not the literal truth but just a sketching of events, polished by the viewpoint of the victor. What then? And what if that incomplete understanding of history weren’t confined to the last hundred years or so but extended back through the millennia.

What are the lessons of history apart from the retelling of dates and events, people and, of course, the creation myths which all peoples recall? I wonder about that.

I wonder about the rainbow serpent of Australia, the dragons of Wales. The same dragons in China yet dragons never existed in that fire breathing capacity so feared and revered by man.        

Perhaps a flying, reptilian looking, dinosaur comes close in image but millions of years separate man from dinosaur - so I’m led to believe - and ‘fire breathing’ is an essential part of ‘dragonhood.’

There’s history in the billions of years of Earth’s geologic time and there’s the brief history of modern man as measured in 100,000 years or so. Within that geologic history appear ‘ Out of place artifacts’ - things that, by rights, shouldn’t exist within the context of where they were found. At the very least, my understanding of the world and human history, as taught me when young and before this present day in which I can roam the libraries and museums of the world without leaving this chair, is changed and open to question. But the limitations still arise when it comes to checking sources. It’s not possible for me to read The Mabinogion in Welsh and much the same for other sources. Not too much of a limitation with translations available.

‘If you don’t like the message, shoot the messenger.’ This ruthless approach to bad tidings or ‘good’ still applies. When I first read   Velikovsky’s books and learnt something of the outcry and vilification which attended his work, I came across a slender book, title forgotten, which detailed exactly who and why this ‘shoot the messenger’ occurred. It’s a shameful inditement, a bowing to vested interest.

Velikovsky was a scholar across many adjacent fields. His work threatened so much of the established view that, if the message couldn’t be suppressed then destroy he who brings the message. It didn’t work. Velikovsky was quite happy to let time be the judge regarding the validity of his startling ideas.

‘Post truth’ and fake news. Much ‘news’ is facebook/fakebook news. It doesn’t have to be true. It just has to be repeated until it’s accepted.

I don’t live in a parallel universe but I do in that ‘Alice in Wonderland’ sense of living in a world where umpteen contradictory and mutually exclusive ideas are embraced along with breakfast.

That Israel should be outraged that its duplicity in regard to the continuing building of settlements on Palestinian land is exposed is no surprise. Bullies and thieves are always outraged. Israel - which Israel? The only country I know of where the borders expand. Sixty years and more of deceit and Israel is upset. It’s taken this long for America to chide an ally whose behaviour would not be tolerated anywhere on Earth without a chorus of condemnation.

‘Years end’ and happy new year. There was a sense of continuity in decades past when moving from year to year. It’s more fragile now. Anything can happen is a mood of the day. Both positive and negative.

My interest in the Britain which existed a few thousand years ago continues. I’ve found that books by Alan Wilson and Baram Blackett are hard to find and, thus, have relied on their youtube interviews to get a sense of their history, once dismissed and now revealed. I can’t check much as yet but have watched a series which details the skullduggery which both men endured as a ‘shoot the messenger’ scenario played out. Echoes of the treatment Velikovsky endured.

Why does any of this matter is another question. A sweeping away of cobwebs of belief based on incomplete knowledge and unconscious prejudice is an ongoing process throughout life. Or it is for me.

 

... rallying around which flag precisely ..

 

The temperature drops from sweat to cold and does so overnight. Rain pours steady and bedraggled parrots look unconcerned, awaiting a handful of early morning seed. The earth is thirsty and this rain is soft, sinks into the soil and the balance within this garden of hot and cold, wet and dry is perfect for continued Spring growth.

I keep an eye on the news in the wider world, events unfolding, but there’s so much which is horrible that I don’t dwell on much. In the same line of thought which suggests that ‘There is nothing new under the sun’ so the thought arises that ‘If I can imagine it then someone has done it.’ While this is true of human behaviour I don’t know that it holds true for the soaring heights of creativity nor inventiveness which mankind can and does produce.

Christmas approaches and as a child of the fifties, raised in Wales and England, before television brought both blessing and curse to the population, I remember when Xmas first appeared. It was a jolt to my childhood sensibilities. What mind would even think of the idea of replacing Christ with an X? For what purpose?

In the same way that News Years Eve fireworks become more spectacular each year - ‘Yer gotta take it to another level’ - Christmas is now almost completely eclipsed by Xmas and Santa replaces Christ as the reason for the celebration.  

Christ is inconvenient for those for whom money and profit are the purpose of each and every day.

The curse of television as a means of shaping public opinion is related to what my dad used to call ‘the lowest common denominator.’ It’s a mathematical term but applied to people it indicates the most basic, least sophisticated level of taste, sensibility, or opinion among a group of people. This isn’t elitist thinking. It directly relates to standards, standards of behaviour and what is considered acceptable behaviour.

Pennants fluttering in the breeze and the Standard, the King’s flag, is held high. Images of medieval Britain, chivalry and brutality. The Standard is something to literally look up to. Not the lowest common denominator. The medieval English standard was larger than the other flags and, to my mind, that larger standard is symbolic of the standards of behaviour which are displayed by the king and which are adopted by those who ‘rally round the flag.’

It continues to steadily rain and it’s all to the good. I’ll be a bit immobile until early January. Broken bone in foot and lots of time to muse a bit and play some guitar. Lucky me, I know.

Within my lifetime the standards have changed. What is debased is held high. The flags and pennants are tinsel and glitz. Show replaces substance.

Hold fast to that which endures.

 

... just the facts ....

 

“Give me the facts, Ma’am, just the facts.”

So said many a detective in the course of investigation. Facts pour in as do impressions, remembrances, truth and lies. It’s a matter of sifting, sieving, time lines, false trails and it’s a matter of history and it’s within history that facts become so because .... ‘It is written.’

And the written word is labouriously copied, manuscript by manuscript, over and over through the centuries. Errors in translation occur and those errors are copied. No wonder that such sayings as “History is written by the victor.” stand as warning if only because the victor is going to portray such victory in terms which magnify the writer’s perspective and demonises or diminishes the loser.

“History is the most potent of all political weapons.” How true that is and all the more so when history - of peoples and nations - can be obliterated within a generation by means as crude and cruel as to forbid the speaking of the native language within an educational system and by the destruction or removal of cultural artifacts.

This isn’t ancient history. This is happening now.

To change the prevailing view on matters in which there’s vested interest is extremely difficult. The word ‘conspiracy’ is rarely mentioned nowadays without ‘theory’ being added yet conspiracies have always existed and no-one can refute that fact which leaves me wondering quite why ‘theory’ is added to conspiracy when ‘fact’ is the truth. It’s a conspiracy and I don’t say that as dry humour.

It’s not that a conspiracy needs to be understood as a conspiracy in order for it to be effective. All it needs is that people accept authority without also accepting the personal responsibility to question that authority.

In my great grandfather’s time, 1846, the teaching in schools throughout Wales was changed in an instant when teachers who taught in Welsh were replaced, across the country, by those who spoke and taught in English. The interpretation one gives to this fact is dependent upon personal prejudice and I don’t mean that as insult but rather recognition that preconceived ideas come with the territory.

The fact that I’ve a broken foot at present gives me time to pursue those interests of mine which go beyond the real but, often, petty or mundane concerns of the present day.

Whether Trump is a disaster for the wider world is unknown. He doesn’t accept ‘climate change’ in any meaningful way and while I’m happy to accept that our sun and its output of energy plays its part in changing climate on planet Earth, I’d be foolish to assume that the wholesale destruction of the lungs of this planet wouldn’t have an effect, wouldn’t contribute to ‘difficult times ahead.’

It’s o.k. - in a way - for me to be foolish. Not so for ‘The President of the Free World.’ ..... there’s a hollow title for you.

I mention Velikovsky, again and again. I loved his writing in ‘Worlds in Collision’ with the same delight others take in Tolkien’s writings. The picture he presents is of a solar system, still in movement, within the collective memory of mankind, and one in which planets veer from established orbit, come close to Earth with catastrophic results and which are faithfully recorded in all cultures. This isn’t the established view regardless of the fact that Velikovsky was meticulous and left copious footnotes to reference his work.

The story of the efforts to suppress his work became a small book in its own right. It is astounding. Debunking the book before it was published is not the way in which honest review takes place. Ultimately, academic position was - and still is - very much threatened by Velikovsky’s work and self interest obscures ‘truth.’

And that’s the point. Self interest obscures truth whether it be in the way we live our individual lives or in the wider world.

A young relative is dropping in later today, with a friend of his, in order to talk about UFO’s. It’s a constant interest for me and has been since I discovered science fiction in late childhood. That anyone can debate the reality of UFO’s is deranged. It masquerades as scepticism but to imagine that life only exists here, on Earth, is blinkered and dull. The fact that the subject is still treated with ridicule is sad commentary but - no conspiracy of silence exists. But it does. Is that a fact? Doesn’t take much research to establish truth in this matter.

Veliskovsky wrote another book, ‘Ages in Chaos’ which sits unread on the bookshelf and tackles the timelines of ancient history. There is a disconnect in those timelines. I mention it because another historian, Alan Wilson, references both Velikovsky and this timeline  in respect to the history of old Britain. That which existed before the arrival of
‘1066 and all that.’

1066 and the Norman conquest is about the limit of what I remember of school history. There was nothing much happening before that significant date except for the Romans, a thousand years before, and vague stories of the Druids and a King Arthur. These were the Dark Ages. But they weren’t dark according to Alan Wilson. If he is correct - and like Velikovsky, he references his work in what appears to be meticulous manner - then the history of the ancient Britain is vastly different to what has been taught.

My excuse for only now taking an interest in the truth of what is written in history is perhaps due to the lifelong struggle to put a roof over my head and to live and to live in the present.

None of these concerns, wonderful and interesting though they be, make me a better person, a kinder individual, and I can’t help but see why the spiritual lights of this world place such emphasis on ethical behaviour. Our time is brief. Character trumps personality.

Heatwave conditions here and a garden where Petunias flower below graceful stems of orange Tiger lilies. Much to be grateful for.

 

... a century of enslavement ..

 

The Dogwood flowers cream against green while the last of the Rhododendron’s delicate colour fades. The first days of summer.

A broken foot stops me in my tracks. Ah ... living in a national park where tinder box conditions are never far away, results in total fire bans - which make sense - but make it difficult to make garden debris disappear. I cut things small and fill the green waste bin. I jump into the bin to compress everything and I’ve done this for years with no problem at all but this time the bin took off with me half in and half out. It ended badly.

Funny - as in funny/strange - I’d put together a half hour set of songs for a community event at the local park but I don’t hunger for a spotlight and do have these errant thoughts arise where - perhaps it’ll rain or I’ll break my leg and have good reason to not play. Hmm ... 11 a.m. is when I break a bone in my foot and 3 p.m. is when I play.

It was a really good session but I’ve still got the broken foot. It gives me the time in which to research topics which interest me. Megalithic structures, found all over the world and utterly remarkable to me but not of much interest to the wider world. The ideas of Velikovsky and the evidence for a universe in which electricity plays a major role - not, as yet, well appreciated as true.

The mundane detail of my life takes place against a world view in which ‘where the money comes from’ is an essential understanding to gain.

The documentary linked here explains the system of central banks under which all nations of all political persuasions now genuflect. This system needs to be exposed as the fraud that it is. It has only been in operation for a century so hope is not lost.

 

 

... century of enslavement ...

 

 

..electric universe ...

 

the video presented below is an excellent introduction to the ideas of Velikovsky and to the electric universe.

 

Published on 11 Nov 2016

Produced in 1996, Remembering the End of the World was the first documentary covering David Talbott's labors to reconstruct celestial events in ancient times. The Ben Ged Low film traces Talbott's work back to its beginning in the early 70s.

By following an original inspiration in the work of Immanuel Velikovsky, Talbott discovered a massive ancient story focused on the remote planet Saturn, a celestial power remembered as the "primeval sun."

This documentary is the first production dealing with the mythic imagery of the "Polar Configuration". In the years that followed, the presentation helped to inspire other dedicated researchers, several of whom are still pursuing the subject today.

 

.... against a fabric of time ...

 

 

... dust settles ...

 

“What’s going on in Aleppo?”

It’s an innocent question - Aleppo is ‘in the news’ so often.

To answer it and make any sense of it requires that I be aware of a bigger picture and that needs a deep breath.

There’s a policy in play within the U.S. which became public knowledge with a product of a ‘thinktank’ - ‘The Project for a New American Century.’ This grand sounding title is nothing more than a ‘How to do’ pamphlet for the continuation of Empire - regardless of the human cost, regardless of the strange bedfellows involved. It has been the motivating force behind the continuing destabilisation of countries throughout the ‘Middle East’ and always involves regime change. Regime change by stealth and by more obvious means. It has nothing to do with horrible dictators who pop up in many countries but are left alone because it’s not in America’s interest to pursue radical change everywhere and all at once. And it is about oil - or it has been. The other party who benefits by division and conflict among its neighbours, quiet and always the victim, is that state of mind called Israel. It’s against such a background that the war in Syria needs be seen.

The statement - ‘Everything you’ve been told is a lie.’ is false when it comes to an ethical personal approach to life within which sacrifice is real but such an ethical approach has no place within the lies and deceit necessary when ‘National Interest’ is involved.

And so ... ‘What’s going on in Aleppo?’ is too complex to answer in any simple terms but ‘the truth’ is not what the media portray.

Meanwhile there’s a Punch and Judy show happening in the U.S.A. with one of the two characters now the President in waiting. Neither candidate has much to offer. Both represent the elite - or rather, not the elite in any real sense of the word but elite by virtue of birth or privilege.

Anyway, we’ll see what develops.

Meanwhile, here in Australia argument goes back and forth regarding ‘marriage equality.’ I don’t have any issue regarding two consenting adults wanting to seal their love with a ceremony which enshrines their legal rights and I’m told I’m on the wrong side of history by having reservations but my reservation is real.

‘Marriage equality’ is the phrase. Two words now linked much as conspiracy is now linked to theory as if the concept of conspiracy is so theadbare that ‘theory’ needs be added for it to make sense. This is a nonsense unless conspiracies have disappeared.

‘Marriage equality’ isn’t just a simple matter of equality. It redefines the very word marriage to change the traditional meaning of a union between a man and a woman to man and man or woman and woman. This isn’t an issue over which I’d wage war but it’s dishonest to only see ‘marriage equality’ in terms of redressing an issue of fairness.

Early childhood makes clear that life isn’t fair. Somehow the idea that the unfairness of life shouldn’t stop me from being fair also stayed in my mind. Have a union for gays and lesbians where legal rights are no different than they are for heterosexuals but the word marriage doesn’t need redefining for that purpose to be served.

More to the point for me is the discussion - such as it is - in which to have a plebiscite or not about marriage equality is perceived as unwanted because it may bring out ‘hate speech.’ A difference of opinion indicates ‘hate speech’? Oh dear. Sad state of affairs.

It’s a beautiful day and the sun shines - as it’s always done - on good and evil alike. The garden is starting to unfold the summer flowers. Winter bulbs have had their day and the glorious, long lasting petunias start to take their place. On a personal level, life has had some grim aspects but .... the dust settles and the music which has been almost completely muted now starts a rebirth.

 

...... 9/11 ....

 

 

...9/11 just will not go away ...

 

Whether you live in China or Romania you’ve been affected by 9/11 and its aftermath. Perhaps there’s a tribe somewhere which has neither heard of 9/11 nor been directly impacted by this event but for the rest of humanity, it’s brought devastation, war and profit.

Fifteen years ago and home from the evening shift at a Group Home, and I turn of the 24 hour news service just after the first tower was struck. Every eye and every camera was focussed on that first smoking tower and the shock of such an accident happening was deep.

When the second plane struck it stopped being an accident and became deliberate. The question of who and why was secondary to that hideous twist of perception. The veil gets lifted from ones eyes.

I watched the unfolding events, the Pentagon being hit, the twin towers coming down and that’s when the third shock occurred, far more serious than the previous two. They came down in close to free fall speed and fell into their own footprint. This astounding event - no skyscraper in the world, before or since 9/11 has duplicated this without controlled demolition being involved. The sickening implication was, inescapably, that this whole event was staged.

I kept watching, knowing full well that I was witnessing something monstrous and utterly evil unfold.

A forty seven story building known as Building 7, part of the Twin Towers complex, also came down on that day. It wasn’t hit by anything other than a few bits of rubble yet it fell - in free fall - and did so into its own footprint.

It defies the laws of physics one of which states that free fall cannot occur unless every impediment to the fall is removed. It is simple and factual yet it gets little mention in main stream press.

In the days, weeks and months which followed I avidly kept touch with every film, podcast and documentary of those critical days. Critical because the direction of the whole world turned into war and this affects all of us.

I found out who owned what and what departments were obliterated, what investigations were stifled. A question of ‘who gains?’ - follow the money.

The two games with which many are familiar are Monopoly and chess. The first turns small children and adults alike into ruthless real estate entrepreneurs. It’s the nature of the game and sentiment soon disappears in the pursuit of power, control and wealth.

Any chess player understands that to be able to see a few moves ahead is essential but also understands that to make each move serve more than one purpose is critical to winning the game.

There are hundreds of hours of video about 9/11. There are tens of thousands of engineers, pilots, architects and physicists who testify that the events of 9/11 do not make sense.

It is something which will not go away and neither should it do so.

Whole societies have been broken as a direct result of this crime against humanity, a crime which could not have happened without great planning and attention to detail. With a cast of players who sometimes forgot their script and unfortunate details such as no evidence at all of a plane striking the Pentagon, the instinctive reaction that I had fifteen years ago has proved correct.

The fact that it still isn’t ‘front and center’ in common perception is understandable. Who would willingly accept that such a conspiracy could occur.

There is no theory attached to the word, conspiracy. Not in this case.

 

.... coming up but may be missed ...

 
Not long now until the shameful anniversary of 9/11. An event which had profound enough effect on conditions today to be worth questioning. Two planes, three towers Can’t get those images from out my head Two planes, three towers A few thousand here then millions dead. I looked at it once and it wouldn’t go away I looked at it twice and it was gone within days Is it only the architects who question the rubble where the towers used to be. All fall down. Free fall down. Impossible Two wars, no cause No bringing of freedom to a soul Not one -just blood And the tears and the oil and the gold. I looked at it hard and it wouldn’t go away Looked hard again and it was gone within days Is it only engineers who question the rubble where the towers used to be. All fall down. Free fall down. Impossible Two planes, three towers A conjurer’s trick to deceive Who gains? Another tale It’s only physics here revealed All fall down. Free fall down. Impossible
 

.. stage managing reality ...

 
There was a time in which I was a stage manager and a time in which stage lighting skills were useful. In both instances, those skills were used to carefully manage an event. Those skills were not used to draw attention to either the stage manager or the lighting man. That would defeat the purpose and the purpose is to light the stage so that the show can go on in the best possible light. It sounds self evident but it’s not necessarily so. We get to see that which the producer/director want us to see. An emphasis here and an artfully constructed shadow over there. The Zen Gardner show rolls on and it’s a local attraction and by that I mean that it’s a big deal for those involved but means little or nothing to the wider world. It’s a carefully constructed show, complete with a hero who has a dark past which is revealed but in such a way that the narrative is carefully controlled. In zen’s show, audience participation is essential and while both applause and ‘boos and hisses’ add to the overall atmosphere, those who heckle and threaten the overall production are quietly shown the door. I suppose that the best of shows are those in which we are so absorbed that we lose ourselves to the extent that we mistake the show for reality.
 

.... my missing ears ...

 
Do I feel personally betrayed by zen gardner’s sleight’s of hand with the truth of his past? No - I don’t yet I’ve written about him and called him ‘a spiritual pip-squeak yet evil personified.’ Harsh terms from one who lives, as best I can, by the ‘golden rule.’ Actually, according to my understanding of that golden rule, the emphasis is not on some fluffy love but something stronger. It serves no good purpose to whitewash over mistakes or grievous errors. Clearing the ground requires hard work while both destruction and creation take place. This is true in a physical garden as well as in the garden of one’s heart. ‘Evil personified’ gives rise to images of dreadful horror yet the evil I’ve been on the receiving end of isn’t so obvious. It comes from abuse of power, the abuse of free will and it’s been a bitter pill for me to swallow to know that a friend of decades and towards whom I’d poured resources until nothing was left, didn’t give a damn. Worse still, ... well ... as I say ... a bitter pill. Many are familiar with the bare bones of that situation and can flesh and dress that skeleton with their own circumstance. ‘Betrayal’ is ultimately what it comes down to and it’s the degree of betrayal and what it actually costs which gives rise to everything from indignation to outright hatred. So the ‘evil personified’ needs teasing out. Much of what attracted me to ‘friend’ were the delightful moments of which ‘friend’ is unaware, moments which indicate ‘care.’ and I’ll give you one such moment just to illustrate. ‘Friend’ lived out the back of beyond. A dysfunctional family, house and garden both a mess and I arrive after a ten hour drive with a car full of resources - my usual and happy arrival. As she offers me a cup of coffee so her mum phones - not someone with whom she has a great relationship - and ‘friend’ talks to her mum, taking her seriously, holds off with putting the kettle on and simultaneously and gently tries to rescue a large moth which has bumbled in and knows no way out. She’s successful in all those endeavours and my heart sings. She’s a good hearted woman. This same woman tells me that I’ve destroyed her faith in humanity when I cut the friendship, years later, and give her the reasons why. From then on, I’m ‘persona non grata’ which wouldn’t much matter but for the fact that she owes my bank a small fortune and I cannot just walk away. Anyway, legal action and strategy - neither of which I’m familiar - eventually sorted that but not before exhausting me and giving me months of sleepless nights while I tried to marry the incomprehensible with the indefensible. Such is zen .... ‘evil personified’ doesn’t require a set of devilish horns to announce itself. No doubt zen enjoys the garden, has real interactions, stops to smell the flowers and has served some good purpose along the way. Like ‘friend’, you’re ‘in the gang’ until you stray from the path of complete acceptance and the ‘evil personified’ then swings into action. It manifests as a refusal to accept the unvarnished truth, to take refuge in seeing oneself as misunderstood and as a victim, unfairly treated. I came into zen’s garden in early 2014 with a song about 9/11 and because I’ve worked with the intellectually disabled for twenty years - a job where words don’t mean much but love does - I enjoyed both zen’s garden and the conversations with the lovely people I met there. I wasn’t looking for friends -‘Who can afford them?’ - just some honest interaction and a brief respite from the ‘hard yakka’ of everyday life. I found both requirements fulfilled and looked no further because that was sufficient. My email filled up which is, of course, a two edged sword in itself. I stopped ‘checking in’ there in January this year. Didn’t need anymore ‘Wake up’ articles and if I see another article with a title such as ‘7 ways to open your third eye.’ I’ll puke. Came back into zen’s site just prior to ‘my missing years’ and into an article about ‘free will and determinism.’ What a load of codswallop but, more to the point, that article suggested that we’re stuck with being a product of time, society and circumstance, that free will plays little part in our lives. Lays the framework for ‘my missing years’ ... none of it is our fault, our responsibility. Zen’s follow up article was ‘All the worlds a cult.’ which, again, suggest that .. hey .. we’re ALL a product of being in a cult. By that point zen had become the ‘artful dodger’ and remains so. Is he beyond redemption? No idea. Is he a spiritual pip-squeak? No idea really. How about ‘Evil personified?’ It’s not a question of judging but of having some sense that evil starts small and isn’t always obvious. I take no joy at all in writing this. I’ll miss the companionship I found in that garden but I also shrug mentally and accept that each of us travels alone for all the fact that many travel, seemingly, together. In my real and physical garden, a Magnolia is about to unfold its swelling buds and burst into glorious colour on a tree devoid of leaves. It’s three weeks late this year but it’s still ‘doing its thing’ - being true to itself.
 

zen gardner revealed

 
Zen Gardner - spiritual pip-squeak yet evil personified. I don’t encourage conversation here and it’s not because ‘you’ have nothing constructive to add but because it would start to matter to me whether or not ... well .. facebook produces such anxieties and I don’t go there either. Are we liked, are we not? I can write what I like here, get a bit creative, take a break from gardening, and these writings just remain as trains of thought which mean something or they don’t. I don’t come here every day and neither do you. So, slightly strange that I should find zen gardner’s site a year or so back and get involved. Many interesting articles from all over the place and on many topics and I take to it like a duck to water and offer my own articles and thoughts and find that I’m welcomed and join the conversations which strike me as appropriate. All very nice thus far. Elements of discord appear, give cause for pause, but I mentally shrug and accept that, not only are we, individually living our lives and meeting at different ages and stages of life but that our perceptions aren’t the same. This, in itself, can be no more important than ‘What colour do you like?’ In other words - pretty much irrelevant. What remains constant for me is honesty, living truthfully, accepting the responsibilities which stare me in the face and living up to them. It all comes at cost yet it’s within those seeming limitations that ‘freedom’ is achieved. The truth will set you free - and, probably, set your teeth on edge. It does for me but advancing age can achieve that on its own. The truth isn’t always palatable and often it’s vile. I’ve had a horror year in which hatred flowers hideous within my heart. Betrayal can produce hatred and there’s the silly hatred embraced by religious, political and supremacist mentalities who feel they’ve been hard done by, and then there’s the real hatred which is personal, goes very deep precisely because betrayal is, by its nature, personal. My general approach to people is to take them seriously, take them pretty much at face value and be ethical. A potent mix and one which is almost guaranteed to ... break your heart. That’s o.k. too. There’s more to life than this existence. Hatred isn’t rooted deep within me. It is specific to a place, time and person and, thus, has an end to it. If revenge and retribution aren’t part of my hatred then it eventually eats itself, dies and I’m left, perhaps, slightly the wiser. I’d had a friend of forty years and true friends are hard to come by. For thirty years we shared good times and bad, played music together and I watched as her dysfunctional family grew. She lived ‘far away’ where phone contact is sporadic and so I’d travel there for a week at a time and fill the car with food, cleaning and gardening tools and guitar. Her home - a small farmlet - was always a mess, mould in the fridge, garbage piled high and I’d get ‘stuck in’. You might wonder why I’d do that and I can only say that her health was poor and her children weren’t helpful. Perhaps they’ll take my work as good example ... and she, herself, is unwell. She needed an operation, had no money and our public health system isn’t brilliant if you’re living outback so I lent her money I didn’t have in order to help out. And thus ten years of carrying both her and her family started. I tell this story to indicate that I know what ‘going the extra mile’ entails and, by the time those extra miles had become a marathon, my financial power was given away. As it turns out, she was a highly manipulative woman and neither she nor her family would accept any responsibility and, thus, by the time I retired from paid work earlier this year, I didn’t own the roof over my head and was deeply in debt. It was a horror story which my family, work colleagues and immediate neighbours shared. They knew what I’d done and were as gobsmacked as I was at the extent of that betrayal. And so I moved from love to hate as bitter truth sank in and legal action replaced a well earned retirement trip back to the land of my fathers - Wales. I stopped visiting zen’s site. No interest in articles about airy fairy new age nonsense and, of course, hatred isn’t a state I wish to unload on others. Just had to live with it until it got resolved. Within the context of that final year of personal conflict I became very familiar with this particular truth. People are quite capable of rewriting their personal history with complete disregard for truth. They will lie and steal and think nothing of it. And what had I done in the helping out of friend and her family? I’d given my power away. My financial power. As I’d never had any financial power, this had profound effect upon me and I’d pace the floor at 3 a.m. experiencing my hatred and knowing that I was beholden to outside forces in which I was irrelevant because I was no longer of any use. So what has this to do with zen and his site? He and my ‘friend’ are cut from the same cloth. To any outside observer my friend would have garnered sympathy for her plight and she had - what, to me, is a breath taking weapon in her armoury - no problem at all in lying through her teeth and doing so by not actually lying so much as leaving out of the conversation that which would completely alter the picture, the wider reality of her situation. It makes me ‘sick’ to dwell on this just as it makes me sick to see zen frantically rearranging his garden to suit his purpose. Ultimately - for all the protestations otherwise - zen and ‘friend’ are motivated by a ‘it’s all about me’ mentality. They dress it up in different clothes but that’s the truth of the matter. ‘Friend’ now has her ‘dear old mum’ living with her which would indicate that, really, she’s a good hearted, misunderstood person doing the best that she can under difficult circumstances. That may well be true but her mother’s finances are quietly being drained away which alters the picture doesn’t it? At one point in my horror story - $75,000 worth of horror story - in which I’d told ‘friend’ some hard truths, not by phone but by text and email because phone contact wasn’t happening, she responded with the breath taking statement that I don’t deserve her friendship. My response was along the lines of ‘How true, I don’t deserve your friendship.’ I think that was ‘lost’ on her. Zen Gardner is a fraud, an ex cult leader who is now exposed and rewriting his history to suit his frantic purpose. For all his fancy words, he’s a hollow man and, as I write this, so my email fills up with comments on his articles which he now carefully vets. My comments are air-brushed out and, such is his cunning, that a comment from me taking him to task for moderating my comments gets published just to prove that he’s doing no such thing while other more pointed comments don’t get published .. but who would know? I am no longer welcome there and will comment no further. He - like ‘friend’ - is a disease. End of story. Thankfully, I have a park at the end of the street in which bramble and thorny things proliferate and thus God gives me somewhere in which my terrible energies can be safely employed. Ah .. glad I’ve written this. You’ll understand why a constant theme in my writing involves questioning love. Not the existence of love but its application.
 

... cheerio zen ....

 
The frost lies, bright sparkly, on the deck at dawn. Late winter’s day and sleep patterns disrupted. Suddenly, I’m an old aged pensioner and if weren’t for the fact that I’m long in the tooth - by virtue of receding gums - and my lungs protest about decades of ‘roll yer owns’, I still feel young. Young in the sense that my mind is still supple, young in the sense that change is something to which I can still adapt, old in the sense of knowing this - that great evil can be uncovered, cause a huge sensation and be, if not forgotten by tomorrow, displaced by some new evil revealed or a cute fluffy dog. I’ve had this site operating for a few years now. It was a place in which I could place my music. It doesn’t cost much and, along the way, I started writing these little pieces. Something creative for me to do and, although much of the small traffic here is webbots and search engines, a few humans pass by. I did start off with a blog but the few responses received made me uneasy so I cut the conversation angle and place these writings as ‘news.’ It relieves me of needing to have conversations I’m not looking for and, of course, there’s opportunity for contact if needed. So I write about the daffodils in Spring, the slow growing tree-ferns, Israel’s ongoing barbarity, my work in the Group Home - now finished - and whatever else comes to mind. There are two ‘things’ which I’ve found essential when it comes to understanding some of the whys and wherefores which set the stage upon which humanity dances. One of these ‘things’ is an event.... 9/11 .... the other is the financial system under which we slave and labour. I witnessed 9/11. Spent hundreds of hours of this subject, realised that to concentrate on conspiracy was to invite the word ‘theory’ when no such theory exists. The laws of physics were broken when those buildings came down. Three buildings, not two as many still believe. The laws of physics weren’t broken .... free fall speed is freefall speed and cannot occur if ANYTHING is standing in the way. So it is that, inescapably, the official story is false. If that event isn’t worth investigating then I’m just not paying attention to something which has had profound effect upon the course of human history. The system of Central banking is actually quite easy to understand. It’s a privately owned fraud and continues to exist because ... it’s not understood. I’m not talking about derivatives and futures markets but the fact that every nation on earth is now in thrall to a small group of people who have, by stealth, made the financial system theirs to play with and to literally toy with the world. Doesn’t it seem odd to you, as it does to me, that money is printed out of thin air to prop up banks ‘too big to fail’ when nothing in history has been ‘too big to fail.’ These things matter as do the daffodils, peace of mind, bullshit and responsibility. I wrote my song about 9/11 and ‘put it out there.’ I put it out there at zen gardners site and it was warmly received as was I. Zen sent it on elsewhere and so it had its day in the sun and that’s perhaps all there is to it. I liked zen’s site and met some lovely people there. Most, like me, appeared to be ordinary people, doing the best they can. Many articles appeared there which interested me and if some dealt with subjects which I thought were ‘looney tunes’ that’s o.k. ... I don’t know everything nor do I feel any need to be ‘right’ about anything. Not looking for converts to a cause. Nor am I looking for friends. It’s truth which interests me ... that and the questioning of love. Not the existence of love but it’s application. And so I joined the conversation there. It’s because I have mentioned zen’s site on this site and done so in glowing terms that I now feel equal need to give the ‘gypsy’s warning.’ I’m not part of the alternative community. My local one is sufficient and, even there, I’m quiet to the point of invisibility. My introduction to some of the more fanciful aspects of new age thinking has come through zen’s site and while some aspects are just fanciful, some are dark, disempowering and downright evil. Anyway - zen has a dark past which, in itself, isn’t necessarily an insurmountable obstacle to a brighter future but if that dark past is hidden and only becomes revealed by him because of the threat of exposure then this is of far greater importance than ‘Sorry - I made a mistake.’ I write this here because it sets the record straight on this site. I’ve made my position clear on zen’s site. Tomorrow the sun will rise on good and evil alike ... as it does today.
 

... signs of life ...

 
So I come into this world - actually, don’t I come out of the world? - being physically composed of those same elements that the Earth contains plus, of course, those specks of the remnants of far flung exploding stars which end up here? I don’t think I’m just playing with words as ‘being born into this world’ has to be an earliest of assumptions worth questioning. I come into some variety of society at some point within a rise and fall of a civilisation which itself has prior existence and I adopt the beliefs and ways of that society. Thus far, much is already ‘set’ or determined and free will is expressed within those restraints. ‘I’m bored, mum ... shall we go to the stoning?’ What is considered normal in one society is utterly unacceptable within another. Why is there this difference and what does it indicate to me? Not much when I was a child .. and I was fortunate. I wasn’t born into a society where blood lust ran rampant. On the surface, at least, was a veneer of ‘good will to all men’ and that veneer allowed me to grow through childhood with only the usual brutality which then gives rise to the thought and growing conviction that life isn’t fair. It’s at that point that I have a real choice. Free will can operate. Do I accept that life isn’t fair and decide that I’d better look after myself to the exclusion of other considerations or do I decide that ‘Life isn’t fair’ and add ‘... but that’s no reason to be unfair myself.’ It’s a seed which grew and was buried deep enough within my mind to not be obvious - much as a seed isn’t visible until it breaks through the ground. It’s the foundation, slowly built, which gives rise to an ethical approach to life. How ‘dry’ that sounds without love being the energy which drives ‘ethics.’ I’d be hard pressed to define spirituality. My childhood religion had Christ as the example of the way in which to live - the golden rule stuff which any religion worth its salt would promote. It’s the sense that ‘what heaven wills’ is that we treat each other well, as if we each individually really matter. Then Buddha indicates that much is illusion , froth and bubble and I take that into account while maintaining, as best I can, the golden rule. Some may be here to seek happiness, to live a life free of care and I have no reason to argue against that but, for me, the limitations and brutality inherent in childhood experience had me resisting that whole hearted embrace of life. I didn’t want to play. Unless one becomes catatonic, there is no option but to ‘play.’ and so the universe gave me options. If I don’t want to play, have no ambition towards material success then why not give whole heartedly within the context of the ‘work’ which comes my way. I mention this because many will have experienced life in similar way. It’s not all sweetness and light and ‘love is the way’ is much easier to say than put into practice. There are real limitations for me. Reasonably intelligent but not the brightest spark and this fact alone is sufficient for me to pause and reflect that all the spiritual teaching I’ve absorbed concentrates, essentially, on the golden rule. Intellectual discussion about free will and determinism requires the nous to be able to follow the discussion whereas many just don’t have that capacity. What do they do? All those attributes we value are born of character not personality - or so I think. Kindness doesn’t depend upon intelligence, neither does love. For me this life has been and is ‘an educational experience’ but there’s no sense in me that that education isn’t rich and varied. I’ve had ample opportunity to take on responsibility and gladly accept that the operation of my free will takes place within the context of those responsibilities ... being a decent father .. just as an example. It’s a journey isn’t it? How we take the journey and what we embrace along the way isn’t ‘determined.’ The image of a chess board comes to mind and me trying to explain to young grandchild that each of the pieces moves in a certain way and in no other. Each has power and a pawn can become a Queen so no piece is useless. That image easily translates over into life itself and - if I understand the determinism aspect - some would say that we are, whether pawns or Queens, equally subject to no real free will at all. The chess pieces on the board are not alive, not capable of free will however powerful they appear. They are not conscious whereas we are ... or, like me, we stumble towards consciousness, doing the best we can.
 

... when the shuddering stops ...

 
That idea that the mass of mankind lead lives of quiet desperation rings true. It’s been part of my experience and I’ve no reason to not see it as being true for others. The rest of that idea suggests that the ‘song’ within each of us is stilled, is stifled, never reaches full potential. Many causes for this, some of which are just obstacles along the way and some which arise because of the way things are arranged within society as a whole. I don’t know if inner peace can be sought as if it were a state within which one stays. If I live up to the responsibilities which stare me in the face then an ongoing outcome can certainly contain a basic resting state of ‘peace of mind’ but this is only in respect to doing the best I can to live up to those responsibilities. It doesn’t spill over necessarily to include a peace of mind about the state of humanity, the brutality of indifference. “ Happiness is over rated.” was the terse response of a grandmother to a teenager bemoaning the fact that he wasn’t happy. I know what she means and it’s struck me that the pursuit of happiness as indicated in the American Bill of Rights is an odd emphasis to find in such a document. Happiness is fleeting. Not that it isn’t real but it’s perhaps the equivalent of a spray of foam upon an ocean of contentment and otherwise. I’ve only recently come from a dark place, one where hatred is the experience felt, endured, where peace of mind is absent. It is literally horrible. “ I don’t believe in God.” said the same grandmother and I wish I’d had the presence of mind to reply “Neither do I.” I have no doubt that there’s a creative, enduring intelligence which is universal, is within and without, is guided by love and doesn’t interfere with the expression of free will. To call this presence ‘God’ just sticks a label which conjures up an image which, in turn, limits God to some variation of a stern father figure - usually with beard. This concept doesn’t fit if I’m a thinking creature living elsewhere in the universe and shaped differently to a human. So - no - ‘I don’t believe in God’ because the phrase itself is too limiting. My experience, now that I’m not too far from my three score years and ten, has me knowing that this divine intelligence exists, permeates everything and that some life lessons take decades to unfold, to reach a point of revelation which itself depends upon a particular set of circumstances coming together in as unlikely fashion as the winning of a lottery .... and it hurts. What hurts? Betrayal. Of course there are degrees of betrayal but the variety in which ones power to alter the situation is removed can lead to a hatred which must be endured, experienced and not acted on. While this holds true - not acting upon the hatred felt - on a personal level, it doesn’t hold true when applied to the evils which exist within wider society. I know I’m here for purpose and, for me, a good part of that purpose is contained within ‘Know yourself.’ To that end I don’t censure my thoughts or feelings. I experience them. I don’t act on that which will bring harm to others and, thus, I have no long list of enemies, I don’t carry grudges for long - it damages me to do so - and that ethical approach grants a certain peace of mind. But I’m not going to know myself by just experiencing what feels pleasant. Not much is certain in life but the well of human nature from which we draw, our capacity for good and evil, is our common inheritance. It really is our common inheritance and, thus, to know me is to know you. While I appreciate that it’s not quite as simple as ‘know me - know you’ there is truth contained in that direction. Is hatred spiritual? It’s all spiritual or none of it is. Much the same with the soul. My deep conviction is that if one has a soul then all have a soul and that, if this be true of humanity, then why would it not be likewise across the universe and within the species contained therein. So I question love which I also see as universal. I come up short in understanding, find need to pare away at the fluffier aspects of love, recognise that such concepts as peace of mind and spirituality aren’t to be separated out of life. That’s about it. Not much really but at least the shuddering can stop. Hatred runs its course and consumes itself. Life goes on. I take a renewed interest in the physical garden, pick up the dusty guitar and stretch again.
 

.... fine words don't imply substance ..

 
“Fine words but just fine words - whether those words have substance is another, more meaningful matter.” It’s not cynicism at work within me because fine words are often believed wholeheartedly by those who speak them but it’s equally true that fine words spoken are sometimes just simply calculated for effect without the slightest belief in any substance, any true meaning attached to those words. Within that context, words are spoken, believed by the speaker but believed with no reference to reality. I don’t know what to make of that ... whether mental illness has a relationship with spiritual unease, an unease born of dubious ethics. For myself, it’s ethics which prevent me from being tossed around on an ocean of uncertainty - of which there’s plenty. Tony Blair excuses a war in Iraq with millions dead and more maimed with the fatuous rationale that the world is better off without Saddam Hussein. Does he actually believe his own words, think that they have meaning beyond self justification. George Bush .... is he a certifiable moron or just a bit thick. He doesn’t have the capacity to rationalise and hasn’t needed it with those surrounding him telling him what’s right which, again, brings up ethics as a foundation for words and action. Our previous Prime Minister, John Howard, comes out of retirement to insist that false intelligence doesn’t mean that the war was based on a lie. To my mind this is playing with words and rings as hollow as the ridiculous claims of ‘I take full responsibility’ when nothing could be further from the truth. What does that phrase mean when uttered by a politician who then comes off camera to have make up removed and a nice cuppa offered before being whisked off to another highly paid evening as a dinner speaker. Meanwhile Israel continues its sadism towards the Palestinians and a piece of land no bigger than a medium sized city named the Gaza Strip is bereft of basic services and dying. Oh my gosh ... the Palestinians have dug tunnels AND they throw rocks. This makes the news yet the barbarity of the Israelis is seen as nothing and our leaders bleat on about Israel’s right to defend itself. Israel is a monstrous obscenity but this is never mentioned. But these perceptions are based upon ethics as applied in personal life but sadly lacking in the wider political and business sphere. There are voices raised, perceptions being changed by virtue of lives being blighted by a blind acceptance that ‘This is the way things are.’ Change is possible. The ‘credible’ t.v. news is playing in the background as I write. The talking heads are passionate and prejudiced and that prejudice is based upon an acceptance of the official narrative. The official narrative .. oh well. China flexes muscle, the United States responds and Australia is pushed towards flying the flag in areas which don’t concern Australia but serve the wider purpose of someone else’s empire. It’s the middle of winter here and a long drive through the Australian landscape to the warmth of the North beckons. Long overdue, much needed and will clear the head and refresh the spirit. I’ve had a great deal of time, recently, in which to absorb the hollowness of fine words, to recognise that mankind, on an individual level, is quite capable of rewriting personal history and - worse still - believing the lie. No different in the wider world, the history I’ve accepted as being ‘the truth.’ It’s an education.
 

..... secrecy theory .....

 
‘Oh ... another conspiracy theory.’ It boggles my mind that such a trite phrase rolls off the tongue as if no conspiracy exists. When did it stop? With a public shake of hands after the second world war? Conspiracy exists now. That secrecy exists won’t be questioned yet we don’t hear the phrase ‘secrecy theory.’ Families are split as they always were by differing perceptions of the world and, as a child, I’d hear that politics and religion are not fit subjects for the dinner table. Doesn’t leave much to discuss if subjects are ‘off the table.’ I’m at odds with some in my family and 9/11 is still the litmus test yet I’m the only one who has bothered to investigate that charade. I’m told that the world is a ‘work in progress’ which, of course, it is but this begs the question .... are we just blundering from disaster to disaster or is this being orchestrated? Intelligence doesn’t appear to have much bearing on perception regarding world affairs, Perhaps it helps me to have very little in the way of material resources. I’m not concerned with where to invest my wealth. I have no vested interest which would have me believe that ‘all is well’ or that ‘things are getting better’ either here in Australia or elsewhere. ‘Elsewhere’ is Syria, Libya, Yemen ..... there are no countries where the society is stable. What hasn’t been destroyed is being hollowed out and privatised. Yet ... no guiding hand, no profit to be made? No conspiracy? I don’t know about you but, for me, this has been a brutally testing time. Shock after shock. The moments have been few where I rise above the muck and remember that my earliest deep desire was to understand and what an open ended desire that is. Understand what? Human nature. ‘Know yourself.’ .... ‘The kingdom of heaven lies within.’ So does hell. Hatred is hell. Betrayal is the catalyst turning love to hate. Perhaps the extent of the betrayal determines how much hatred is experienced. It’s not an academic line of thought. Not if hatred is being experienced. For myself, that desire to understand ‘human nature’ has to involve experiencing the horrible as well as the beautiful aspects of the human condition. For that to occur, pain is involved. I haven’t got much further than that. Anyway, such matters aren’t particularly cheerful which is why I haven’t been moved to write. I’ll move through this time, bruised and bloodied, and be the stronger for it. Cold comfort in the immediate situation but ultimately necessary if I’m to understand the well from which we all draw. It’s mid winter here. Snowdrops flowering and daffodils just starting out. Bulbs are the gardener’s magic delight. I forget where I planted them, they look after themselves, they appear in their own time, year after year, and each has slightly different timing to the next. What a joy they are. The king parrots and Satin Bower birds reappear in the garden and browse happily in the seed I throw out. Things to do and another day in which the sun shines for awhile.
 

.... revisiting 9/11 ... as you do ...

 
Many years after 9/11 and more and more evidence appears which leave the official story in tatters but this perspective is based upon me witnessing the whole event - hours and hours of viewing, events from afar, straight into my living room and witnessed, sober, and in real time and then of being open and interested in the further research done on various aspects of this event. When the first plane hit the tower it was ‘breaking news’. The world’s media were all transfixed by this apparent accident. The shock was enormous. Then the second plane hit the other tower and suddenly - it was no accident. It was an attack. That shock was visceral - gut wrenching - but almost paled into insignificance when the buildings came down. The Twin Towers didn’t fall sideways, showering massive pieces of rubble in all directions. They fell straight down. Defying the laws of physics, they fell in close to free fall speed and dropped into their own footprint. This isn’t just convenient for rebuilding purposes, it’s close to miraculous. Then Building 7 collapsed. No plane hit it yet a forty seven high tower also fell into it’s own imprint and this building did so at free fall speed. This is a miracle because free fall speed can only occur if nothing impedes the fall - what happened to all the girders, the concrete, all the substance of that building? How can two planes utterly destroy three skyscrapers? It doesn’t satisfy to take the line of thought that it happened and that’s the end of the matter. It’s a lonely and bleak realisation that the events of 9/11 were staged by actors other than some middle eastern terrorists and that the official narrative was a farce. Apparently jet fuel melted steel girders. Jet fuel burns at 800̊ to 1500̊F which isn’t hot enough to melt steel (2750̊F) but you’ll find various points of view on this which serve to confuse and which is why I remain focussed on the free fall aspect. There are aspects to the reality of 9/11 which should give pause for thought by those who would prefer to dismiss the subject. Months after 9/11- in January which is winter in America - the heat at ground zero was hot enough to melt the soles of the boots of those working on the site. Why? It’s not an insignificant question. Can you imagine the amount of rubble which should be evident from the debris of more than two hundred floors collapsed? A huge pile but it isn’t there, not there because - as was witnessed - most of the twin towers were pulverised. How is this possible when no other collapsed building gets pulverised in such manner? The problem with 9/11 is that if the official narrative isn’t true then the implications are immense. I revisit 9/11 because it’s THE seminal event of this century. It changed the world and keeps reshaping the human world into a world of constant and unending war on .... terror. How can such a war ever be won without a greater and greater surveillance of citizens who may themselves become terrorists. After all, when life is beggared people become desperate. And the bleak humour in this is that one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter. Who benefits is another investigation and it’s not my place nor is it my interest to do more than point out the most glaring inconsistencies within the narrative presented by those who control what we are told. It’s more than sad that questioning such as I do here is seen as paranoid. It’s as if conspiracies used to exist but that, now, they don’t. It’s an absurdity, of course, but possible to maintain because of an ability of mankind to compartmentalise, to hold a myriad of conflicting views and to self censure lines of thought which cause discomfort. 911 is the emergency phone number in the U.S.A.
 

.... Judas wept but maybe not ....

 
In the Christian story, as told by the bible of my childhood, three figures stand out for me. Christ, of course, but also Judas and Pontius Pilate. The rest of the cast of characters sort of fade into the background. Doubting Thomas gets remembered precisely because he doubted - a very human attribute. Pontius Pilate represents the ‘powers that be’ - not so very powerful when constrained by political necessity, corruption and compromise. The way in which he washed his hands of responsibility remains a powerful symbol on both the world wide stage and within personal life. It resonates through time. Judas is enigmatic. Represents the traitor. Reviled for betraying his mentor, teacher and friend for some small material reward and yet ... if everything around the Christ story was preordained, was fulfilling prophecy, then the part that Judas played was also predestined and there’s more to the story than just betrayal. Predestined, preordained, writ large in prophecy - these ideas imply more than one life, perhaps a lack of free will in some real sense, within the playing out of karma, destiny and fate. While reincarnation makes sense to me, it isn’t part of the Christian religious belief. But I make sense of Christ through the Golden Rule which needs no religion. I don’t know for sure but as far as saving goes - in the sense of being a saviour, come to sacrifice for some original sin - I don’t think or feel that that concept is at the heart of the matter. Human nature is common to all of us, the well from which we draw. A capacity for everything between the expressions of hate through to love is equally common so the only saving required is the saving from a mean spirited life. Hence, the Golden Rule. Regardless of the factual truth of Christ, he represents self sacrifice. Within the trinity of Pilate, Christ and Judas are represented three aspects of myself. Sobering thought. Just musing as the rain keeps falling. Two days solid and the garden, still dry and thirsty, opens its pores.
 

.... weather report ....

 
Light, steady rain falls, heralds the first day of winter. The smell of sugar cane mulch sweet as I spread it like a blanket over the tired looking garden beds. Bend, stretch, lie on belly to get close to the trunks of the Camellia, the Tibouchina and other bushes. Leaves, damp from last night’s mist, are raked into piles and mulched to satisfaction and, along the way, the small seedlings of Privet, Holly, Blackberry and Ivy - noxious weeds in this part of the world - are found and plucked from obscurity and into the bin. The earth is thirsty and needs a day or two of consistent rain to make much difference but it’s all welcome. Two small rainwater tanks stand empty and were used a few days back to get some moisture to a stand of TreeFerns looking stressed. The plants which have done well this year are established for at least two years. The more recent plantings have struggled. The weather pattern changes and El Nino looks like being replaced by El Nina and hopefully - more rain probable. Four distinct seasons apply here with the bare of leaf Magnolia already heavy with bud and due to flower in August - the end of winter. Daffodils, Snowdrops and other surprises will flower before that time. Now is the time to be doing those late Autumn tasks and it’s satisfying to be somewhat in tune with the demands of the time. There’s a predictability to the garden and the flow of seasons which doesn’t translate to the wider world where madness appears to be the common currency. The problems I experience here, in Australia, are minimal if compared to the disruption being experienced elsewhere. This is just a local weather report. A grey, still, damp Winter day - beautiful.
 

.... the mask ...

 
‘Saving face’ implies that a mask is being worn and, to some degree, I suppose that we all learn to wear one. The reason why this comes to mind is that I’m accused of being revealed in my ‘true colours’ - another phrase which implies a mask. I don’t wear a mask - apart from common politeness - so ‘true colours’ is a puzzle and one which I need tease out. ‘Blood is thicker than water’ is another of those phrases which is probably readily understood, even when translated into other languages, other cultures. It has its roots within the family and then the tribe. It implies that we stick together through thick and thin, misery and joy. In its best sense it implies that we put aside difference and work together with common purpose and are encouraged and ultimately strengthened by that process. In its worst sense it embraces sticking together - right or wrong. This is the disaster which befalls nations and individuals bent on empire regardless of the cost and the cost is always misery for the majority. How can it be otherwise when ‘right or wrong’ is actually the stark choice between good and evil. Why we ‘stick together’ is because betrayal is real, an ever present danger. It appears in childhood when first we learn that life isn’t fair and that bullies abound. As trust gets abused and rescue does not occur so we learn that being open hearted leaves us vulnerable, that we get taken advantage of, that the concepts of right and wrong get established and paths through life are taken. Life isn’t fair but that should not imply that I should be unfair in my dealings with those I meet. Greed and fear are hand maidens, entwined impulses which leave no room for love - as I understand love. If, after six decades or so, you actually have a few friends, the common perception is that one is fortunate. To my mind, the falling away of friendships over time isn’t just because interests change but because friendships get tested in ways in which both character and ethical behaviour - or lack of it - are revealed. This can happen like a slow train wreck in progress where shock after shock occurs or it can be as simple as a moment in which a veil is lifted - a mask revealed. I’ve had few friends and don’t seek them. Not a question of being aloof but more a recognition of a fairly solitary nature. Two women stood the test of time, of many decades. They weren’t lovers which makes the long term friendship a bit special. With one of these women, the veil was lifted in a luminous moment in which my use to her was revealed as being about personal advantage. I cut the friendship and had time in which to understand that what may have been charming in youth can become grotesque in later life. It’s the difference between style and substance. Style is unimportant, substance is everything. My substance has come from accepting responsibility and doing so to the extent that ego takes a back seat and is subordinate to ethical behaviour. I don’t want that to just sound like a high brow moral righteous position when it’s nothing of the sort. It’s by being honest in daily life that clarity of thought starts to occur. For all the myriad problems happening in the wider world, it’s still ‘me’ that I have to wake up with each day. It’s not been good lately. The other woman who stood the test of time was a good friend for thirty years and more. Three kids and a lousy choice of partner saw her in need of a major operation ten years ago. She had a small property, never finished in terms of building, and a shack near a coastal town - also in disrepair. I had no money but did have a line of credit and could lend her the money needed, at no benefit to me and only attracting the interest that the bank placed on that line of credit, and so a saga began which now sees me having no choice but to take legal action to recover a debt large enough to cripple any idea of retirement or of owning the roof over my head. This isn’t a wail of pain. I’ve done that privately for the last two years as her choices have impacted more and more deeply on my life. Each of us has a life journey and part of my fate is to come to an understanding that I’ve effectively been thrown to the wolves rather than my ‘friend’ do anything which threatens her small but real material wealth. It is a story which beggars belief and it serves no purpose to detail the extent of this particular betrayal. What it does show is that there are limitations to everything - include limitation itself, I suppose. Limitation to ‘Going the extra mile.’ Limitations to ‘loving ones neighbour.’ Limitations to resources. It’s very strange. What we cannot rely on in life is the ongoing sanity of friend or family, of how stress and self interest can bend the very structure of life to breaking point. ‘Friend’ has somehow managed to rewrite history. I am become a villain in the piece. I tell her that she has deceived herself and she translates that into me accusing her of lying. It sounds like a lover’s tiff but we never were lovers nor was that ever an issue. It’s more than sad and instead of just going the extra mile, over and over again, it becomes clear that this exercise has been a marathon in which the finish line is constantly changed and perhaps a mirage. ‘More fool you.’ isn’t needed to be said. I could do serious damage to a person whose health was my primary concern. Some irony there. A friendship becomes a prison sentence, cause for contemplation. So - anyone who reads this will have some personal echo of this experience. Betrayal. I don’t accept that ‘Blood is thicker than water’ - except for a certain degree of latitude we give to those who are close. I don’t accept ‘My country, right or wrong.’ I do accept that love can scour the soul, that ‘love your neighbour’ is still the ‘way’ to go, that love needs to be questioned.
 

... point of origin ...

 
The human world, superimposed upon this planet Earth, is often horrible. I can’t escape it on a personal level nor in the wider world. I have to raise my eyes to raise my spirit. Or lower them and within the garden, the earth itself, take solace. In the night sky, its myriad stars and galaxies, infinite possibilities take on material form, the exploration of which continues to pique my curiosity. The Universe used to mean ‘All that there is’ - something which, because everything continues to expand must, therefore, have had a point of origin. There’s a certain logic in that view but it’s not the only view. The universe expands but it appears that the process is speeding up. Why this should be so is unknown and perhaps illustrates just how much is yet to be discovered. Within an electric universe, the shape of galaxies mirrors the effects of electrical forces on immense scale. These same effects can be replicated in a laboratory. Planetary bodies such Mars show evidence of planetary scarring due to plasma discharge - as does the Earth. The idea that electrical forces play such a role is not the view of mainstream science which, of course, is composed of people as much as it is ideas and, thus, human frailty comes into play and ideas which may threaten tenure at a university are condemned. Velikovsky suffers such a fate yet his research provided the impetus for other scholars to tease out the implications of planets themselves having electrical charge. To my way of thinking, an electric universe make sense and is backed up by evidence. So is one of Velikovsky’s themes which provides the evidence to suggest that our history is one of cataclysm, witnessed by our ancestors and dimly recalled via what is loosely called - myth and legend. Not something which engages my attention more than providing a really interesting and ongoing education via the Thunderbolts Project and their discourses found on youtube. This cataclysmic past, where planets move in their orbits, is not what I got taught - a violent start to the solar system, a long period of settling down and very little change since. The word ‘since’ means very little if the timespan isn’t known. It is very dry here. The garden suffers and the TreeFerns tend to show that stress by allowing many of the fronds to wither and to do so within a few days. Unseasonably hot although cool enough here, a mile high. Autumn pruning of the peach, nashi pear and nectarine. A cover of sugar cane mulch, where I can afford to do so, helps conserve what moisture there is. Stressed or not, the garden is still a beautiful place and ... consoles. I embrace it and it embraces me. I don’t much know what’s happening in the human world any longer. Those I know and love are still the caring ethical beings that they’ve been but few are free of horrible experience. Not ‘having a whinge’ but just the fact of the matter. We’re living through a time in which monstrous behaviour is normalised. Lying is quite acceptable and self interest trumps any other consideration. The misery that this leaves in its wake is evident. The utterly corrupted financial, business and political systems have hollowed out our societies. As things stand, a bright future would need to sweep away the present. And I don’t know how this changes human nature. Long live the Revolution? Er .... could the last one out, please clean up. Don’t want to leave a mess do we? Within me is the understanding that I choose to be here, to live through these times. Implicit in this is that there is purpose - doesn’t have to be grand - to this life. Perhaps I was a lazy sod in a previous life but - in this one - I know something about ‘going the extra mile.’ Marathon is closer to the truth which is why I’m taking breath and going quiet. It’s still a beautiful day.
 

..... did you read Castaneda ....

 
Shamans and other worldly experience. Sounds delicious and a bit more exciting than the daily grind. Plenty of authors to whet the appetite. Why the appetite is there is one question and one of the answers is perhaps because meaning is lacking in everyday life. Personally, it’s up to me to put meaning into life. If that means living simply and going quiet - fine with me. Adapting to the demands of the time. Given a choice between cleaning windows or a transcendent experience, many would choose the latter and worry about the authenticity later. Such was the case for me in my youth. Carlos Castaneda was one such writer. His books, detailing experiences with a shaman, were a ‘must read’ at that time. I read some of them and they had a bit of an influence inasmuch as alternative views of the nature of reality were explored. My own experience with psychedelics didn’t mirror Castaneda’s but were profound. Many will be able to relate to that however many never quite came back with anything like an integrated view of the world. They came back to psychosis. In my teenage years, science fiction, with its ‘What ifs ...’ gave me a wealth of possibility in respect to the nature of reality, other worldly points of view. I loved it and quickly moved from the ‘goodies and baddies’ aspect - what we have on Earth but transplanted to the wider universe - and into the short story brilliance of authors such as Ray Bradbury. I ate the local library, A to Z, and it widened, deepened my interest in what is loosely called the ‘far out and cosmic.’ Along the way, I came across Lobsang Rampa who wrote a swathe of books about being a Tibetan lama, opening the third eye and other exciting subjects. He was a fraud. Real name Cyril Hoskin. Here’s the problem for me. If Cyril didn’t have the strength of his conviction that he was, indeed, a Tibetan lama who had been reincarnated into becoming the son of a British plumber, then why should his writings be given any more credence than the science fiction - so plausibly written - that I relished. If the foundation is not sound then the structure built on top wont last. Carlos Castaneda disappeared into the dusty bookshelf. His world has nothing to do with changing nappies, providing meals, struggling to survive. It’s only recently that I see that his writings are being treated with the reverence shown to bibles. An astute friend points this out to me and casually delivers the news that Castaneda is a fraud. Look it up for yourself. I have. It doesn’t mean that every word that he wrote is a lie but it’s now a bit tainted and got all the validity of a Star Trek script - possible but not gospel. But, then again, I didn’t realise that these ‘teachings’ had such use in today’s world that they would be treated as gospel. So - Lobsang Rampa, Carlos Castaneda, ... lots of sirens ... both the warning sirens on a vehicle type, and the ‘Song of the Siren’ mythology type. Cleaning windows is transcendent. I use ‘new improved loosh’. Gets rid of grime and smells all sparkly. Not heard of loosh? Neither had I. It’s a new age product. It made me scratch my head.... until I read the directions which specifically state that it shouldn’t be used that way. I just wondered to myself .... ‘No idea why I’ve written this.’ Yes I have. It’s a ‘be here now’ moment for me. A slow down reminder. Too much information, mostly dark and much of it of no earthly use, except to ramp up fear. A War on Terror, a War on Terra, ... yes indeed .... but I will not internalise that and wring my hands so hard it breaks my heart and leaves me frozen. It’s a beautiful day.
 

.... agenda 21 ....

 
I haven’t paid much attention to Agenda 21. Aware of it but not much attention. Phrases like ‘sustainable development’ spring to mind just as quickly as does the image of the Georgia Guidestones, which set out the alarming nature of New World Order thinking and which blandly declare, in so many words, that we’d all be better off if only a huge swathe of humanity would ‘do the right thing’ and die. I have now read something of what’s contained in Agenda 21 although, really, I’ve just skimmed through and registered that ‘should’ and ‘must’ dominate the narrative. As does the fact that Agenda 21 is all encompassing and without borders. Once in - no way out. It’s a framework for world control. ‘Do not give your power away.’ echoes in my mind for personal reasons and is echoed back by the world, which bellows in pain, from Greece to Scotland, with austerity measures demanded by .... banks. Banks contribute nothing. Except misery. A few hundred people, if that, steer the world into situations they wouldn’t dream of imposing upon themselves. Tens of thousands do the bidding of those few hundred and, no doubt, some believe the vision that they are implementing somehow benefits mankind. How? Starve the Greeks? That’ll teach them? A dream in which bulldozers carve a path through the walls and gates of mansions everywhere - the path so carved is filled with refugees who can now sip tea with the Rothschilds, tiny sandwiches all round, and all that stolen wealth goes into repair of societies destroyed both locally and elsewhere. Then the Rothschilds take themselves off to the nearest privately owned jail. It lacks coherent detail. Dreams often do. So I must needs get clarity from reality. 21stcenturywire.com/2016/05/08/agenda-21-an-introduction/
 

... two front teeth ....

 
‘All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.’ It’s a line of lyric from a half remembered song from childhood and ripples across time to reveal itself again in the monstrosity of 9/11 and the Twin Towers demolished. The two front teeth of America knocked out. And just to rub in that knock out punch, Building 7 - a 47 story high building - sinks to the ground and fits neatly into its own footprint. No plane hit it. No plane in sight. So what is in plain sight? That two planes - aluminium tin cans - with a jet fuel which is glorified kerosene, incapable of melting steel, somehow managing to cause two sky scrapers, each 110 stories high and built to withstand such an event, to fall neatly into their own footprint. ‘To somehow cause’ relies upon the suspension of the laws of physics - nothing complicated here, just that free fall cannot occur unless every impediment, obstacle, pillar and post is removed at the same time. The official report into 9/11 found no trace of explosive and the reason - why? - takes absurdity to new heights. No tests were done. So a knock out punch occurred and, true to the meaning of that phrase, America was knocked out and still hasn’t regained consciousness. When it wakes up to the fact that 9/11 was not some outside plot is anyone’s guess. No fun to come from a day dream and awaken to a nightmare. To retain some sense of balance within myself since that event, while few around me noticed anything amiss apart from ‘how terrible,’ continues to be a one of those atrocities, the knowledge of which I live with. Life goes on. A new day dawns and all that. There’s a carousel, designed and operate by those charged with that responsibility. Keep the carousel turning is the prime directive. Entrance and bamboozle is the name of the game. Meanwhile, away from the lights, the real business goes on and the nature of that business is usury. Usury is what has spawned derivatives, stock markets, interest rates, manipulation, ‘too big to fail’ - nothing on Earth is ‘too big to fail’ although the Pyramids come to mind but they’re not forever. And now - again in contravention of the ‘Laws of Commonsense’ - the Federal Reserve prints money out of thin air and we all know it. How can this not be on the front pages, how can it not be such common knowledge that it’s a trivia question on a five o’clock t.v. game show? What can’t you do in the board game ‘Monopoly’ that you can do in real life? Yes ... correct ... print money out of thin air. The Federal Reserve is not the U.S. Government. It’s privately owned and does what it pleases. That’s what Central Banks do. This is the fabric of our world. So interwoven into everyday life that it remains unnoticed as real estate and ‘money for nothing’ governs our struggle for survival. Usury is the greatest evil to befall mankind. There are other evils, of course, but usury doesn’t require anything more than that we continue to turn a blind eye ... in terms of that few hours of education needed just so we understand both the nature of the beast and that a financial reset to a cashless society is no answer at all. It’s very sobering for me to have this awareness of just how precarious the financial world is and is designed to be. Not a very chirpy start to a cool Sunday morning but thoughts run their course and ... what can I do about it? Express my thoughts and continue on. There’s much on that carousel which escapes my attention. I don’t see shape shifting aliens and don’t dismiss the possibility but I don’t see them contributing to the exposure of the yoke around the neck of mankind - usury and what evil it spawns. I hope we get through this morass, clean up the planet and actually have a life. It’s very funny - thank goodness that we have humour to pierce the pompous and defy the gloom. ‘Yes’ he said thoughtfully but no thoughts followed. The brilliant reds of Autumn leaves, the rising solemn fronds of TreeFern touching TreeFern. Still grey sky and songbirds calling.
 

... terra nullius .... no-one here ...

 
A discussion on t.v. with various Christians represented and many topics open for discussion. Among the panel was an aboriginal Christian who didn’t have a great deal to say but what he did say was important and it was deep. ‘What do you think?’ asked the panel host. ‘Original sin,’ said the bloke, ‘ .. for Australia, is the lie still being upheld, of Terra Nullius, that the land was empty, uninhabited when Captain Cook ‘discovered’ the continent.’ There was applause and he continued ‘This land was inhabited, the land is ours, given by God and every church in Australia sits on stolen land. We never gave the land and we’ve never even had a treaty.’ Not quite so polite applause and a panel member jumps in with ‘Well, it’s all about the land, land rights and who owns the land.’ She continued with waffle and I watch this man’s face as ‘Misunderstood yet again’ passes through his expression. Another panel member jumps in - very politely ‘Not disagreeing with the substance of what you’ve just said but I do wonder about this claim - ‘Given by God.’ With what appeared to me to be remarkable good grace, the aboriginal Christian didn’t pursue these points. Absolutely right in respect to Terra Nullius and, still, we have no treaty. Who owns the land? Silly woman - Aboriginal people don’t see land as something to be owned nor for it to be fenced in, sold off and traded like horsemeat. Ownership, for them, is custodianship, carried out in one area by the tribe charged with that responsibility for millenia. Another tribe looks after the adjoining area. It’s a care-taking role, active in nature. We - my ancestors - see a land showing no signs of cultivation, as we understand cultivation, and with no towns or cities and thus, by implication, these people are savages, uncivilised, without culture or spiritual life and undeserving of being treated as equals. Human? Hardly. Massacre after massacre has occurred here and so uncivilised are we that the view .. ‘I wasn’t there, I haven’t done anything wrong’ rings out with resentment if the subject of collective responsibility comes up. If that viewpoint were correct then each would give away or give back their inheritance but, of course, one doesn’t receive an inheritance without acknowledging connection with previous generations. Clumsily expressed but words are slippery. Land rights is not the same as ownership. We brought with us the concept of ownership in terms of ... ‘it’s mine and mine alone.’ ‘Given by God.’ ... why the aboriginal man didn’t jump in with ‘You accept this idea in respect to Israel - why should we be seen differently, particularly so when the Jews are a latecomer to the world stage while we’ve been here for tens of thousands of years.’ It was all very polite and a bit sad. Lots said but not really.
 

.... what's the point ...

 
The meaning of life. I don’t know that it has one unless we put the meaning into it. Individually. A moment comes and goes and what I do with it, how I be in it, gives it meaning or relegates it to happenstance. All assuming some semblance of free will and toiling in slavery, being battered by force, isn’t conducive to finding meaning which satisfies. My last three shifts at the Group Home play out. I’ve become an old aged pensioner recently and it coincides with my circumstance to leave paid employment and see what else opens up. That each of us lives a unique life is more apparent to me now than was my understanding decades back. The children in a family, regardless of shared experience, live through that experience differently. It’s self evident to me now. For twenty years I’ve worked with four - there was a fifth but that’s a tragic Shakespearian tale - intellectually disabled men. It hasn’t been easy, sometimes traumatic, had me in tears, shown me my fears, taught me much and enriched my life. Not many could draw upon that particular combination. I made an easy and casual decision, all those years ago, that I’d throw the guitar in the car and take it to work with me. Music played live has a profound effect on people. Not all but many - and for three of these four men, my taking of the guitar mattered. Whether I ended up with time to play the thing wasn’t the point. Walking in with the guitar and it ‘being there’ was an end in itself. I get an undeserved kudos for the work I’ve done. It is deserved in some ways but it’s predicated on the thought expressed ‘I couldn’t do that.’ and the following associations with sainthood. These men don’t need a saint. They need someone who treats them with respect, doesn’t talk down to them and cares enough to interact rather than ‘go through the motions.’ It’s remarkable that these men who perhaps could cross the road by themselves but not see the danger in the passing traffic, have their distinct personalities and peculiarities without having the ‘nous’ to have such aspects as spite, malice or deceit. Considered non verbal, they don’t need to be nursed but, by the same token, you couldn’t have a conversation with them. You couldn’t but I can and in those little interactions shine enthusiasm, delight in recognition - all the beautiful sharing moments which ... put meaning into life. Andy is able to talk. It’s minimal and I can almost see his mind whirring as he strives to find the words to express himself. He’s like some zen master who uses three words to encapsulate a greater meaning. I have to find that meaning and he’s very pleased when I do. ‘What would you like to hear?’ is my question to him and he rolls off a string of song titles, developed over the years. ‘Waltzing Matilda, Pain and Sorrow, You gotta move, Happy Birthday, Knocking on heaven’s door.’ I’ll play them tonight, after the work is done and do the same tomorrow. A final team meeting and ... that’s that. I wont look back. And if I left the place better than I found it, that’s sufficient meaning for me. In the big picture, world events unfolding, this is tiny detail. But I don’t have much sway with world events unfolding. They’ll keep unfolding regardless of my interest. The tiny detail in my life which isn’t tiny at all when looked at and seen, that can be brim full of meaning. Some moments shine with luminosity, can be experienced anywhere.
 

.... not waving, drowning ....

 
Not everything is a great success. It’s not the point - or rather it’s not the only point or purpose to personal endeavour. Without a slow bubbling away of creative process - more a drip, drip than a fountain - which results in songs which I’ve taken seriously enough to record and then take the next logical step of creating a website on which to host these songs, I wouldn’t have had anywhere, apart from ‘Dear Diary’, to place my thoughts. Who cares? Doesn’t matter. The original purpose of having a website - to present songs - has been a slender joke but it’s had a pretty good punchline - for me anyway. Today I receive a royalty cheque for the grand sum of ten cents ... but wait, there’s more ... no there isn’t. But it doesn’t matter. I look to see amid the four pages of remittance advice which song did so well upon the world stage and it’s a song called ‘Once upon a time.’ A sister worked, many years ago, on what was then called the Gilbert Islands, now called Kiribati. Background: The independent republic of Kiribati consists of a chain of islands in the Pacific Ocean straddling the equator, about one-half of the way from Hawaii to Australia. It includes three major island groups - Gilbert Islands, Line Islands, and Phoenix Islands. Formerly part of the British Gilbert and Ellice Islands Colony, the Ellice Islands became the independent nation of Tuvalu in 1978, the Gilbert Islands were granted self-rule by the UK in 1971 and complete independence in 1979 under the new name of Kiribati. When my sister returned she told me that much of the land on this chain of islands is barely above sea level. It’s actually a chain of low lying coral atolls plus an island and sea level rise is a matter of life and death for them. Don’t know how you stop sea level rise but the options are stark. Where do one hundred thousand people go when the alternative is to drown. Anyway - a generic south sea island song got born. It’s cheerful in sound and perhaps you can listen and, if it ‘works for you’, download it here free, in the music section, and pass it on. Tiny an action though it be, many voices make a chorus.
 

... the hands of the beast ...

 
Saudi Arabia - in the hands of the beast. Israel likewise. Both claim to be religious - whatever that means. What it means is a repudiation of the ten commandments by the ruling clique. A replacement, not offered but insisted, a replacement of the God they claim to follow, whose commandments are clear and which serve to give a foundation for, possibly, a fair and just society - with a fraud. ‘Welcome to the real world.’ says General Petraeus. The ten commandments stand silent. They’re not mute. They stand witness to barbarity and hatred. Kings turn to dust. Just as well. Britain - was it ever Great? - sells weapons to Saudi Arabia, the very country whose debauched version of Islam provides the hatred needed for those who then become the suicide bombers, blowing to smithereens the innocent lives of men, women and children. The real world so blithely mentioned by the General and those who share that cold view is an abomination. Not to those who wield power but to the vast majority of mankind who suffer daily in a world constantly being reduced to its lowest common denominator. Any beheadings going on in your country? Religious police banning the playing of music in public? Smashing instruments if you dare? The Saudis are literally small fry in the bigger picture. Small fry and being thrown to the wolves as their use to the one world order goes the way of other despotic friends who’ve had their day. Being blamed for 9/11 as the paymasters of those Muslim hijackers who did nothing of the sort. A cursory examination of 9/11 reveals that the laws of physics were suspended as the buildings descended. Thus, the official story needs examination by every human capable of thought. Millions have died as a result of this event. World history and the fate of nations has since been blighted and a ‘War on Terror’ blankets the fact that a ‘War on Terra - our very planet’ - is being waged. ‘Bow to our God or we’ll cut your head off.’ ... your God is a Moloch, a Lucifer, a Financial system corrupt to the core, a nothing of value. ‘Powers and Principalities.’ There’s a phrase to cause pause. If it’s not the ‘power of the state’ and it’s not some tiny country in Europe then what is it? ‘Render unto Caesar what is due.’ To my mind that translates as ‘Pay your taxes and be grateful that some of it might be used to build a road.’ I’ve never had much of a problem with that because this society, the one in which I live , has hospitals, schools and old aged pensions, jobs and holidays. Not looking so certain now but that’s why these thoughts. Caesar is now become the octopus of central banking, privately owned, and squeezing us mercilessly and the new melody is called ‘You pay to keep your money in our bank. We will call it negative interest rates and - with a cashless society dancing hand in hand with a one world order and coming, shortly, to a street near you - whad’ja gonna do about it?’ There’s a bucket full of possibilities contained within the present moment. It matters that I’m aware - but first I had to care. There is no care in evidence anywhere by ‘the powers that be’ - it’s not shown by those neither born to rule nor fit to rule. Between humans individually is another matter. There’s got to be some light in the darkness. This isn’t a ‘where to from here’ .... just a line of thought.
 

... traveller's bones ...

 
At the time that this occurred - the mid eighties - I was working as a cleaner gardener in a high school in Australia. There were many aspects to my work ... mural painting, stage shows, tree planting, window cleaning, garbage removal and it so happened that my energy levels matched my creative abilities. I hadn’t had a proper holiday in years and booked a month in Bali. I arranged to hire a motorbike for the month and was booked into the Kuta region for the first week. Bali is a remarkable and beautiful assault on the senses. After a few days in Kuta, I moved a bit further away and to quieter quarters. It took a week for me to slow down, experience the pleasure of many people from many countries, all having a holiday, and then to want to strike out on my own. I’ve liked chess without it being a passion ... having said that, Mick and I played a game by letter which took nigh on ten years to complete. It wasn’t a brilliant game but it sure kept us in touch across a continent so vast that it was cheaper to go to Bali than to go to Western Australia. Chess is popular in Bali. I’d met a young Balinese bloke at the first place in which I’d stayed. As I talked to him about where else to go, he suggested Ubud which is also where he wanted to go. If I really wanted to experience something different, that, perhaps, it could be arranged for me to stay in the very outer quarters of the royal palace. Thankyou very much .. let’s go. So now, this is the story pretty much as I first wrote it down, a few years after the event. I’m looking at chess pieces. They are very old and richly detailed. The chessboard is on a low wooden table. On either side are the two players. Both are still. I sit back in a comfortable chair watching the game unfold. I’ve played two good games and their skill is greater than mine. On my right sits the son of one of the last kings of Bali. He is a blend of middle aged vigour and serenity. Across the table and about to make his move, sits an old man. It is night and we are alone in one of the public rooms within the grounds of the royal palace. Noise from the evening market drifts over the high courtyard wall and accents the stillness of the room. It’s pleasantly warm in the night fragrant air. The two players sit, motionless and contemplative, not restless like me. Traveller’s bones ache in unlikely places. Yesterday we arrived. I wait at the gate as my mate from Kuta enters the royal courtyard and waits respectfully to be noticed by a group of people who are having dinner in a wonderful three sided room. My friend is noticed and beckoned over. A short conversation and then both men walk over to where I’m waiting. The host is the grandson of the last king, a good looking, graceful man in his thirties. He asked me if I’d care to join them. I make my apologies in view of the lateness of the hour and suggest that I join them for breakfast. My friend from Kuta has gone and I am tired. I lie back on my bed and wonder at the possible alternatives which can open up. It feels like real magic, the island radiates that this is the earthly home of the Gods. I am very close to town and the noises of the night, the ebb and flow of life, seep into me. It’s too exciting to sleep so I get up and leave the palace grounds. It’s quite busy in the streets outside the palace walls. There’s a night market full of beautiful Balinese women, cheerful men, merchants, families, smiles and shouting. I move with the flow, stopping awhile, here and there, just to gaze about. I’m not loud but my presence as a stranger draws curious and friendly glances. I have a cuppa at a roadside stall and enjoy the tea. Language problems are smiled through and I love it. Ready to sleep, I make my way further through the quieter parts of town, finally returning to my guestroom. There’s no eight hour graveyard shift, after midnight, where nothing stirs. At first light many people are about and why not? It’s splendid for me as my host has free time. We drink coffee. I tell him of my brief experience in his country and he tells me something of his life as a classical dancer. I learn that there is a blending of religious belief including Buddhism, Animism, Hindu, Christian, Moslem and older Gods beside. I also learn that the Balinese people are inclined not only towards a spiritual life but that they have also created a warrior culture. We talk about the resort communities of Kuta and Legiane, the whiff of corruption from dubious western influence, the strength of the Balinese culture. I really liked him. Mid morning I left for a temple, a mile or so away and up a gently sloping road. Everywhere the land bears fruit. Knowing that their island is the home of the Gods, these people approach nature with honour and obligation. A rich variety of flowers are in bloom everywhere and the air is full of their perfume. The temple is ancient and well cared for. Like so many of them, it is open to the skies. I avoid the organised tour groups and find a place to sit. A young priest approaches. We nod. He would like some small sum of money which I can well afford, and he will share some time. His English is surprisingly good. He explains that his half proud request had been strictly for temple purposes and I believe him. He’s not impressed with tourists, most of whom show scant regard or respect and who are separated from the reality of the moment by buses, timetables and dull eyed materialism. He’s a very intense man. At these pillared temples there are so many ceremonies, so much devotion and so much attention directed, so far as I can see, to one great God of many aspects. I take my leave and follow a procession of priests and people who are wending their way at a leisurely pace, back towards the town and its centre. A moment ago there was the quiet of the temple grounds and now I’m surrounded by bells, music, colour, saris, pinks and yellows, chanting and joy. This is a wedding and everybody is cheerful. I am greeted and made welcome and I greet in return and share the joy. The next day at lunch my royal host is free again. We talk about chess among other things and it turns out that his father would be returning from a trip to Java later that night and may perhaps enjoy a game of chess. I’m delighted at the possibility. And so it is that a cleaner from a high school in Australia sits in the hall of the mountain king, thanking God for his good fortune. The old man has made his move. The players are still ... serene as the night. Mosquito - large, arrogant, thirsty - hovers in front of my face. I ignore it. The son of the last king will make a move at some moment and there is a suggestion of a breeze so perhaps the nuisance will disappear. The irritation overcomes me. I cannot help myself. I bring my hands together in a ringing clap. As I read it, there was a noble and compassionate deliberation in the look I received. Attention returns to the game. Silence, stillness and a fragrance laden air. Another mosquito buzzes - this time pestering the royal countenance. Again a point of irritation but the resolution this time is vastly different. The minuscule problem that I attacked with overwhelming force is now handled with a graceful movement. With an easy sweeping motion, the mosquito is plucked from the air, breathed upon quickly and thrown behind. No malice to living thing. The mosquito, a bit dazed no doubt, stumbles away in search of easier prey. I receive a look to see if I have understood. Minimum force, maximum gain - harmonious action, no blame.
 

.... planets in orbit ..

 
‘If you’re going to do the job, do it well, do it with good grace or don’t do it at all.’ This slightly confusing message was often delivered in childhood and usually accompanied by a thick ear - just to make the message stick. Perhaps it did and I carry a ‘message stick.’ Playing with words a bit but just to tease them - not to confuse them. I’ve had a remarkable twenty years looking after four - there used to be five - intellectually disabled blokes. Another few shifts and I’m finished for good. ‘I couldn’t do that.’ is a common response if I tell people what I do and I ‘appraise’ them and note that they could do it but it sounds distasteful, challenging, boring, low status, not well paid and completely at odds with a glamourous lifestyle. Perhaps it’s better that they don’t do the job. You need good grace and you need to use it well. Twenty years is a long time to work with four people. Surely you’d gain some insight into the human condition - that which is common to us all regardless of intellectual capacity. If each one of us were a wave on an ocean, transient ... oh ... well it is a bit like that, even down to the spray falling back to the sea. Over twenty years and amidst the immediacy of present need at the Group Home, occurs a slow dance across time in which - truthfully - I am the sun and they are the planets. I don’t mean to sound grandiose but our clients - I’ll only use that word once - our men don’t interact with each other very much. They orbit around one another and it really is like planetary motion. The staff on duty, quite naturally, become the ‘source of all’ - good and evil alike. Thus the sun analogy holds true. I’m not the only sun, of course, ... there’s a constant parade of us and most are daughters too. It ‘shouldn’t’ be that way and effort is made to broaden the horizons but - most of my shifts are the afternoon into late evening shifts where all the mucky stuff gets done. I’m on my own and it’s up to me. It doesn’t take long and isn’t very mucky. There’s a level of intellectual disability where the label is ‘High Need.’ These men can cross the road but it would be utter neglect to let them do so on their own. The dimmest of our men shines bright in his own way. Takes about five attempts to get through ... to get through about the simplest of things. He whispers and it’s so infrequent that the ear doesn’t quite grasp it and when you ask what was that? .. the moment is gone. But when he sings, which he does at the oddest of moments - he has a rich voice, he gets the words confused - sometimes to funny effect as with when he sings the Christmas carol ‘Noel, noel’ and it becomes ‘No work, no work.’ The only other way in which he speaks is in a loud, deep and nasty voice, mimicked from somewhere in his past, where he curses and turns the air blue in supermarkets - very inappropriate in a queue of little old ladies but you’d be surprised. They might look sweet but if they turn, shocked at the language and their eyes fall upon our bloke, they know immediately that he’s a gentle soul who has no idea of what he’s just said and they smile ... because he’s a bit like a panda bear and as utterly inoffensive. Not politically correct to suggest such an image but ... it’s a novel. We’re to have goals and individual plans drawn up each year for these men. With this man, the long and short term goal was to send him to bed at the end of the day content. That was my goal. His background was dreadful, he’d hide food in his room and flap you away in something akin to terror. He doesn’t do any of that now. He gives me toothless grins at times and he understands visual cues so just bringing my guitar pleases him. If I get to play it, he responds. Look - I could just state bluntly that each of these men have likes and dislikes, quirks and behavioural problems and that I see those aspects - particularly the ones which present difficulty - within myself. I also see them within the staff. Behavioural problems everywhere. If I were to have worked much with intellectuality higher functioning people, I’d have had a different experience altogether. The four men I’ve worked with are all considered non-verbal but, of course, you can convey much without words or with very few. They’re not capable of being spiteful, they are stripped to essence. That’s been my good fortune. Our blokes don’t have a ‘pecking order’ - they wouldn’t understand the concept. That planetary aspect of clients in orbit around the staff is true in other Group Homes but often with much more in the way of planetary collisions. A Group Home is only a formalised version of a family home and, in the same way that I wonder who it is who guides my annual individual plan, complete with goals, so I reckon that every home has a group home aspect. Not much of an insight really, is it ... whose turn to do the washing up?
 

... that much is known ...

 
‘It’s an exciting time to be alive.’ or so the story goes. Depends on how you’re placed. Physically, mentally and in every other way. ‘Rage against my sorrow’ is far more applicable for me than ‘Exciting times.’ In the bigger picture - whatever that means - these times can certainly be seen as more than just exciting. Transformational, testing, troubled, tearful. That’s just the ‘T’s. ‘E’ for enlightening, ecstatic, energetic. ‘You create your own reality.’ or so the story goes. To what degree is this true? It’s true in the sense of setting goals, applying the required effort and perhaps achieving those goals - many of which set a course for the future and for a lifestyle which is hopefully preferable to the one being lived. Not true in the sense of creating a new limb to replace a shattered part. Not true in the sense of magically dropping decades to be young again. There are real limitations to ‘You create your own reality.’ But in my personal landscape, the landscape of the heart .... there I can create my own reality albeit that it’s an ongoing lifetimes work. I can change that landscape by working on myself. That’s the fertile and the stony ground, the desert and oasis. Battles rage within that heart, injustice hard to bear. All that mirrored in the outside or wider world. Cruelty, compassion, crying, crime, corruption. Evil knows no bounds. It is exposed, has a moment in the spotlight before the next unveiling occurs, a carousel of ugliness. Wasn’t it always so? Apart from some golden age so lost to memory as to be just ... golden. But in that wider picture, so differently seen by each, is a sense of ... take heart, draw breath, be still. These times are the culmination of an age. That much is known. So anyway ... there I was, up at the crack of dawn, raging against my sorrow but able to put that energy to good use by wading into the bramble, the thorny patches which exist within our local park and recreating reality by making some of it disappear. It’s very meditative in the cool, misty Autumn light.
 

.. dragons, serpents and original sin ...

 
Dragons, serpents and Original sin. What a mix. Serpents are real, exist in this physical world and are both loved and feared. They represent everything from the deceitful serpent in the garden of Eden to kundilini energy rising through chakras within ones spine. Regardless of those perceptions, they are powerful and, thus, to be respected. Dragons have no such physical reality nor do we find fossils and when it comes to the ability to breath fire - no such creature could exist without having a cast iron belly. Yet - they’re everywhere, from Wales to China. And they fly. Picture this. Our solar system, or so we’ve been taught, is relatively stable and has been so since the earliest times. The forces at work within the universe do not include electricity as anything more than local conditions with the lightning seen in storms being the obvious example. The universe is electrically charged. Believe it or not. Planets and comets are electrically charged and, just as can be demonstrated within a laboratory, here on Earth, those charges discharge when brought together. They do this with dramatic effect. Plasma discharges can etch surfaces. They can do this on a metal plate and they can do this on a planet. The surface of Mars shows such etching. Not erosion but etching. Velikovsky opened my eyes to a very different view of our history - both planetary history and mankind’s history. His book ‘Worlds in collision.’ lays bare a cataclysmic time in which planets moved in their orbits, came close to Earth and mankind watched in awe and terror as fiery bolts rained from the heavens and ‘creatures’ lashed gigantic tails, breathed fire and the sun itself was displaced. Sounds fantastic and it is. If your interest is there then the Thunderbolts Project have taken the idea of an electric universe and are changing the current understanding ... not an easy task but the evidence is there to justify their position. Of course, this brings us to Adam and Eve and a garden of Eden in which a fall from grace occurred and mankind is cast out only to later be redeemed from this original sin. This event took place not too long ago in a world made manifest within seven days. These differing views of reality look at each other across an abyss. And here in Australia and deep in my mind is the face of an aboriginal man who looks at me across tens of thousands of years and murmurs something, which sounds fantastic, about a rainbow serpent who carved the land.
 

.... rabbit holes and ... the easter bunny...

 
Strange days indeed. I don’t think that anyone could suggest that ‘things are getting better.’ What things? If I had the resources I’d love to visit Baalbek or any of the ancient sites but most are now in war zones and those zones colour and cover the planet. ‘People need to wake up - they’ve no idea on how deep the rabbit hole goes.’ This is being said on sites as diverse as ‘new age,’ hard finance and End time believer sites. Doomsday preppers are .. prepping, storing food and arms and yet here ... I’ve got time and peace enough to dig out the bramble in the local park. Here, it’s still relatively peaceful. Jobs, taxes and a belief that everything will just sort itself out prevails. It’s in our interests - as human beings - to want stable conditions. We need that sense of security in order to plan our lives, to have some sense of control. There are so many rabbit holes to explore. Some are within the ‘far out and cosmic’ realm and I like the investigation. Some are far more down to earth which brings me to 9/11 and the three towers - not two - which fell to earth, didn’t fall sideways but fell into their own foundations. Building 7, which didn’t get hit by a plane, pancakes down in freefall. There is an official story to 9/11 which is so threadbare that thousands of architect, engineers and pilots testify to the impossibility of the official story. Building 7's collapse defied the laws of physics. Not theory but fact. ‘Oh - that’s a conspiracy theory.’ says my sister who has never questioned any official story but is intelligent nonetheless. She kindly told me that I was a brain in need of an education which is both funny and true .. education being a lifelong process. Our banking system is another rabbit hole crammed full of deceit. I don’t mean the disaster of ‘banks too big to fail’ but the very system itself. This understanding has nothing to do with political ideology - the system of central banking finances any and every side of war and revolution and makes profit regardless of which ‘..ism’ is in power. The problem with conspiracy is that many will happily acknowledge that conspiracy has occurred but that it’s in the past ... we know better now. It doesn’t happen anymore. Try telling that to the countless thousands in sexual slavery and not just in far off places but here, there and everywhere. ‘Ah - but that’s a criminal enterprise.’ Problem here is that this isn’t a criminal enterprise being run from some dingy basement but within the ranks of those who wield power. The political establishment with its old boys network, it’s paedophilic networks where such debased activity is, of course, then used to blackmail and further corrupt the process and aim of government. Having seen a UFO at close hand - briefly but unmistakable - I’m not concerned with ridicule about this subject. To me, it’s obvious and has been since childhood that in a universe as vast as this, life is everywhere. Why a UFO hasn’t landed on the White House lawn is open to question but ... why would you land there? Anyway - rabbit holes everywhere and it’s no wonder that sink holes are appearing all over the world. The very foundations of our reality are being shaken.
 

..... first breath of autumn ...

 
The Mabinogion is a collection of Welsh tales. A strange mixture of magic and realities stories which don’t appear to have a point. I’m sure there is a point if it’s only to demonstrate how uncertain conditions can be and, regardless of that uncertainty, we still have to deal with whatever life throws our way. I suppose our politicians have little choice but to see light where there is ... none. Not with our financial system. It is a bloated parasite and one which prints money out of thin air and calls this ‘Quantative easing’ as if this phrase stands scrutiny. What does it mean? ‘Er ... we’ve eased the quantity? Quantity of what ... doubt, unease?’ Negative interest rates. Put your savings in a bank and pay for the privilege. This would have been a nonsense to our recent ancestors as it should be for us but not so ... for some reason, not apparent, banks are far more important than people and cannot be allowed to fail. All designed to usher in a cashless society where every transaction is recorded and no-one can do anything, go anywhere or voice their thoughts without it being tracked. It’s already here. A light rain falls, the temperature drops from heatwave to cool and Autumn breathes its early note. Leaves drop while the Tibouchina blooms late and the first of its purple flowers open. The last of the Canna lilies are flowering bright yellow and the contrast with the purple Tibouchina is exquisite. This year we’ve had almost no flies. A bit odd in a country known for flies. It isn’t just here but elsewhere in the country. Bees are in short supply but you’d think that there would always be something for flies to eat, to thrive. By the same token, less bird life but that could just be local. The garden itself is thriving. The fruit trees are maturing and the TreeFerns, elegant, delicate and tough as old boots, look beautiful with well formed crowns of emerald green. They’ve survived for eons and the slow growing variety soak up the rain through their trunk as well as through the root ball. In fact, the trunk IS part of the root which means that they can be cut off at the base and be transplanted. I don’t know of any other tree which has this ability. How odd ... at eleven, I was cut off at the base and moved from Wales to England, At seventeen, the same thing happened - from England to Australia. Each time, the shock of the change slowed growth for a time - much as it does when I transplant the TreeFerns. A resonance of my life - including the slow growing aspect - reflected in the garden I help create. The rain has set in for the day and is very welcome.
 

.... may the veil be lifted ...

 
There are these parallel worlds operating - not so much side by side as overlapping. It’s a common experience perhaps. I look at world conditions and see a ‘one world order’ being born, already here but still largely invisible to most. I don’t mean that to sound as though I have some ‘uncommon’ sense but picture this. A financial system so corrupt that the strongest currency is the very one printing money out of thin air. It cannot survive without a transfer to a cashless society in which the ‘Banks too Big to Fail’ have our electronic funds in accounts in which negative interest rates can then be applied. This cannot happen while cash exists because we’d all take out our money if it were to suddenly cost us for the privilege of keeping our savings in a banking institution and, thus, the subject of cashless society, along with ‘What a good idea’ gains currency in the media and becomes accepted truth. If that happens, every transaction we make will be recorded and thus a complete picture of every detail of our lives is captured. It is captured. We are monitored not just through our looming financial change but through our devices and their poisonous frequencies. There is apparently a LoFi which sounds healthier than WiFi but, either way, the EMF clutter is increasing everywhere and the data banks bulge. And this is welcomed by most but, to me, this world is fast approaching that biblical moment when no man can trade but that he have the ‘mark of the beast’ ... and, for convenience sake, why not have a chip implanted. Against this and other aspects of reality is the bizzarro world of ‘Everything’s all right. Nothing to worry about. Keep being a consumer.’ I don’t know if the word consumer was in common use in decades past. There was ‘citizen’, ‘member of society’ but no ‘consumer’ except perhaps in Sales and Marketing. But nowadays you don’t need citizens - consumers are what business needs. Society becomes a shell in which consumers graze. Anyway - not doom and gloom on a personal level but here - it’s normal - fairly peaceful. No bombs fall. Elsewhere, a city gets recaptured and nothing’s left but ruin and rubble. And with so many refugees on the move, data on everyone is going to be a ‘birth to death’ unavoidable fact of life. It’s the way things appear to be going. Grand chess masters playing out our collective destinies and in which our individual ‘hearts and minds’ are transparent and catalogued until needed. Against that fabric or rather behind that world is the one in which other forces are arranged. The ‘powers and principalities’ of the invisible world. And when all’s said and done, all those forces owe their existence to ‘whatever God is.’ In another indication of parallel worlds is the earnest search for indications of intelligent life elsewhere in the universe when, all along, are in existence, the countless thousands of credible reports of UFO activity. In a cheerful version of the times in which we live is the possibility that a literal veil gets lifted from mankind and that clarity and wonder prevail. Barely heard of technologies repair the damage of pollution and we take our place in a wider galactic community than the one which now prevails. The fact that this ‘lifting of the veil’ hasn’t occurred as yet - at least in the last few thousand years and more - doesn’t imply that it couldn’t happen at all. If ever there were times to be alive in which the stakes could not be higher, I don’t know what time in history that would be.
 

... the effort ...

 
Archons, matrix and flat earth. What they hold in common are a lack of clarity on what they mean or imply. Archons - until they were popularised - referred to rulers, lords and not to parasitic alien entities. Matrix - before the films - referred to a set of conditions in which something developed. Flat earth referred to a cricket pitch, a football field - not to the shape of the planet we inhabit. Archons, matrix and flat earth .... I can dismiss ‘flat earth’ as being irrelevant to me. I don’t mean that to sound patronising - flat earth or round makes no difference to my capacity to live a fruitful life in which love has a chance to be expressed, to operate. Flat Earth - as an idea - changes very little for me except to reinforce, if accepted, that I’ve been lied to. That’s true for many areas of life but doesn’t tell the story at all unless the lies are separated out and revealed as such. I haven’t been lied to about love and, without it, life is a barren featureless plain. Not talking about the intimate love of lovers but the less passionate but no less deeply held capacity to care and to express it. I can’t help but pause and reflect upon my father who was a figure to be feared in my childhood yet all his working life was devoted to practical matters which benefited the society in which he lived. He worked for the Standards Association which, in itself, speaks volumes. My point here is in respect to love and many just don’t have the emotional nous to fulfill emotional needs but are quite capable of self sacrifice, working towards ends which aren’t self serving. Discounting those who wish to be disagreeable just for the sake of it, we all recognise that without love as a motivating force everything would grind to a halt. The self serving rely, whether they know it or not, on the efforts of volunteers - volunteers who, in some sense, understand that to give, without thought of reward, is worth the effort. My limited life experience included seeing an ashram implode and explode. People drawn together for some noble purpose, experiencing that sense of higher purpose, of a commonality of understanding, who, perhaps inevitably, find that their human nature has not been left behind, that attraction, dislike and so on still operate. Life appears relatively smooth but it’s surface appearance and all sorts of differences - and some will be important - start to manifest. It’s a ‘jolly good thing’ that groups and institutions fail in this respect. Questioning again occurs, individual power is taken back and, perhaps, some are wiser for the experience. After all - a teacher is good for the teaching and once the teaching is absorbed and put into practice then the need for a teacher dissolves. No difference between ashram, a church or within the ... hesitate to use the phrase ... new age community. Yes - ‘We’ve all been lied to’ is a great rallying call but - for me - it’s a starting point - it’s not a vision. There is so much which is positive and yet the wider world is a mess and not getting better of its own accord. Smart meters, televisions which watch your every movement and report back, a cashless society where every transaction is noted - and reported back. A vaccination regime where, regardless of the safety or otherwise of the base in which the substance which protects from disease is conveyed, has moved from perhaps four diseases needing vaccination fifty years ago, to now forty or so diseases from which everybody needs protection. Fukushima still spews poison. How this isn’t a worldwide concern boggles the mind. The same can be said about fracking. Permafrost is melting and a list of practical physical problems facing the world could read like a herald’s scroll. ‘Hear ye, hear ye.’ Then there are the areas of life which don’t interest me at all but are of great importance to many and, thus, should prompt me to investigate the attraction. Video games - if it’s all about kill and destroy then small wonder that this mentality spills out into the streets. There are a spate of recent reports of young hoons being as reckless as the drivers in the ‘Fast and Furious’ films where utter stupidity on the roads is demonstrated and, of course, whizzing through a red light never results in the real tragedy which accompanies such behaviour in real life. People killed and families devastated and no responsibility taken by the actors in the films nor by the impressionable minds which suck this up. It is a matrix in a way but not in the way portrayed in the Matrix films. Perhaps there is or are parasitic forces, invisible and alien, with dastardly plots in mind for humanity. Perhaps they were called demons in earlier times. Never met one and don’t want to. The evil in my life - and who can avoid it - comes from within and isn’t necessarily demonic. More often than not it’s just desire or expectations not being met and the resentment or whatever which that disappointment manifests. The ‘other’ evil comes out of the actions or indifference of the ‘other.’ And by the ‘other’ I mean people. People who ‘should know better.’ For myself, I don’t set out to do harm. It’s not that it’s not in my nature to be capable of doing harm but that I don’t nourish that capacity. I don’t polish my resentments. Then there’s the evil agenda of those who would casually wipe out billions of lives because ... there are too many of us. I don’t have a conclusion. My acceptance that love is somehow supremely important dovetails into an acceptance that love has intelligence and this intelligence suggests that I’m living in a universe in which free will is given by THE divine intelligence. It is ours to use and abuse. Up to now - God does not intervene and this lack of intervention implies a great deal to me. Anyway, I could ramble on about ... full circle project and what a good idea it is. I signed up and got a bit half hearted about it basically because I’m not ready to leap into anymore action than I’m already doing. I know there are others like me in that respect. Perhaps if I were already an activist and used to networking but .. I’m not. But I am an activist in those hoary old truths about being a good neighbour. Synchronicity operates and while I’m wondering quite what to do with this impulse to be more involved, so an informal meeting was taking place in the park at the end of our street. I went and signed up to become a ‘Friend of Melrose Park.’ This really tickles my fancy as parks are so much easier to be friends with than people. About four or five of us meet for a hour or so a month and spend the time removing noxious weeds and then share a cuppa. I’ve got the mowers and energy to come at other times and I do. I see the local council blokes, explain what I’m doing and they, in turn, show willing and start mowing the areas I’ve exposed with the whipper snipper. It’s local community action in keeping with the skills I’ve got. Small but not insignificant and my actions are multiplied by others. I broke off writing this because the weather is conducive to a few more hours at the park in which I can demonstrate to the blokes who showed willing the other day that I noticed, appreciated it and am willing to go further. Seize the day. The last video I watched was ‘Black Goo, Archons, AI & NASA’s Deep Dark Secret’ Fascinating. ... cor ... luv a duck. Wot a ride. :)
 

'Waking up is hard to do' sings the crooner

 
Privatising everything is the business model being followed here in Australia. We have a universal medicare system which isn’t perfect and works at a fraction of the cost of America’s private, bloated system. Plans are afoot to sell it. We have a society in which the lucky among the severely disabled can live in a Group Home, supported by the government. It’s being sold off, piecemeal and the ‘not for profit’ system is replaced by a ‘for profit’ system which will be financed by a national disabilities scheme. This is touted as giving the consumer a choice in where individuals spend their resources, given to them by this scheme. Perhaps it is a choice of sorts but an inescapable conclusion is that the government is washing its hands of as much responsibility as it can. Secondary colleges where apprenticeships were schooled have their funds cut and the prices for courses, once free, are now out of reach for many. The power, the electricity companies, the telecommunication companies, the Commonwealth bank, the State lotteries - all of these once owned by us - the people - sold off. ‘User pays’ .. I loath that blunt idea. I’m a member of society, a citizen and have no problem at all that some of my taxes end up supporting institutions I don’t use. Ah .. the pyramid of society looks stable but surely it depends upon layer after layer of precisely laid stone. Once the centre gets hollowed out by smaller and smaller pyramids, the collapse is inevitable. There isn’t the security left to plan a year ahead although we do. The silver lining may well be the clear sighted acknowledgement that life isn’t getter better, will not automatically improve and that this waking up is both painful and needed.
 

... why would you, how could you ....

 
Trying to understand the mind which shouts ‘God is great’ while destroying, beheading, taking into slavery. To achieve what? A Caliphate of skulls in a ruined land. Surely, to be reverent towards God and accepting that the ten commandments have not been usurped, how does this cruel mentality find favour with a God who states clearly .. ‘Thou shall not kill.’ Granted, the ‘West’ is woefully incapable of adhering to that rule but the ‘West’ doesn’t pretend that they’re doing anything in the name of God. So ... the ends justify the means. A Caliphate by the sword and terror a weapon. A world in which there is no choice but to communion with God in a way dictated and measured by ceremony and an adherence to rule which destroys the expression of free speech and minimises free thought, free question - all of which one would want in a relationship with the divine. No pretence here that I’ve anything to say about the divine but the reminder that free will is why ‘this’ is all occurring. How can any thinking human being believe that the God which created a family of man would take delight in a fiendish cruelty to brothers and sisters. What mockery you make of your free will to slaughter and take slaves, to strut and destroy. This is the ‘West’ as it is ISIS and Israel ... bound by barbarity. If your god doesn’t take slaves then why do you? This is perhaps part of what I don’t understand. I know that God is Great. I can see that in a flower, a bird, a creature. I know what it is to tremble. That ‘whatever the divine be’ relationship is with the embodiment of love but that ‘divine’ has also given us the free will to twist that example of ‘the way of being’ into a hatred of all who don’t ...... see it your way ... and obey. Become a slave. I don’t think that I’m mistaken in feeling that it’s not God’s ends being served. Man is not God and men’s ambition is exercise of power - not in the service of a god of love but to a caricature, a cartoon, something which revels in cruelty and takes offence at the truth. You cannot force people to God just as you cannot force love.
 

.... somehow ...

 
Somehow I’ve got to link what appear to be wildly separated people and events. They’re already linked within my life but it’s my perception which joins them together. I work with a bloke who is intellectually disabled enough to not recognise death. He loves country music and it’s Australian country music, as played by Slim Dusty, which brings out cries of delight as songs get recognised on his cds. He doesn’t know that Slim is dead and, of course, Slim does live on through his music. Unless you live in Australia you’ll probably not know his name. Slim never looked for fame overseas. He was the quintessential travelling show man and toured the continent for decades, playing in the most remote places on earth. He occupies a special place in the heart of black and white alike. I never much liked country music but my life’s journey found me acting as his tour manager for a tiny sliver of time. Time in which my respect for the man moved from indifferent to much more. His shows were packed. Whether a large glittering stage or a dusty small hall, the place would fill up quickly and what was remarkable to me, at that time, was the number of people in wheel chairs, people severely disabled, people who were rarely seen in public, people who had travelled for many hours to experience the simple warmth of Slim’s songs. They loved him in a way in which rock stars can’t imagine. No isolated, pampered lifestyle for Slim. No rock star excesses. Here was a man with whom people feel rapport. He’s a mate, a digger, true blue, someone you could have a yarn with, a quiet beer. He exemplifies all that people would want to be - decent, respectful, look you in the eye, take you seriously and share a smile. It’s one of those weird aspects of my life that, thirty years or so after that time, I’m familiar with hundreds of his songs. My client plays them continuously and often calls out ‘What’s that song?’ to which I’d cheerfully reply “How would I know?’ Now - quite often - I just call out the song title. Why is he so important - at least in my mind - to the success of any future Australia not blighted by a new world order which sees us as consumers, not citizens. Before I worked with Slim, I’d worked with some tribal men who also loved Slim and his songs. They did so for the same reason that white folks like him ... he cuts through. Simple direct lyrics set to easy to sing melodies. Songs reflecting what it is to be a human being. Songs about ‘having a go’, doing the best you can, raising the standard, little stories scattered like gems. It’s still not my favoured music but that’s just personal taste and, in this context, means nothing. The country is made up of people, black, white and brindle. Perhaps because the idea of owning the land in the way that most of the world sees ownership is foreign to the first Australians, it sits uneasy with them precisely because it’s a bit of a nonsense but has to be taken seriously - white power dominates - there is still a willingness to share, a willingness which is foreign to us - the ‘us’ who do see the land as something to be possessed, fenced off, made mine and mine alone. That was clumsily expressed but I can’t put it any better for now. It’s why the wording of the preamble to a constitution which recognises Aboriginal people is so important and needs community consultation. Instead of just living life, everything is now a battle. It’s the same everywhere and battle on we do. We raise our heads above the dust and the shouting and the focus comes back to ‘What sort of country is this, what kind of society have we created?’ This is true elsewhere but here in Australia, where Australia Day has just been both celebrated and mourned, the issue of whether we are still a colony of the British Isles with Crown Land owned by a foreign monarch in evidence everywhere, IS an ongoing issue. To be a republic or stay a colony. It wasn’t long ago that the white Australia policies which favoured immigration from Europe rather than anywhere else, were scrapped. There has always been an unease about the ravening hordes of Asia possibly pouring into the Northern Territory and ... who’s to stop them if not our friend and ally Great Britain. My eyes, when I look at a map of the world, see Indonesia, China as being above us. They aren’t literally above us, it is a trick of the eyes, a trick of perception which has our worst fears realised and summed up as ‘It’s raining Asians.’ It isn’t raining Asians but refugees fleeing war torn and destroyed societies are on the move in the huge numbers you’d expect. ‘Move over’ ... ‘make room’ ... these are the murmurs, rising in volume, which almost put such questions as Republic and referendums into the ‘You must be kidding’ basket but this isn’t an option. The Trans Pacific Partnership is being signed although none appear to know what it is they’re signing. The good news is that it still has to be ratified by parliaments which gives a year or two’s breathing space. There’s much that is being done which is positive. At the Family hotel where the music night I attend is not blanketed by drunks, a young musician tells me about the black rhino going extinct. Not that it’s good news but that it matters enough to him to speak about it IS good news. People aren’t throwing up their hands in despair. All is not lost. In the ‘Who would have thought ...’ category. We have an abysmal policy in respect to ‘unlawful’ arrivals in this country. .... I don’t have an answer on what a ‘good’ policy would be. Over two hundred men, women and children, all severely traumatised by our cruel indifference, are here in Australia at the moment and about to be sent back to Manus Island or another of our hastily cobbled together off shore detention centres. Protests are loud and the Anglican Cathedral in Brisbane - I believe - has offered sanctuary. This is remarkable to me. That concept of taking refuge in a church and of being protected from the forces at the door is quite beautiful. It would work here with the glare of tv cameras spotlighting everything. When I was about fourteen, I got beaten up by a couple of young blokes and - dunno why - but I ran into a church only to be followed in and have the priest suggest that we take it outside. Disillusionment followed but that was a trivial matter and the lives of the few hundred refugees changes perspective. I’m not sure I’ve been able to link much at all except for the fact that it’s all personal - for all of us. It’s an unfolding story, isn’t it. .. yes ... an unfolding story suggests that it’s already been written but we don’t have to follow the script.
 

.... Australia Day - Aboriginal Millenia ...

 
There is no ‘We, the people .....’ in the Australian constitution. It came into effect in 1901 and is seen as the birth certificate of a nation. There is no charter of human rights or ‘We hold these truths to be self evident ...’ Nothing at all which could be absorbed in primary school and recited. The only mention of Aboriginal or Torres Straight Islander is to mention that they won’t be counted as part of the population. This was belatedly amended in 1967. They are now included in the count but there is no recognition that they were already here, that the land was inhabited, already occupied. It isn’t a complicated document but it wasn’t until today that I read it. It’s worth the read and although the powers of the Queen and her heirs are limited in everyday matters - make no mistake - if her appointed Governor General so chooses, should extraordinary conditions prevail which call into question the ability of the elected government to rule, he can dismiss the government. It has happened. While he can dismiss the government and did so in 1975, the Queen, of course, could have refused her consent to the dismissal of our government. She didn’t. She allowed the dismissal and changed the course of Australia’s history. She is not just a ceremonial figurehead. The pretence of not wielding power is exposed as a pretence if an elected government can be dismissed by someone who is, essentially, a foreign head of state. It is not a complicated matter to change the constitution. A referendum is held in which the question at hand is put to a vote by the whole population. These questions seldom pass. They need a majority vote in all States and Territories. So what does the Constitution say if it’s not about ‘We the people ...’ or human rights. It is the document which establishes our form of government to be composed of a representative parliament in which all the people vote for those representatives. Apart from that, it’s a bit dry and business like. It delineates the way in which government powers are divided between the Commonwealth of Australia and the various States. It delegates various powers to pass laws, to either State or Commonwealth ... setting out responsibilities for social welfare, taxation, education, the judiciary, the military forces and so on. It makes clear that discrimination in respect to religion is not tolerated. We will have a referendum put before us all regarding the acknowledgement of the prior occupation of this land by the Aboriginal population. Quite how this will be worded is unknown until the consultation process is completed. Our constitution is an unfinished document. My interest in this matter is partly due to being at a ceremony, a few days ago - Australia Day. Something to celebrate - but not for all. A beautiful clear day on the headland of a coastal town. Bands playing and a festive mood. The flag got raised with quiet ceremony and we all stood and sang the national anthem. New citizens were there, nervous, excited, dressed in their best, happy at the prospect of becoming Australian citizens. It was lovely and it was a spectacle. Hundreds of people, in small and large family groups just enjoying the day. I saw no Aboriginals that day. The following day I heard Noel Pearson, an Aboriginal leader, give an address in which he spoke with passion and clarity about the need for a Constitutional amendment recognising the fifty thousand years or so of Aboriginal occupation of this land and which preceded the two hundred years or so since the rest of us arrived. What a thoughtful and generous spirit he displayed, no different to the generous spirit with which the Aboriginal people, as a whole, show to us while we treated them as less than human. Not only does this proposed amendment matter to the Aboriginal people but it matters to me. It is more than a symbolic matter just as ‘Sorry’ is more than just a word.
 

... it's in the pause ...

 
The news is so full of personal tragedy that candlelight vigils have become as commonplace as the tears which surround them. How can one not be moved by both the tragedy and the response. This is not how life is - not so much ‘supposed to be’ but why the conflict, why the eruptions when all most want to do is live a life in which there is some continuity. Some place in which to play in the park, uninterrupted by bombs but just playing frisbees with the grandkids. Whether a Masai, remarkable tribal folk or you and me in splendid western semi- isolation - a peaceful life where the next generation can be educated and take their place in the unbroken chain of ancestor to present, to ancestor to now, is what is desired and why not? Who, but a ‘poor specimen of humanity’ would wish for anything else. No question mark because there is no simple answer as to why some cry and some never, ever, break through to empathy. Take heart - ‘never, ever’ is a long time in which to explore why ‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ actually has the deepest of meaning attached to it. Do I have empathy? Do I feel for others? Does the idea of taking a holiday be somewhat diminished by the sight of trudging refugees, marching on to ‘who knows what and where’ - let alone for how long? If I do and am moved to more than tears - what then? What to do? This can only be a personal response. Activism of various sorts. Activism matters but activism really can be ... work on improving ones character by the simple task of cleaning up as you go - take that as simplistic or profound but if self respect is part of the mix - regardless of failing empires - then ‘do what you can’ does mean stop relying on others if you’re capable of supporting yourself. I don’t know if I’m giving a pep talk to myself but - ‘Look you,’ he said, in a delightful remembrance of Welsh way of emphasis ... ‘Look you, .... er ... wake up.’ It’s time for bed.
 

... perhaps it's in the genes ...

 
“Observe recorded world history. Is it not obvious that psychopaths have always been amongst us? They could be of Annunaki heritage, or not, but these family bloodlines guard their inbreeding jealously, millennia of inbreeding the psychopathic gene.” I really like maps. The school maps showing the world in various colours. I have them hanging on the wall and they’re works of art as much as they are a representation of the world. Three times, in the course of a week, I walked past a second hand shop where, outside on the pavement with assorted odds and sods, was a large map. It was mounted on chipboard and as wide as my outstretched arms. It was $25 and too unwieldy to carry so I kept walking. It was reduced to $5 by the time I bought it and lugged it home. Apart from being a ‘thing of beauty’, it is named ‘The Kings and Queens of Great Britain showing their descent and relationships.’ At the top of the map are the Scots. Their line of rulers stretches from left to right across the map. Beneath them are the Normans, the Anglo Saxons, the Danes and the Welsh. Things stand out when such a map is there before ones eyes. Remarkable how the first to unify their country, the first who could truly be called a king rather than a tribal leader, be they Welsh, Scot, Anglo Saxon .... much takes place around the 1066 mark in time. It was then that Gruffydd ap Llewelyn had unified Wales, that Harold was losing the battle to keep England, that the Danes and Anglo Saxons leave the scene - in terms of bloodlines - and are replaced by the Normans who, within perhaps four generations, had married into the Scots who became the Stewarts, blended further with the Normans and, eventually, we end up with the house of Windsor who - I think - are actually German but that’s not my point. The Welsh are sidelined but not forgotten. A widow of a king in Wales marries into the Scots and so it goes ... alliances form and are strengthened by intermarriage. And jealously guarded they are. That’s true. Whether the dangers of inbreeding foster a psychopathic gene, I don’t know.
 

...Goodoh .. a new planet ...

 
I don’t know what spirituality is for others let alone what spirituality means for others. It’s a field, a meadow, a swamp and you can choose to work on foundations based on solid ground or not. ‘Soul’ ... you got soul, brother? Not Motown musical soul but the real thing. And that real thing is ....? A spark of the divine will do. Something, thus, as eternal as can be - not subject to decay or dissolution. I don’t know that I need to accept that I actually have a soul in order to be spiritual. If spiritual is as simple as the application of the Golden Rule then an atheist is as spiritual as any human being applying ‘Love your neighbour as yourself’ and ‘Do unto others as you’d have done to you.’ Ah ... that’s two golden rules but, no matter, press on bravely. Well ... then there’s ‘Do no harm.’ which actually dovetails and reinforces the first, two golden rules and is appropriate to mention because there will always be the one who doesn’t much love himself and could, perhaps, think that this ‘truth’ gives licence to extend that dislike out to the neighbour. I’m not a feral human child who has lived isolated from human contact from a very young age and has little or no experience of human care. It may not have been the best care but within that human social context, I came to know that there ARE human beings - for me Christ and Buddha - who have nourished mankind for - oh ...quite awhile - and it’s not so much that there are now three golden rules for me to juggle but rather that the approaches to life contained within those ‘rules’ indicate clearly, the way to be. Perhaps I missed a critical part of the wider teaching from both but, while illusion gets a nod as being a real problem I’ll encounter, over and over, in the course of my life, neither Christ nor Buddha saw fit to say that the Earth is flat and that this information is somehow life changing - a major part of building ones foundation, of developing ones character, of becoming a loving human. Can’t help but wonder about satan, lucifer .... the ‘Father of lies’. I imagine that if one accepts that they exist then wouldn’t it make sense for such entities to push the following lies: • you have a soul - given by the divine - and, if you do evil, then your soul is mine for eternity. Really? Seems a bit harsh from a God of Love ... eternity of misery after just three score years and ten? Seems a bit unbalanced .... eternity lasts awhile. Must be more to the story than this - particularly so as ALL entities are subject to the withdrawal of their power.... demon or devil included. But it suits the purpose of evil intent to suggest that divine grace cannot cut through this or any lie concerning ‘You are mine... forever.’ • soul catching nets ... hey ... that’s another good lie. Strike the fear of God into them ... fear life and fear death. This - to my mind - is an evil idea embraced whole heartedly by people who should know better. Whose purpose is served, if not evil intent, by pushing the idea that a soul can be traded or that the divine would allow such trickery as to allow some poor sod, in the last reaches of dementia, to be afraid of a loving white light at the moment of death? Knowing full well that most of us wouldn’t know our soul if we fell over it, the soul is trivialised, reduced and the soul cannot be reduced in this manner. It is a lie. • let’s bring in archons, overlords, dress up merchants and various clowns, let’s spread the lie that this is a prison planet, we’re all in a matrix ... being sucked dry of negative energy .... perhaps I got that wrong because THAT sounds o.k. .... and if we were to find a way out it would take ... let’s say .. 6 dimensions ... we’ll give people ladders to climb.... and many will go mad and never discover the ‘Secret Lore of Central Banking.’ .... or why Palestinians continue to die in an Israel which their god hasn’t given them back. Serves whose purpose? It’s getting late and I’ve gone quietly intense, quietly mad and now I just feel quiet so it’s a good time to stop.
 

... once, there was a magic onion ....

 
The ‘European Union’ .... sounds as though it actually means something but the more I look at it, the more ‘European Onion’ is closer to the truth. Systems scale both up and down. An atom reveals the structure of a solar system, a family is the basic unit of a society. I live in a dead end street - perfect metaphor for European Union. There are perhaps twenty homes in our street and none of us have similar circumstance with which we’re dealing. This is obviously going to be true in any street and with any group of countries. No-one would seriously suggest that we all join together, in our street, link our destinies and share both our wealth and our debt with one another. It’s clear that within our street are the old, the young, the infirm of mind and body, the lazy, the bright .... in fact, all the myriad ways in which humans lead their lives according to their individual interests and circumstance. All the ways in which we celebrate our difference .... all the ways in which we’re not the same. If it won’t work for obvious reasons within a street, how can this idea possibly scale up to include countries. So the European Union was never expected to work yet it’s been put in place by intelligent minds who know it won’t work. For what purpose? I can only conclude that it’s to further the aims of that cabal which plays the world with no more personal investment than that given to a game of chess. I like chess and don’t care whether I win or lose. It’s the quality of the game which nourishes me. Life isn’t a game of chess ... faint echoes of chess in the timing of moves made in personal life and in the fact that I’ve both ‘been played’ and been a pawn in the lives of others. They’re not pawns in mine. I digress perhaps. We do join together in our street. It’s a bit wooden sometimes, bit stilted but, nonetheless, it’s voluntary. No such good fortune in a European Onion. The subject of magic comes up when cabals and shadowy groups get mentioned in reference to world conditions. No doubt people like dressing up and having ceremony, finding excitement and importance in being ‘A Player.’ .... all based on ‘life as it is now’ being linked to ‘It’s the only game in town.’ It isn’t. True magic takes place between us all as people loving people. It’s found in the everyday, the mundane, the small. Doesn’t need spells or incantations.
 

... you can change the colour if you don't like it ...

 
We’re all subject to our own peculiar circumstance - regardless of the happenings in the wider world. For myself, during the last year, I’ve continued to be loved which, in itself, is a wonderful thing but I’ve also experienced immense betrayal by friend. It’s one anguish to be betrayed by lover but something more horrible when friend repays good with evil. I don’t know about you but, for me, love - as expressed by lovers - depends upon expectations being met. It really is a bargain in some, not at all cynical, sense. An accommodation, a relationship and, perhaps, it’s better than no relationship at all. I’m with the billions who have no intimate relationship. I’ve had to deal with that as do the other billions. Apart from uncomfortable realities, my life is enriched by travelling solo. I have no partner whose interests I must accommodate. There is a freedom in this. It’s an odd sort of freedom. If you have two or three long time friends, by the time you reach your sixties, then you’re fortunate. They don’t come easy and they don’t come cheap. It’s a sad fact of my life to have had two such friendships and had to end them both. Friendship is rare in my life.... friends who span decades. Shared experience, very often it’s misery and no end in sight. It brings out the give and take of life .... and .. I’ve been taken. But, to be fair, it’s taken much time and shared experience to reach that point where ... it’s almost as though a curtain gets drawn and stark reality and every motivation is revealed. Perhaps it’s why our greatest enemy - just in terms of real hatred felt - is said, to be, equally, our teacher. Anyway ... we’ve all been betrayed and this isn’t an outpouring of grief. Well - it is but - hey - that sense of betrayal cuts very deep when friend - bound by nothing in terms of intimate expectation - thus, purely voluntary ... I’ve run out of words as do you when faced with incomprehension. The strange thing about this long term, slow train crash, saw it coming but was trapped by circumstance outside of my control, event is that it mirrors the depth of betrayal of all of us by the empty, dreadful present and future being offered by the talking heads as represented by our leaders. ‘Hands up who wants war?’ ‘Fucking no-one.’ ... ‘Oh yes ... over there ....hmm ...you do.’ ‘What good does it do?’ ‘Wow - no answer.’ ‘Well let’s stop then.’ I understand that world events are manufactured. Very little is an accident. The best minds - as in cunning, clever, devious, dishonest are given free rein to accomplish evil. So, they’re not the best minds, they’re a sham, a shadow, a shit with bravado. Why they haven’t woken up is very strange indeed. In such a world, usefulness is all about now. No longer useful? Slaves to an uneasy fate, the powers that be are diminished. It’s not obvious that this is the case. Reality is dished up vile on tv screens everywhere. It is vile, it is an obscenity. Barbarity rules and there’s little escaping. The cries of ‘God is great’ are as obscene as western leaders destroying Libya in the name of a freedom which cannot even be defined. Odious clowns. There is much to loath and, hard it is to hold fast to the idea, the light, the concept, that there is the eternity beyond the transitory. Tell you what, though - if life is a mirror then there’s still a lot of unpleasantness for me to work through. Same in the wider world. Got to keep a sense of humour. ‘Does my bum look big in this?’ ‘Yes dear.’ he said, absentmindedly, and ruined a perfectly good evening.
 

... the TPP - aint good for me or thee ..

 
I’ve been musing about the Trans Pacific Partnership and its impact, here in Australia. It’s more or less had its day in the sun as far as public comment is concerned. The focus here is on the ‘hooray’ aspect of reduced tariffs and cheaper goods..... as if this were automatically a ‘good thing.’ It comes wrapped in secrecy and I still don’t know if all the fine detail has been revealed. The other aspect which has been mentioned fairly loudly is the way in which trans national corporations would perhaps have the right to sue governments for such things as reducing profits by virtue of national legislation. Tobacco here comes wrapped in packaging which graphically illustrate the dangers of smoking. ‘Unfair.’ cry the tobacco companies who much prefer the golden boxes of days gone past when ‘Only the best will do’ and suave, long dead people told us so. More fool me for believing them. For some reason, probably simple, I can’t post links here but there’s time to send your comment via the link below ... you just need to add the ‘world wide web’ bit. flushthetpp.org/your-chance-to-officially-tell-the-ustr-what-you-think-about-the-tpp/ It lead to the U.S. site which deals with this issue ... yet another issue which affects us all. TPP Employment Impact Review The provisions of the TransPacific Partnership (TPP) go further than previous agreements in making it easier to outsource jobs as well as allowing insourcing through workers coming to the United States. Previous trade agreements have a universal, consistent history when it comes to labor markets: the US loses more jobs than it gains, wages go down, worker rights are not protected and trade deficits rise. As a result, trade agreements have cost the United States millions of jobs. In 2015, after only three years, the US-Korea trade agreement, which President Obama touts as an improvement over NAFTA and a modern 21st Century trade agreement, lost 85,000 jobs. Perhaps the most common false statement about trade agreements is that they create jobs when the opposite is true. Regarding the TPP, the Center for Economic and Policy Research (CEPR) estimates that wages will fall for most workers in the US as a result of the TPP while having a negligible impact of 0.013% growth of the GDP. The TPP adds a new jobs problem by allowing foreign corporations to bring employees into the United States even if a US worker could do the job. Further, it makes the labor market worse by stopping government programs that encourage domestic jobs, e.g. the Buy American program and giving foreign corporations greater legal protection for their profits inside the US than before. As a consumer I have been dismayed at the rising rate of cheap imports that are made by poorly compensated and often abused workers. The products are often shoddy. I would rather pay fair wages to American workers for products that will endure. In so doing I believe we not only lift up our own people and our own communities, but we lift up the rest of the world by no longer being a party to predatory labor practices abroad. All in all, the TPP is bad for workers and must be stopped. The world needs trade agreements that raise worker protections instead of driving a race to the bottom.
 

... the facts ....

 

It’s been the strangest of years. Not that the other years haven’t had their aspect of ‘high strangeness.’

I’ve lived long enough for certain realisations about life to sink in, to be absorbed, to be made manifest. Actions have consequence. Lack of action has consequence. All the little bits of folk wisdom such as ... ‘You make the bed that you lie in.’ .... ‘He who builds on a foundation of sand isn’t going to have a house for long.’

Deceptively simple, almost throw away lines but true. Not so true in times of war and natural disaster and, of course, these sayings aren’t just applicable within the material world. They hold true within our relationships.

Why is it that ‘Love one another’ is central to any spiritual teaching worthy of that word? Perhaps because so much else is shimmering mirage. The human world, into and out of and in which I live, is filled with the beautiful, the ugly, appearance and substance and hazy eyes through which I see, perceive and make a difference.

‘The facts, just give me the facts.’ says the detective from some long ago television series.

‘Do you want facts or the truth?’

‘Preferably both.’

I’ve been waiting for situations over which I’ve little control to play themselves out. It’s been a restriction, not too hard to bear but nonetheless choice, in material ways, is limited. Life doesn’t stop just because of material limitation. Being thrown back onto my own inner resources is a consequence - and a useful one - of material limitation.
It costs nothing to develop my guitar playing and the wonder of now being able to play some notes over a rhythm came from the simple realisation, after playing chords for decades, that I have four fingers. Five years later and approaching ‘old age pension’ and I’m more able now than I was. There is no finish line to cross just a journey to continue.

2016 dawns and much of what I believe about the human world isn’t just based upon belief but upon facts which lead on to beliefs. While some are questioning accepted truth in respect to .... was there conspiracy surrounding the life and death of the Kennedy’s, those questions do not include an investigation of our monetary system - based upon usury and fraud. Neither does 9/11 draw curiosity ... jet fuel caused 110 stories of steel girders to melt and thus the building fell down. Jet fuel is like kerosene and even if it were to be some high octane mixture, it cannot melt steel and doesn’t run in rivers - it goes up in a fireball.

9/11 is just too much for most to absorb. The ‘too much’ is not because of the mechanics of skyscrapers falling into their own footprint but rather the downright unease caused by implications if the official story is false. It is false but me saying so isn’t sufficient to cause others to investigate for themselves. How ‘fortunate’ for me that I was able to watch for hours as first the twin towers fell and then - the smoking gun - a forty seven story high building - Building 7 - free falls into it’s own footprint without being hit by anything more than some debris. Just watching Building 7 fall is an education in itself.

No skyscraper, before or since, has ever defied the laws of physics as these buildings did.

The war on terror is a war of terror. It can never be won. There will always be some hidden enemy, manufactured or real. From my perspective, those who wield power treat the planet as a literal chessboard but don’t have the wit nor wisdom to do anything more than create a problem and then offer a solution. Of course, wit and wisdom may well be ‘in play’ but, if so, it bodes no good except for those who aim for a world in which ‘Every breath you take’ springs to mind. Strange that a song about a stalker was read to be a love song but not so strange as it echoes something deep ... ‘You belong to me.’ sings the song but no-one ‘belongs to me’ - not if they’re sovereign, people in their own right. You can’t own people. It’s called slavery and although the name is a shame, the reality is that slavery never ended, relationships based on control take place behind the closed doors of houses in every street.

Weapons of mass destruction - pretext for invading and destroying Iraq - has done nothing to benefit the local inhabitants. Libya, Syria, Yemen .... all countries which were named in the ‘Project for a New American Century.’ This plan or project was conceived well before 9/11 and was dedicated to cementing America’s place as the pre-eminent power in the 21st Century. This isn’t a paranoid fantasy but is the basis of American foreign policy. The world isn’t a chessboard and nations don’t like being treated as pawns. There is response which cannot be clearly calculated perhaps because chess is a two dimensional game albeit that the strength in play is somewhat determined by having the ability to make one move serve many purposes.

‘The times we live in.’ said he with a shake of the head. Just as well that I have, as part of the backdrop of belief, an acceptance that we are indeed living in the time known as kali yuga - that time where evil rules or appears to do so. All part of a great cycle which includes a golden age. I’d hope that mankind is going through a great cycle rather than a great circle and that the cycle spirals. If not, we just go round and round and that just makes me dizzy.

Spring turns into summer here - winter somewhere else.

Strange subject matter attracts me. That the universe teems with life and that some of that life is here shouldn’t be strange subject matter and it isn’t. What’s strange is the main stream press approach to such matters. Crop circles still occur and are still beautiful to behold. No explanation. Not made by man. Not widely reported.

The strange things people believe. That the Earth is flat. That this is a prison planet in which mankind is farmed. That parasitic entities feed off the energy of mankind’s misery. That soul catching nets operate at the moment of death. A woeful view of existence and just looks to me like ‘someone else to blame.’

I like planet Earth as round. I like electric universe. The view of Earth’s history as proposed by Velikovsky in the 1950's is breath taking in its scope and quite at odds with the accepted view.

‘Worlds in Collision.’ .... that title resonates. Velikovsky is talking about literal worlds in collision while world-views in collision is now happening everywhere.

 

... no flat earth but plenty of dirt ...

 

‘It was all a lie.’

‘What was?’

‘Just about everything.’

‘Can you be more specific?’

‘Yes - the shape of the Earth for one thing. ... it’s flat.’

‘Got any proof for a statement which does a great deal more than just contradict the established view?’

‘Not really - but if everything’s been a lie then a spherical earth is also a lie.’

We were on an island, bereft of such tools as telescopes. It was just an amiable conversation with no more substance than discussing whether the moon was really there.

We didn’t have the great benefit of thousands of years of mankind studying the movements of the planets, making calculations based on the changing seasons and their references to the movement of the stars .... stars which were distant but real.

We weren’t aware of the satellites orbiting this planet or of such enormous amounts of space junk as to pose a real danger to the space station or to the still functioning satellites upon which our very means of communication depend.

We didn’t know that Voyager has reached the point at which the force of our outwardly pushing solar wind is diminished and reaches an equilibrium with incoming forces of energy from distant parts of this immense but equally tiny galaxy. We didn’t know that it had left our solar system in 2012 and was now heading to a distant star - but only relatively distant - 17.6 light years away.
‘Who held the tape measure which established such distance?’

The established view - the very phrase sounds so cut and dried as if the established view were a seamless fabric but it’s not. The established view of the universe is one in which electrical forces play little part yet the evidence is there within the reams of sometimes doctored photo’s we receive, as various spacecraft rendevous with planet after planet and moon after moon, all scattered like pearls throughout space. They are spherical and bear the scars of both physical impact and electrical discharge.

There is no seamless established view but if there were then flat earth belief belongs with a threadbare patch, shown to be such, many generations ago.

So - why the interest now? Perhaps it gains traction precisely because so much of what we’ve been told actually is a lie.

My ‘sense’ - for want of a better word - is that the Earth is spherical just like any other planet and while I’m ‘in accord’ in respect to ‘We wuz robbed of the truth,’ the truth - as I see it - is built upon fifty years or more of mankind physically going where no man has gone before and doing so in conjunction with other nations in co-operative efforts which span decades ..... and all this is a nonsense, a gigantic fraud in which scientists from every field, happily or otherwise, devote their energy and intellect to the pursuit of a lie?

Logic doesn’t walk hand in hand with belief and belief refuses to walk with reason. That’s the problem with belief. Belief doesn’t have to be based upon experience nor evidence. It happily stands alone.

I’m a heretic. Mathematics proposes ten to twenty six dimensions but I can’t imagine them nor understand them and I’m not even sure that when dimensions are mentioned that mathematical dimensions have any bearing in terms of the three dimensional world in which I live.  

That there are other dimensions - by which I mean realities not normally available to me - I don’t dispute. That my consciousness can operate in other realms, I don’t dispute but - coming back to earth and Earth - and I’m back on a little island called Australia. I started off in Wales and such is the power of duality with ‘over there’ as opposed to ‘being here’ that it took someone else to point out to me that - if we take out the oceans then I never really left Wales to come to Australia - it’s all part of the whole and it’s only by naming the ‘bits’ that we have a separation.

Why should a flat earth be a disk - a frisbee - I’m having my flat earth triangular.



 

.. the garden as an empire, the empire as a garden ...

 

My life as an Empire started small, as everything tends to do. I hadn’t thought about an individual life being an Empire until decades of gardening on large and small scale gave me some sense that the garden itself has all the components of Empire, complete with borders, and beyond which the wild things grow.

The opposite of wild isn’t tame - not in my book - it’s just less wild.

If I look at borders then this garden has ten separate countries within it. Each of these areas started as a small bed, dug out of the garden grass and into which went flowers and Tree Ferns. Each year they grew larger as it became necessary to keep the separation between grass and garden bed clear. By virtue of the simple task of taking a spade and following the line of the garden bed, so the bed grows larger. At some point a limit is reached and so it was for me. Do I keep extending the territory of each bed when the energy needed for this task grows by the year or do I decide that a physical border in the form of a concrete edge is more appropriate. This process - or so it seems to me - is no different to the growth of a tribe and the corresponding need for territory coupled with the need to conserve resources. The tribe has borders to the control it has over its territory.
Always, there are limits. It is an Empire although small. Beyond those borders and another tribe holds the power.

Does any of this matter given the tumultuous times in which we live? It matters to me in terms of making sense of a world in which greed replaces sense.

Empires fail due to indifference by those in power to both the conditions prevailing within the Empire and to conditions beyond its borders. The garden - left to itself - returns to the wild which may well have been fine, here, before introduced species became ruthless invaders. Holly, Privet, Blackberry and Ivy occupy a niche in their home countries but here, where conditions are favourable to their growth, they will dominate and overcome the ‘natural order of things’
to the detriment, of course, of the original inhabitants.


I’m surrounded by neighbours who don’t have my viewpoint, my energy or my vision when it comes to gardens and I’m fine with an indifferent or a casual or just a different approach to the taking care of the land upon which we tread. Nature doesn’t appear to mind what prevails and takes no notice of man made borders.

To one side of me are the three adjoining blocks of land my ancient neighbour ‘owns.’ His approach to his Empire actually has some merit. He wants the Blackberry and the thorny plants and his rationalisation is simple. He has some sheds and keeps useful things within them and, from his point of view, an unruly, wild garden where snakes may dwell amongst the scratchy undergrowth contributes to a feeling of greater security for him than a well ordered garden which invites thieves. So, in a way and because his land borders mine, his approach makes my land more secure. Nowadays, a fence is just that but when these houses were built the fences were made up of sheets of corrugated iron, buried deep in the ground, thus much of the borders were literally closed. The borders were effective much as the borders of a country or an Empire should be.

An invisible Empire exists for each of us by virtue of the relationships we hold, cherish and nurture and, in that respect, is no different to a garden.

For an individual with no garden and with no relationships - what then?

I travel through life alone as do you. No- one else has my peculiar combination of circumstance albeit we’re not much different to each other. While I make distinction, for myself, between high and low, I don’t presume or assume that that gives me some superior vantage point from which I can determine much at all regarding others.

I didn’t always have a garden from which to draw insight and inspiration but I always had relationships whether I particularly wanted them or not. I just mean family and a few friends who’ve come and gone over time.

There are those who have no physical Empire yet are the heart and centre of a group of people. People are ‘the garden’ and the same energy I pour into the physical environment gets placed into relationships in which everything flourishes and finds a place.

For any of these Empires to flourish, energy and love are needed. Without the love, a holding together such as we get in a family or with a friend, breaks down. This gives thought to the idea of whether we’re imposing order or creating order and while the phrase ‘Order out of chaos’ has ominous overtones, this is, in fact, what we do on a daily basis because ‘things fall apart’ if neglected.

It’s too hot right now to work and play within the garden. All the young seedlings are now growing in the enriched garden beds. The conditions which I can give in terms of resources needed to thrive are in place and now it’s up to them and, of course, nature itself.

It would be wonderful if family conditions were like the garden but they’re not. We get treated roughly by life and thrive and get stunted by the process.

There’s much in the garden which reflects Empire but the Emperor gets no mention. ‘The best of Emperors are invisible’ echoes faintly from my past and it’s true. An Emperor rules by serving. Not serving his own interests though they should coincide with the welfare of the people but serving to lift the population and to make clear that which is clouded.

So I make the jump now to bigger Empire and the poor quality and deceitful Emperors who cause societies to collapse because of nothing more than base ambition.

Israel is doomed to fail. Its existence, according to my understanding of Judaism is ‘not to be’ until their version of God brings it back into existence. This hasn’t happened - man brought it into existence. Spiteful enough it is to destroy those around it and the plight of the Palestinians is testament to its inability to treat the Palestinians as human. No Nazi death camp lasted sixty years but Israel uses slower tactics to give the same result.

America is a fraud - not in its claim to Empire but to having some moral ground upon which to stand. Iraq - based on a lie - and this is not in dispute, is a shambles as is the state everywhere. That there is no real acceptance that the lie was, in fact, a lie stands witness to our inability to deal with those whose societies we have destroyed.

Oh Brave New World so fast approaching but not without some cool reproaching.

Empire is a game without the need for ethics although, without them, the Empire cannot last for long. Corporations are the new Empires. Beholden to no country and owing no allegiance to anything other than profit, they knit together the rules and regulations which govern trade.

I’m not gloomy. These are just observations taken from nature in action and transposed onto life as I live it. In the time it’s taken to write this, I’ve walked away, drunk my coffee, played some music, wondered if I’m making sense or whether any of this is worth writing or reading and - I’ve looked at the seedlings and they’re fine.

Life is unfolding and change is the only constant there is.

And time goes by. There are two beds in the garden, the borders of which I’d planted a beautiful deep green Mondo grass. It happily stayed at the border until this year when - to my dismay - they lunged towards the centre and started growing not just on but within my beloved Tree-Ferns.

Two choices - leave things be or take apart the beds and remove the Mondo grass completely. I’ve taken the harder route and the work is done but I’ll need to keep an eagle eye on the soil for months to come.

Countries have borders. Europe has had open borders but now the fences go up as refugees and others escape the dismal conditions within their home countries.

The parallels between a garden as an empire and the empire as a garden are many but whereas Mondo grass does not mate with petunia, people do ‘break the mould’ and intermarry into other cultures. Whether the grand experiment of multi-culturalism is likely to succeed depends upon many factors one of which is that the new-comers ‘know their place’ and if that place is as second class citizens then it’s doomed to failure.

Whether it’s Mondo grass or people - all will struggle to survive and then to thrive. No blame there.

In a garden, I’m ruthless when necessary but I can’t apply that which works with plants to people.

I see the rise of the far right in countries everywhere - an assumption that if it weren’t for the interloper all would be fine. It’s a rubbish assumption but clarity of thought isn’t to be found anywhere within a political arena.

Strong laws are needed in any society. We have them to keep the poor in place but the rich? They just get richer. The financial system is utterly corrupt yet no banker gets jailed. Wall Street ....  it is a wall isn’t it?  

I’m not offering anything new or startling .. just observations taken from a garden.

 

..... it matters to me ....

 

And God said to Abraham ‘Sacrifice your son.’ and Abraham would have done so but God then said ‘Nah ... just kidding.’

The first false flag attack?

I can and do make sense of God asking Abraham to - not sacrifice himself but to sacrifice his son. The sense is made if one truly accepts that there is a life after this earthly span of time and, that if this is so, then why not be willing to sacrifice that which one might love more than ones own life - the life of your child.

What a hideous selection of choices. ‘Thou shall not kill - unless God tells you to.’

Perhaps there’s a deeper meaning to this story but it escapes me.

The caricature of God has a ‘Him’ not a hymn. An all knowing, all seeing deity who would, of course, have known Abraham’s choice before the asking so why ask? It was a test and what did it prove? Blind obedience to something which says it’s God and then asks you to do evil.

This test has reverberated through time. It has and is being used as a justification for murder and mayhem by religious fools who worship a caricature.

We - as humans - are connected by our very nature whether we like it or not. I don’t have a cruel nature but the capacity is there. If it exists in one then the potential exists in all. It could be called a flaw in our nature and the idea that the sins of our fathers be visited upon the following generations makes perfect sense if sins are replaced with mistakes errors, prejudices and evil actions.

And thus that entity with whom Abraham spoke is not any God in my mind nor in my heart.

The divinity I acknowledge can’t be contained by a name and isn’t interested in such concepts as blasphemy. Blasphemy implies that God can be insulted.

Quite why I live isn’t always apparent to me. I get knocked about but I’m blessed.... I can still get up.

False flag events occur but there’s a momentum at work. The destruction of middle eastern societies now provokes consequence.

Regime change and Freedom are such hollow words. Oil and power are the sad and aweful truth.

People don’t want this tripe, this mockery of life. Tears flow in Paris but they flow daily in Palestine as they must while Israel controls the water.

Some call it Jehovah, some call it Allah but neither brings much joy.

That there is something more to God than I can conceive is obvious. So  I call it love, I question it, get answers which take decades to reveal themselves. End up not much the wiser.

‘Thou shalt not kill’ .... that bit couldn’t be clearer, could it? The implication is that there is another way.

Treat each other as if we were human, as if we matter.



 

..... what's true ......

 

What did Buddha give me? That idea that desire causes suffering and that a seemingly endless cycle is set up as our desires get met and give birth to more desires or our desires aren’t met and we suffer anguish over that.

How would Buddha arrive at that thought if not by quiet observation of himself, his thoughts and feelings. I can only follow that path by looking within and letting the froth and bubble subside.

What has Christ given me? Not such a different message. Look within, the kingdom of God lies within, get right with that concept and ... oh dear ....we’re still here and it all gets a bit messy so let’s keep it simple because we’re not all born clever but, more to the point, it IS simple. Perhaps it isn’t quite that simple as I wrestle with quite what ‘Love your neighbour... and ‘Do unto others ...’ entails.

Kingdom of God lies within .... not sure that I’ve found it except in glimpses but that’s enough and if it’s true for me then why wouldn’t it be true for all and, thus, doing my best to love the other and so on IS the best I can manage.

I don’t much like slogans. They’re short by their nature and leave out so much.

‘Everything you’ve been told is a lie.’ ... well ... that includes that statement itself .... that extra ‘bit’ about the statement itself being a lie gets left off - probably because the statement ceases to make much sense if it’s added.  Still - it’s a damn good slogan if you’re an advertising/ sales and marketing type of person where playing with words and manipulation is the name of the game.

Everything I’ve been told is NOT a lie. It’s up to me to sift what’s true.

What’s true right now is that a cuppa is probably not needed but I’ll have one anyway.

 

.... in the whirled world ...

 

Why I should be surprised and somewhat delighted to find musicianship, camaraderie and intelligent conversation in our local pub’s music night remains a question mark for me.

The blues harp player who often joins me onstage is about to take off for a week long retreat. To stare at oneself for a week is no small feat and not a pursuit to be undertaken lightly. The keyboard player, who’s happy to play with me and by which action I feel honoured, presents me with a beautiful folk song/story in which my vocals play a part. No-one there is expecting riches or fame from musical endeavour but they do it anyway. Week after week. It’s remarkable and humbling.

As for me, I’ve never been too clear about whether I go quiet in winter, do what is necessary but not much more, and ponder life, is actually weakness of spirit or just me surrendering to deep inner impulse. I do it anyway and - if you take desire to be a performer or an entertainer out of the equation and take out desire for fame, applause and riches, take out desire for a social life, then what I’m left with is a small pile of songs that I’ve written over the years and which I’m still learning how to play clearly and - a sense that we all have gifts and that they need to be nurtured. If that is true then the joining together with other musicians who want to join with me, is something worth doing ... even if the idea of performance gives me the heebee jeebies. How strange and fragile we are as human beings. I play at home and do often feel as though I’m playing for the spirit world, nature itself and God yet I can still feel somewhat fearful about playing ‘live’ in public. How absurd is that.

Spring is uncoiling, unfurling in all its abundance here. Elsewhere, the oceans are in fearful state, the human world is stretched to extremity as the animal world fades into quiet extinctions. There is a reckoning. I can only feel calm about conditions by accepting that we are living through kali yuga - the time, long after some golden age when mankind is ... debased. I pause on that word because I witness, daily, people who are not debased yet evil reigns in high places and while that has always been the case - these times are different indeed.

The very idea of full spectrum dominance, a total control over the knowledge of the movements and interests of each and every citizen has been the wet dream of despots since ... dunno ... but now it’s here.
Facial recognition being but one example.

‘Hands up those who want war.’ .... not many. Most of humanity, I would think, want nothing more than to live a peaceful life in which our children - or yours - are free to grow, play, be loved and be educated.

 

... a rose by any other name ...

 

The givers, the takers, the movers, the shakers.

Notwithstanding the ramping up of the ‘Oh my God’ and ‘What next?’,  the givers and takers aspect of life doesn’t appear to depend upon a detailed grasp of what’s occurring right now. The givers continue to give because they’ve ‘got it.’ - both in terms of an understanding about life and in having something to give - time, energy and resources..... vision.

My sisters pay scant heed to 9/11 or to the corrupt and designed to collapse financial system yet all of them live admirable lives in terms of being giving. If they’re operating under an incomplete understanding of long term generational planning for the full spectrum dominance of the planet it doesn’t affect their capacity to be kind.

As to what is obviously occurring in the whirled world - who could miss it.

When it comes to ‘other realms’ I’ve really struggled with archons, parasitic entities, human energy farming and the like. It seems like the ‘devil made me do it’ is replaced by ‘It’s those bloody archons.’ Both have an implication in which personal responsibility can be evaded.

Perhaps it’s a question of  .... ‘For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.’

A rose by any other name.





 

.......... cruelty soup ...

 

A few years back, with images of the soup kitchens of the Great Depression and of humanity waiting in lines in my mind, I wrote a small song - ‘Cruelty Soup.’
Life is no different today and it’s not a particularly cheerful subject for song.
Matti - the film maker who has put previous video to my audio - has taken the song and related it to today’s refugees.
I’ll put up a link to the video.

Cruelty Soup                         

The lines are getting longer
For the poor and the dispossessed
As the men about the kitchen
juggle sauce for more is less

And it’s nowhere near better
As the vultures hold and swoop
On the nearest hapless fellow
drinking cruelty  soup - cruelty soup

Hi ho - here we go
Another cup of soup you beknighted blighter
Hi ho - here we go
No bread roll - draw your belt in tighter
Hi ho - here we go
Have you got the strength left to be a fighter

Toodle -oodle ooo - - Toodle -oodle ooo

The beat is getting stronger
As the war drums coalesce
And the call goes out for heroes
Nothing more and nothing less

And they’ll say the fight is sacred
And they’ll say that we are right
And they’ll want to shock and awe you
 Into...... “ Darkness is Light” - “Darkness IS Light.”

Hi ho - here we go
It’s not just happening in a far off country
Hi ho - here we go
Take a look around we’re the hundreth monkey
Hi ho - here we go
How long .............. how long ....  How long ....... how long
Will this go on......... The lines are getting longer and they’re getting out of line.   
                                                                                    




 

... just wondering ...

 

Paradigms revisited.

Some paradigms don’t matter. Whether the world is held in place by Atlas and his immensely broad shoulders or the wonders of a vast and electric universe prevail should have no bearing on what and who I am as a human being -  thrown together with other human beings. The aspect of living which does matter to me is the ‘getting it right.’

Getting it right -  meaning knowing what is important. That comes from within and, for me, arrives via many strange paths. Becoming a father was unexpected, inauspicious and, yet, that intervention by the larger universe in my affairs changed my perspective and my life.

I would, quite likely, have become a derelict. We were - at one point in my life -  a beginner’s acting class with a brilliant teacher and in my brief stint within the acting world, I won a prize for my portrayal of that derelict. It wasn’t hard to find within myself.... just extrapolate what I’d already found.

A child was my wake up call and the love between us from babyhood to separation and the obstacles overcome to continued relationship forged deep ties. To her mother’s credit, she was and is a friend - as best can be -  and was pretty much always a model of correct balance in terms of not standing in the way of a father daughter relationship. Of course, to make this work meant me fitting in with the lives of others elsewhere. A common situation, shared by so many and with varying degrees of success, and one guaranteed to test one’s character. All to the good.

And it has been for me. The ‘child no more’ is bright like the sun, has children of her own, is a joy to behold.

A paradigm which had me briefly wondering relates to the idea that - at the moment of death - we unsuspecting, ‘brain wiped clean’ poor sods have our souls captured by parasitic entities just waiting to recycle our souls and feed on the energy.

As if life wasn’t difficult enough. It made me feel a bit cross - to use archaic term. I work with intellectually disabled people. It’s only the intellect which is disabled, the enthusiasm for life or otherwise is unaffected ... as is their humanity and this is also true of the link to all the good and evil which human nature contains. It’s all very well being warned about soul catching nets but - surely a soul indicates eternal, direct connection with ‘the source of all’ - and if that isn’t ‘love writ large’ then nothing makes sense and I’ll carry on making it make sense.

If soul catching nets were real then I might have to run some risk in some afterlife for which I’m now for-warned but that cannot be the case for the village idiot who is doomed by lack of intelligence to not recognise trickery. What sort of god - divine intelligence - worthy of that name could allow the least amongst us, by human reckoning, to be so easily farmed. Not a god of love. That’s the only one worthy of the name.

The men I work with are no different to me in what I consider the important paradigm - our interactions - and there can be no cut off point within the intelligence scale by which one is deemed worthy of a soul and another is not.

I look within and once I saw a galaxy of stars. This, to me, is the soul in some real sense. Unperturbed by the storms and quiet of daily existence. Undisturbed by the veils of bright or dull intelligence. Unaffected by death. Too vast to be captured, small enough to be directly embraced by the source and not by some parasitic entity.

Then there are the paradigms relating to money and lack of it. These aren’t complicated for me to understand. A teetering house of cards, designed to be corrupt, from a normal person’s perspective, and to ultimately fail. It’s only a matter of when .... and then - order out of chaos - and a new financial, cashless, model is seamlessly introduced.

Life goes on as normal here although normal doesn’t mean what it did. Wars and refugees are both distant and ‘in your face.’ Jobs, shelter and continuity are the common concerns and all are hard to come by.

The common heard plea is for a chance to lead a normal and peaceful life. Refugee or not. It should not be too much to ask but war takes centre stage.

Then there is that which doesn’t require paradigms. The perfume of the flowering plants, carried on a breeze and which just require one to experience the moment. The garden - whether limited to the pots of succulents I’d grow while living in boarding house or on a wider scale - invite something deeper than my mental meanderings, useful though they may be to me.

And then there is love - all the varieties - flowers in the golden field, ripe with expectations. Expectations sometimes met and sometimes not so perhaps not it’s not an unconditional love but moving in the right direction.

The world turns - or so they say. It certainly changes while remaining the same.

I don’t mean that to sound ‘deep and meaningful.’

The radio announcer was describing the crowds of refugees moving through Europe. Perhaps she was young and didn’t recognise the odd resonance of her words to one grown up in the shadow of the second World War.

‘They’re trying to get on a train .... like they’re going to the Promised land ... Germany.’

 










 

...wound back and wounded ...

 

‘How are you bearing up?’

My mum used to use that phrase or variations of it. Could be in response to ‘How are you?’ and  ‘Oh ... bearing up.’ might come the reply, with twinkle in the eye or hard look otherwise.

It’s a small problem that written communication takes awhile. A moment passes and sometimes it’s ‘the’ moment and it’s gone.
‘Such is life.’ ... delayed communication is better than no communication.

Can’t help but feel grateful that in these times there is a garden, some good neighbours, that I’m not a refugee. I bear in mind that the atrocities witnessed on the ‘news’ each day are nothing new. Human nature hasn’t, as yet, taken the great leap forward or upward.

The juggernaut of technological change is relentless. Smart meters got, perhaps, a five minute segment on the news here, the other day. Not a word about health or safety issues - smart meters are essential in a new world order, the internet of things. And so the puff piece touted this as the biggest change since 1948, something which would eventually give you - the customer/consumer but no longer citizen, absolutely total control over how you use your toaster. You’ll be able to know exactly what is used, turned on and off, and when. And, of course, so will the power company. Just rereading this, for accuracy sake, and was it ‘...since 1948.’? If so, it’s a small switch to 1984 and that brave future.

The narrative illustrated the plight of a single mum with three kids staring at a power bill which is huge. Really huge. She cannot pay and is going to be disconnected. Figures are trotted out to show many thousands are being cut off and the implication is that we’d all be better off if only there was a device which would show where the money is wasted within the home. ‘It - being smart meters - gives us that power’ - this is the message and someone wrote the script.

We’re in a sun drenched country and have wound back investment in solar. Wound back and wounded. Individual literal power is not in the interests of this society.

We get four distinct seasons here up high. It’s still chilly but Spring arrives on cue. Flowering trees open up their shades and purples, pinks and creamy white are in their element. Three celebratory tomato plants move into space between two small treeferns, a recently planted lemon tree and some cuttings from a red current bush which, much to my surprise, are living and showing growth. That bed gets the sheltered sun.

‘Bearing up.’ It’s almost got a military feel to it. Pass the word through the trenches. ‘Chin up, chaps and chapesses. ... we expected this and more.’
‘Bearing up.’ .... shouldering the world .... or my part of the foundations, as best I understand it. I think that’s how my mum meant it too.
She was a loving heart.

 

...... Spring here, autumn elsewhere ...

 

A few king parrots and half a dozen blue and red Eastern Rosellas sit perched in a bare branched tree. It becomes, briefly, a parrot tree. Colourful, vibrant. It’s the end of winter and the birds have been absent.

A few months back, at the start of winter, a black cat with topaz eyes appeared. I hiss at the cats who walk through this garden. They hear me even if it’s through the glass of the window and they stop in their tracks and turn towards me. Then they leave. This one was different. It was a bit wild, no collar and sleek enough to have fed itself in some fashion.... and it was black.

I like the birds, the almost drab but exquisite satin bower birds, the parrots, the differences in behaviour. I feed them, off and on, through winter and twenty years pass and they are constant in the garden.

Being a cold winter perhaps the birds went elsewhere. The cat and I got to know each other slightly without me taking to feeding it anything but the odd saucer of milk. I don’t want a cat but was happy to have a cat as an acquaintance. Cats don’t appear to operate in this manner.

Once I had a dog and a wonderful friend and companion she was but cats want a servant or this one did. Became territorial to the extent that I had to chase it away and do so many times. It still appears and I still chase it and hiss. I threw a piece of wood at it just to illustrate a point and it fled over the garage roof. I did it again later and it fled to the bush where it gave out a wail which was brief but banshee in nature. Once more I did much the same and within minutes the birds returned. I found it remarkable in the extreme. Cats and birds don’t happily co-exist. Both are beautiful but that’s in the eye of the beholder. My garden has been a bird sanctuary since I arrived and started planting. They’re used to me.

By me welcoming the cat into this domain, I introduced a threat to the birds. As soon as my intention to move the cat away was apparent, the birds returned. There’s some lesson here for me which goes a bit deeper than just ‘cats eat birds.’
It’s the connection, wordless but real, between species.

A few green feathers from a king parrot grace the garden and the cat has struck. I prune a few hiding spots and move the area in which I place the seed for the birds to eat and feel some temporary balance is restored.

But it’s worlds in collision. The flight of the birds is the flight of refugees from the threat made real in war torn zones. The birds have somewhere to go.

First day of Spring, here up high, and the temperature rises to cool. Signs of growth everywhere. The Magnolia, leafless in winter, is extraordinary as goblet like flowers of creamy white and purple turn it into a large and elegant candelabra.

This tree has heralded the Spring at roughly the same time for twenty years and more. It’s perhaps a week late but the weather here has been mixed enough to have little rain, a fall of snow followed by bushfires and all in the same few months. Nature is patient and while growth can be delayed, it cannot be thwarted.

Daffodils of many varieties, snowdrops still in flower, the blue of Grape Hyacinth, the bright primary colours of Polyanthus - all in cheerful flower.

I don’t know if you’ve had cause to net a fruit tree but it’s easier said than done. Trees are prickly as hedgehogs. It wasn’t an exercise in futility but gave some amusement to the silent watching parrots. To net a tree completely - or just sufficiently - I think you’d need to drop it like a parachute which raises the degree of difficulty. I retired from the task with various branches covered but with easy access to birds hopping from branch to branch. Ah well ... everybody gets a feed.

It’s good to get back to the garden.




 

...cycles repeating ...

 

The river flows to the sea, the spray rising to become the rain which falls in the mountains and the cycle repeats. Can’t help but wonder about repeating the life experience in much the same way. Does the water get tired of being water, long for other states. It cannot be other than water regardless of transitional states and is limited to its nature. Happily limited – I’d imagine.

And so am I. Not in potential but within my physical boundaries, the ‘three score years and ten’ sense. Within that confine, after three score and more, I get some sense of karma not being a tit for tat affair. Not so simple. Not a question of you slap me, I slap you and if it were so simple then how many millions of lives would a hideously brutal leader of a nation be required to live and die horribly in order to balance the scales.

I’m not only the river running through a landscape but partly landscape myself. The arid, barren plains and high places, the shaded oasis, the ravine, cliff and cave are in me as much as they’re manifest in the outer landscape and so, of course, it is for you. I don’t feel it’s just poetic fancy.

Which landscapes matter and in what proportions. It’s occupied my mind a bit. The physical landscape is easy for me. The stewardship of a garden - given energy and some vision - is a matter of aligning myself and my creative effort to the changing demands of the four seasons. It’s a real satisfaction to complete some major task and have the rain fall within the day. It’s wonderful - the universe whispering encouragement.

I’m uniquely placed within this street to have the time, energy and tools in which to look after a swathe of bush across the road and to keep the grass down, at the end of the street, for safety sake rather than neatness. I don’t mind and enjoy it. It feels appropriate.

The wider natural world landscape is as it is. Not in good hands. There’s much taking place in the financial landscape which has caused this situation and, in that human created landscape, there is protest and direct action. It’s practical - a ‘do what you feel capable of’ approach which can be as varied as planting a tomato or stopping the obscenity of coal seam fracking. Plenty of issues but, all the while, the bigger picture game is playing out. Control.

When it comes to spiritual landscapes what can I do but draw breath, pause and wonder. Death is inevitable and although my limited experience informs me of the absolute truth of ‘death is not the end’, I also recognise that an afterlife ‘whatever’ shouldn’t matter in terms of how I live my life now. Go to the worms or go to paradise - why should it matter. Go to either fate as kind, considerate or go as you choose. That’s the simple point, for me, and in that respect I do have choice. As, perhaps, do you.

It’s within these many landscapes that I exist. They are not static.

 

 

.... and be like water ...

 

‘Be like water’ is one of those images which keeps on giving.

Starting with the visual image of water, high in the mountains, a trickle here and there, forming its way as it moves downhill, filling holes and depressions in the ground with just enough water to fill to the brim. It never over-reaches itself in an attempt to fill higher than the brim. It fills to capacity and then overflows to continue on its way.

Reaching a steep ravine, it picks up speed and, in the process, stirs up debris, silt and muck which it carries with it. It meets the edge of a cliff and, without pause, becomes a waterfall. The pool below catches the water - catches itself - and holds it briefly as it seeks the lower ground. It becomes a river, complete with shaded banks, eddies and stagnant pools. Perhaps there are times and places where it goes underground, follows wayward paths before resurfacing.

Every creature and living thing, which is close at hand, benefits from the movement of water. Among its virtues is the ability to use any shape for its purpose and to do so while never losing its essential nature. It will wear away rock by furious energy or steady drip. Nothing stands in its way for too long.

Water uses any form, any container but under certain conditions – rain, snow, mist, ice and steam – it becomes its own container.

It’s rare in a sunburnt country to get snow but we had a gentle fall a few weeks ago. It settled overnight with no breeze to disturb the layering on twig and branch. It lay across every surface, inches thick. It became its own container. It struck me, in the morning light as wonderful indeed.

Visual images aside, the idea of being like water and being true to the essential nature I become, by virtue of aligning myself with what is right, has sustained and nourished me through difficulty after difficulty, obstacles and deep pits, depressions, ravine and precipice.....life itself and I don’t mean the emotional life although the daily ups and downs have their place.

How this idea of being like water translates into real life – for me – if I am the water, involves a certain amount of purification if that water is to be of use. I don’t mean aiming for some ‘holy holy’ but putting the greater good first within my own life..... where the responsibilities are obvious.

‘Do the right thing’  ‘Do no harm,’  - all aspects of the golden rule which don’t mention that this involves the going of the extra mile and doing so as a given.

In the course of my life – no doubt like yours – I’ve experienced how often waiting is an integral part of a life situation. Waiting, in some degree of comfort or jagged difficulty – either way, the situation cannot be readily changed but must be endured.

Waiting doesn’t imply passivity. If it takes time for the pool to fill up, the obstacle to be overcome, then skills can still be developed. If the pool is an abyss then endurance is needed and, when this has been true for me, it’s enough to survive - helping others becomes difficult if not impossible.

Everything changes … eventually.

If the golden rule isn’t followed the water still flows, a river carves its course for every life. Obstacles and the like are true for all so it’s the quality of the water which either nourishes or doesn’t. What distinguishes the water of one life from another.

In that I have this to work with. The effect of love and hate. In my life, hate bears bitter fruit as do the distant cousins, resentment and blame. Not saying anything new or particularly profound – just that love works – in every sense of the word. It doesn’t have to be anything more conceived of than mild affection and a love of the good.

The landscape through which the water runs crosses arid plains and desolate plateaus - as is so in life. Landscapes not conducive to life appear and there is no choice but to move through it, slow paced or otherwise, and move on. Perhaps the land becomes a marsh with stagnant pools appearing. The marsh gives way, the water moves freely, the debris, silt and muck have fallen away.

At some place there is the sea, the ocean and the joining together and, with water, the cycle repeats.
 

 

 

.... give a man a fish ....

 

 

Give a man a fish and you've fed him a meal. Teach him to fish and he's set for life.

Let's see if I've learnt how to add a link.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBJlU4xIxBk

 

 

.... alien life and zero point energy ...

 

From snow to bushfires within two weeks and all calm today as the antarctic wind drops, the wind chill factor ceases to affect and the sun beams on good and evil alike.

The links I place here now work - hooray for hostbaby for fixing that minor irritation. Winter is ten degrees colder here than on the plains - a mere hour’s drive down the hill. It’s grim in winter but makes summer much kinder than the unrelenting heat on those same plains.

A sort of hibernation takes place for me at this time of year. We’ll still have six more weeks of cold before Spring arrives late but very welcome. Cherry blossoms appear, Magnolias are in bloom but that’s  ‘down the hill’ and won’t appear here for awhile.

The human world is as it is and there’s little I can do to change that madness - apart from recognising it.

So here are a few links which I’ve followed as part of my continuing education. I’ve been a bit surprised by the credence given to the idea that we’re living on a flat earth - I’d thought that Galileo had sorted out that question awhile back but ‘it aint so’ for many.

More important is the question of quite what we’re being prepared, or otherwise for, in terms of what will replace the current corrupted and creaking financial system.

This was of interest to me

https://vimeo.com/133170463


The Linda Moulton Howe interview is also a great find if alien life has any interest for you.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1NcWGC028I

 

....... tradition and fraud .....

 

‘Everyone I know is in favour of it - they don’t care.’

What a strange juxtaposition of ideas that is. It came as a response to the issue of gay marriage which is provoking discussion here as it is elsewhere.

It’s not such a strange response on reflection. Context matters and the context is the ‘bigger picture’ regardless of how dimly we might see it.

Within my lifetime of sixty plus years, our society has moved from no television - because there weren’t any in my early childhood - to having its presence everywhere.

In the name of communication and connection, devices are attached without thought as to what is actually communicated, how the connection operates or the harm or otherwise these devices contain.

When television arrived it was touted as being both educational and entertaining. There was debate about commercials and the consensus was that no-one would contemplate breaking up a show to run a commercial. You’d place a few at the beginning and at the end of the show. To do otherwise would be to interfere with the communication offered by the show.

This is important because that WAS the consensus, that was a common understanding yet - is that the case today? Utterly corrupted and debased, we now have commercials every few minutes and, unless you’d known of a time before television, you’d accept this corruption as normal ... because that’s what corruption has become ... normal.

Marketing and advertising have blurred the meaning of words and when words cease to have clear meaning society is in grave peril.

‘Same sex marriage.’ and ‘Everyone I know is in favour of it - they don’t care.’

Here’s the context, as I see it. We’ve moved, within a lifetime, from a society in which I was a citizen - with both rights and responsibilities - to a society where ‘user pays’ and a citizen is now a consumer - is the grim reality, the bed rock of life.

The jobs aren’t there and from where will they come? Education is a question of incurring debt within Corporations of Learning for an uncertain future bought at great cost.

Small wonder, in that context, that gay marriage can rise to public prominence to the extent not possible even twenty years ago. There’s a sense of ‘Why not let everybody who wants to get married?’

Underlying this sense is a world in disarray. Those societies in the hot spots of conflict are destroyed. Millions of refugees are on the move and will have no-where to call home. Not now and, perhaps, not ever.

‘Same sex marriage’ - in that wider context becomes something vaguely nice in a world turned nasty.

I have no issue with same sex union - a societal recognition of love with all the legal protection a marriage gives to a partner but I don’t see any reason to change the definition of marriage which - for thousands of years - have involved a man and a woman and from which, perhaps, a family is brought into existence.

Tradition is as open to question as anything else. Not all traditions are useful or constructive and some traditions outlive their usefulness. Much the same applies to ritual and ceremony.

‘Question everything’ - understanding that there are agendas being pushed and foisted upon mankind is very important.

 

..... issues ....

 

The issues which face us all haven’t diminished. Israel continues to run the concentration camps in Gaza and the West Bank. The land allowed for a Palestinian state has shrunk to mere puddles while ‘other issues’ take the spotlight.

There’s little I can add apart from a garden report.

I can’t actually add a link here and have it work properly but I can break up the address so it can be followed.

Technocracy isn’t a word with which I’m familiar but this link - which is a three hour talk - is brilliant. Much which was hazy comes into sharper focus. Not being a researcher myself, I have no startling new evidence to offer.

Still - I can share.

https://www.     youtube.com/watch?v=H7QlOTi86Nk

zen gardner.com is a terrific site if expanded horizons matter.

 

..... hunger for touch ...

 

Hunger for touch.

An article about paedophelia appears and I can’t spell it right. The spell check gives me options amongst which is ‘pitifully.’ Wry smile to that.

While the more extreme aspects of human sexuality give rise to the article and comments, I can’t help but think about the millions of Chinese men who - by virtue of a one child policy which has skewed the male/female balance - will never have a relationship.

What do they do about hunger for touch? It’s as basic and real as hunger for food and while it’s been said that no-one starved to death from lack of touch, I’d disagree. It’s not difficult to feel like I’m one of the walking dead. Been there, experienced that. It’s painful.

Sexuality can’t be dismissed as somehow not spiritual.... not if everything I experience can be seen as spiritual in nature. If it comes to lessons learnt in life, sexuality and its expression is right there ... here and everywhere.

‘Do no harm’ has been central to my life but, of course, I don’t always know what harm I cause - not by deliberate intent but by not having clarity. Put a starving man in front of a table laden with food and good manners are going to take a back seat.

I still recall, as a child of five or six, being taken to London by the cub master of our village. I don’t recall the trip but I do recall the fact that he, myself and another small boy shared a bed.

‘Don’t go playing with each others willies.’ was what he said and, even then, that sentence jarred my sensibilities. Why? Because it hadn’t occurred to me as a possibility. Nothing happened but the incident stayed in my mind while the rest of the trip faded into obscurity.

The real child molester arrived much later in childhood and gained easy entrance to our family, as much as for any other reason, because sex was never mentioned in our family. Not mentioned .... shame about that. It didn’t prepare me for what might arise, what would arise. I made sure my darling daughter was prepared for the reality that men - not just boys - would want to get into her pants. This doesn’t need to be a brutal introduction and wasn’t. She understood.

He ran a sailing school, taught us how to tie knots, rules of the road, how to sail and he did all this while using our living room as a place to meet. While not cruel in any sadistic way, he was grooming and was subtle.

‘This will be our secret - you can’t tell anyone. Promise you won’t tell anyone. They won’t understand.’

When the eventual court case arose, I still couldn’t tell anyone. I  remember how kind the two detectives were who attempted to interview me. I remember the ‘Why didn’t you say something?’ from my father. .... my blank and numb lack of response to that question.

There were  no counsellors. All went quiet and within weeks of the court case, I saw him driving up our street. Within weeks of that, a friend of my dad with whom vintage cars was the common interest, approached me to ask if I’d like to come and watch some pornographic films with him. I didn’t. Neither did I mention it to my father. Why would I mention that to someone who was distant, aloof and had no real relationship with me. Apart from that, I didn’t have the words.

For me, no soul mate has appeared. Either strong physical attraction or strong intellectual attraction but not the two together. Thankfully, little boys haven’t been an attraction but my later teenage years were filled with anxiety about ‘what may be.’ This was made worse by some kid telling me in a very matter of fact way that I would become a child molester. The casual harm we inflict upon each other is put into sharp focus by articles such as this one.

I know I’m not alone in my experience and it helps in some small measure to know this. This isn’t written to wring some emotional response but to be honest.

The article appears and, like all articles, it has its time in the spotlight and then the carousel moves on. For me, a cascade of thought about experience is left to be ruminated over or shared.

Emotional life is easily bent and warped but not so easily transcended or understood ..... nor can it be denied.

Hunger for touch runs too deep to be ignored.

 

.... awe and reverence ....

 

Many years ago a strange and beautiful bird flew into my garden. It was attacked by the Magpies and, in its desperate flight to escape, it flew straight into the glass of my window, created a loud noise which was what drew my attention to it, and it fell to the garden below.

I watched it and could see that it was stunned but still breathing. After a good five minutes it stirred, looked about and groggily flew to a nearby TreeFern where it nestled into the fronds and disappeared.

It didn’t really disappear but its plumage was so artfully contrived that - as soon as it went absolutely still - you really couldn’t see it unless you knew it was there. I watched some more and it remained absolutely still and completely camouflaged, within the fronds of the TreeFern, where it remained a quarter of an hour and then flew away.

I took a photo. It’s large bird. The photo sits on a wall and all see the TreeFern but no-one sees the bird unless I point it out. Understandable - you wouldn’t expect to see such a thing.

I’m listening at the moment to a zen radio talk and wondering quite how to move from this bird story and into what this writing is really about. Just as I pause so the interviewer is mentioning Carlos Castaneda and I realise that it’s a perfect way in which to transition.

Whether I’m a human being having a spiritual experience or a spiritual being having a human experience doesn’t much matter. I’m an awareness.

There are two articles running on zen’s site at the same time. Both come from a base which recognises that we are spiritual beings and both recognise that we have soul. In one, the message is positive and carries nothing with which I’d disagree. The other is about soul catching nets. A lie as far as I’m concerned.

Yet the lie gains more attention than the truth.

I have got something to share which is full of implication. Might make some uneasy but shouldn’t.

A truly remarkable, other worldly experience doesn’t happen without
an internal shake up happening at the same time. My aboriginal experience was profound and immediate but in the few moments prior to it something equally as profound occurred. Something stirred, shifted and settled.

I became aware of the witness and will need to expand on this.

Within a few moments an understanding took place. What do I mean by witness? It’s not a witness in any human sense of the word. Neither is it alien or something to be feared. Its only function and purpose is to record each moment and record it in its totality. It doesn’t judge, it just faithfully records everything. My anguish, my joy, my perception within each moment.

Nothing dies. At the end of this life, the witness aspect of my soul goes with it as does the perfect record of this life.

I don’t think it gets read out in some heavenly version of a human court where, here on Earth, it’s easy to play with such approaches as ...’Just give me the facts.’ The facts come with multiple attachments which rarely get mentioned in a human court even though they’re relevant.

The witness aspect within me doesn’t lie. It doesn’t have a capacity for truth, lies or judgement. It just records and I stress this because it matters.

‘Don’t you get bored?’ I briefly mused at some later date. But, of course, it doesn’t. It doesn’t have that capacity.

But it did have the capacity to be surprised, to have some sense of ‘Better sit up and take notice.’ I don’t know that, of course, but, on my way to a Dreaming, something very briefly stirred within myself and an understanding of the function of the witness was formed.

There’s nothing to fear about the witness anymore than there’s anything to fear about the cup in front of me.

That it exists is plenty of food for thought, none of it fearful.

We have our own experiences upon which we draw. When I say that I don’t know much, it’s not self depreciation or modesty but a  recognition of my state in which what I DO know is the ‘tried and true’ important bits. Do your best, take heart .... if I’m doing that and you’re doing that then this current fascination with death and fear and trembling holds no power. Neither should it.

I’m reluctant to write about ‘My Spiritual Diary.’ .. because I don’t have one. What’s really matters to me is not my few profound experiences but learning how to love, to appreciate.

I like awe, reverence, the vastness of it all.

I appreciate that my understanding about this witness aspect to our beings could be read as supposition, but it’s part of what I’ve gleaned from my own experience and is as valid to share as perspectives from other sources.


 

.... once there was a king ...

 

Alternative realities crash and groan against what I consider reality.... and ... that is?

‘What’s the time?’
‘Half past crazy.’

Things are grim. The fraudulent system of Central Banking isn’t, as yet, widely understood. I need that understanding to gain a wider perspective.

Talking to a friend about this very subject. Suggested it could be explained as follows.

Once upon a time there was a king. His kingdom was strong but its wealth - which became his hoard of gold - was being emptied by the cost of constant war.

No problem. Tax the peasants. They expect it. They accept that this is the way things are. This is reality.

It worked for awhile but the king just waged more war and the peasants starved or died in his wars - fought for plunder and territory.

One day a stranger arrived at the court of the king. He sought an audience with the king and because he offered a bag of gold along with the request, the audience was granted.

‘What do you want?’ asked the king.


‘Not much at all.’ replied the stranger. ‘I come to offer you this - I will give you all the gold you need to fight your wars and, in exchange, I want the right to hold that gold in a large vault, a secure place built near to where your palace lies.’


‘Sounds like a good deal.’ said the king ‘What’s in it for you?’


‘I also want the right to create a banking system over which I will have complete control.’


‘What’s a banking system?’ said the king.


Time passes and the stranger was as good as his word. He built the vault into which the gold was placed and the king had easy access to as much as he needed which wasn’t quite as much as he wanted but his disquiet settled.

The stranger had sons and as they grew, so he taught them well and each went out into the wider world and made similar deals with other kings.

It was very beneficial for the stranger and his sons. Privy to the thoughts of many Rulers, they knew of wars before they happened and, by financing both sides, they couldn’t lose.

After three hundred years, this Central banking system and the families who started it, controlled the world, all its finance and very few understood what had happened..... or, in fact, that anything had happened at all.

There was a moment’s silence after I’d told my tale.

‘Hmm’ says my friend. ‘Good analogy but do you know how many people have an I.Q. below 100? ... I don’t think they’ll get it.’

‘Oh - I don’t know about that’ say I - ever the grim optimist.

 

...... who gains by such hideous nonsense ...

 

Treason and quaint aren’t two words which ‘go together.’

Quaint is what I’ve been called - along with ‘idiot’ and ‘a brain in need of an education.’ Such labels have no meaning when they come as responses to truth expressed - truth staring me in the face.

If you can read and understand these words then the truth also stares you in the face. What truth? ... truth in relation to what specific topic, what aspect of life?

Not talking about ‘know yourself’ and ‘look within’ which is where pleasant and unpleasant truths about character and essence of being are revealed. These are internal and specific.

Truth in respect to the wider world, to the events which shape the changing nature of our societies - which unnaturally warp and cripple these societies - these are the many truths which I am duty bound to investigate.

I’m duty bound because I cannot take refuge in a mental illness which prevents me from investigation and, thus, seeing clearly.

There is a list for me.

I had more than a vague idea that the financial system under which we labour was a fraud but until 9/11, it didn’t much matter to me in much the same way in which I accept that empires come and go ... and come again. But what I see today is not just a matter of who rules from a distance but who and what exerts control in a very personal and life threatening manner. Full spectrum dominance is not a phrase from science fiction but from fact.


I witnessed the events of 9/11 for many hours from the other side of the world and while our Australian country was in deep night through that dark and daylight morning, I saw it all and knew that the glaring inconsistencies, the breaking of the laws of physics in the way in which the Twin Towers and Building 7 fell - not toppled over but dropped into their own footprints - must raise questions.

It did and has raised questions and, a decade or so on, hundreds of hours of impeccably researched work bears loud witness to the lie of the official story.

Brought into and out of this earth to be a child of the fifties, living in an Allied land, we were the victors and got to write the history ... I didn’t, of course, but I did absorb the narrative of a noble British Empire bringing law and civilisation to the dark corners of the earth. Fighting just wars against nasty people and feeling great sympathy for the ‘Jews.’

I assumed that the written history presented was ‘the truth.’ Why would it be a lie? Both innocent and ignorant, my childhood passes.

Too young then to feel sympathy for the Palestinians - unaware of them in fact, I watched, witnessed and then investigated the devious ways of Zionist Israel. It took years before I became aware of their malign influence on world affairs and, perhaps, my education there went hand in hand with a growing understanding of how Central Banks, the Federal Reserve and their very private owners came to have complete control over the affairs of nations.... the wealth of nations.

Why the ‘Jews’ rather than the Jews?

Factions exist within all religion. There are those within Judaism who hold to a religious conviction that their God scattered them to the far ends of the earth to live peacefully among those nations who would take them in and that their God - in God’s own good time - would bring them home.

They exist and their demonstrations against Israel do not make the evening news. Israel - as a religious entity - has no right to exist.

For sixty years and more Israel has wielded absolute power over the Palestinians. Their land is now shrunk to two tiny puddles of land which are, in fact, the largest concentration camps in the world of which I’m aware.

There are no peace talks. Sixty years of froth and bubble masquerading as peace talks never intended to be more than talk. If it were otherwise, we’d have two viable States.

9/11 and from that lie vomits forth unending war which has destroyed country after country while untold millions are reduced to a refugee’s unending nightmare.

‘All by design’ is the inescapable conclusion but it’s only inescapable after investigation.

The list goes on and the fact that I’m not anonymous - and even if I were - makes me an enemy of the State and on someone else’s list which doesn’t matter and I don’t care.

It mirrors the approach that the so called ‘powers that be’ have to me.


I don’t matter and they don’t care.

That there are millions like me does matter. How that caring aspect gets expressed is anyone’s guess but the traitors to mankind do have to live with the growing uneasy realisation that exposure to truth is contagious.

 

..... a tribe of treeferns, moving slowly ....

 

There were no TreeFerns in the village in which I lived as a child. Oak, Beech, Elm and others but no TreeFerns - slow growing or otherwise. The village was at the far end of the world from here - and here is now Australia.

Three slow growing TreeFerns were living in the front garden when I arrived here, twenty odd years ago. Three trees, none taller than my waist but with long, graceful fronds, emerald green. As I worked in the garden, I fell in love with them. They would brush against me as much as I brushed against them.

I splurged with money I didn’t really have and bought four more for the back yard. Made garden beds for each and surrounded them with flowers ..... tiny islands in a grassy sea.

I don’t know if there exists another species of tree quite like the slow growing TreeFern. The whole of the trunk is also the root and so it can be sawn off at the base and transplanted. Remarkable. From the base of the sawn off TreeFern another does not grow but from the edges of the base another often does.

They are primeval and ethereal. Tough, ancient yet delicate. They have other attributes which make them almost human - kith and kin, close cousins.

Slow growing they are indeed. Twenty years on and the three in the front garden are no higher than my chest though the fronds leap higher. The larger ones ‘outback’ have grown to one and a half a man’s height, with the long fronds reaching much further.

For awhile I had seven TreeFerns and after another five years planted four more in the front garden. Enclosed in a very large bed, they not only thrived but grew more TreeFerns from their bases. When these had grown five more years and were well established but somewhat cramped, I started separating one from another. The front garden now contains perhaps a score or more of serene Ferns, with only a few waist high or more.

There are the solitary Ferns. Quiet, a little aloof. Many more Ferns have a child or two, growing and attached at the base. Then there is the rare TreeFern which has other TreeFerns growing off the trunk – much as a mother cradles her young in her arms or upon her hip. One, next to the small fountain and happy to accept any overflow, has perhaps seven such toddlers clambering about her body.

Multiple beds in the back garden now contain over two score trees. A few haven’t survived the transplantation but most are content and stretching out.

Among the tribe are two fast growing TreeFerns, slender of trunk with fronds longer than a man is high. Only recent arrivals, they are already taller than their slow growing cousins. They cannot be sawn and transplanted but must be grown from spore, potted and allowed to grow a little before transplanting. Their fronds, while beautiful, are a little coarser and have a tendency to snap. I planted two more fast growers a month back and, in another lifetime, they’ll be a high oasis.

Whether trees are telepathic or not, I can’t say with certainty. They do respond to love, care and attention.

I had a huge pot of a type of succulent which I’ve always known as Chinese Roses. They overflowed one year and, seeing as they appear to survive on not much more than fresh air and water, I placed stems in, among and around the trunks of the Ferns. They’ve done well and add a layer of beauty not all would notice but Dryads would.

The crown of the TreeFern only gets two - perhaps three layers of new fronds each year. The older ones gradually fade out but aren’t useless. In a high storm where the fronds wave wildly, it’s the older circle of elder fronds which keep the centre from too much damage.

I give them a haircut as needed and love them which, I guess is a form of telepathy.

 

... paradigms complete ...

 

We’re a week away from mid winter here. Underneath the Tree Ferns, echoes of a childhood in a  far off sceptred Isle appear in .... daffodil, jonquil, snowdrop. Grape hyacinth and bluebell come later.
It’s a gentle juxtaposition.
Tree Ferns are primeval, ancient, beautiful and, the majority of the ones in this garden, are slow growing by nature - perhaps twenty five years and more to grow to twice the height of a man.
But all the while their large, graceful fronds reach out, elegant and emerald green while the white of snowdrop, the yellows of daffodil have a passing parade below and about them.
Ah ... looks tremendous in full summer with great spears of Canna and Tiger lilies.

The video for paradigms is complete and bubbling along on youtube and can also be seen on this site. It was quite a project.

 

... prison planet .....

 

Been reading about the concept that this beautiful pearl, this Earth, is a prison planet.
Had a long drive the other day in which to mull over ‘prison planet,’ ‘celestial errors’, speaking with conviction and how strange it is that convict and conviction sit so close to each other.
Conviction doesn’t necessarily imply that one is ‘right’ about the subject at hand - only that one speaks from either heartfelt belief or knowledge. Both can be incomplete. That’s my experience.
There are flowers blooming in this physical garden and their petals are so fragile yet they and their parent plant survive night after night of deep cold where I’d be hard pressed to shiver through a few hours before seeking warmth.
Birds don’t fall out of this early morning autumn sky, frozen in a frosty dawn. Animals appear well adapted to living through varied conditions. I’m not.
So I adapt the world around me - as best I can. Make sense of that world and my place within this world.
Been thinking about something recently said ... ‘The fact that we live in bodies that require eating others, is a big clue to the nature of this place. How often we overlook the obvious. We are slaves to the physical. Can that be denied?’
Regarding the emotional connotations of the word ‘slave,’ - I could use the phrase ‘beholden to the physical.’ ... I am not a slave.
It’s not an affront to the spirit to be within a material body. It’s messy, often uncomfortable and - if dignity matters - well - try getting old or decrepit. Yet it’s beautiful and transient.... and it’s what we’re given to work with.
How little time we have in which to realise .... anything of importance.
There is a Dr Chiappolone who sees a celestial error which is in the process of being corrected. Who made the error? Not the source, the divine and I’m connected directly, without hindrance, by love, I trust, to the divine and not to celestial errors.
That there may, equally, be a future in which a winnowing of mankind takes place - not everyone gets through - is also possible, looks likely.
I embrace such concepts as the planet having a consciousness. What others may dismiss with a shrug as ...’just nature’ is an often cause of awe, wonder and connection for me. I embrace a vast universe not just in the looking out but to the galaxy within.
Back to the prison which - to my present way of thinking - is human nature itself, sprinkled well with free will and the abuse thereof.
Everything ties in. Is there an awakening and, if so, how is this being manifested?
Long cosmic cycle isn’t a new age invention. We’re in the somewhat dismal part where the lowest common denominator is expressed and service to self appears to predominate. I can’t see how human nature is going to change itself just by the willing of it.
I can see how, in the twinkle of an eye, everything changes within mankind by virtue of some galactic wave of real energy which fundamentally alters our perception - to where greed is obsolete, discarded. To where mankind ‘get’s it and - ideally - does so collectively.
That this appears unlikely would likely be part of my perception as one among seven billions souls and other assorted entities living here within these, tumultuous times.
‘Assorted entities,’ ... sounds like a bag of lollies. :)
‘I’ll have a cup of coffee and an assorted entity - what would you like, dear?’


 

..... blues rules ...

 

I found this - author unknown. Without some humour I’d be sunk.

1. Most Blues begin, "Woke up this morning."

2. "I got a good woman" is a bad way to begin the Blues, 'less you stick something nasty in the next line, like "I got a good woman with the meanest face in town."

3. The Blues is simple. After you get the first line right, repeat it. Then find something that rhymes ... sort of: "Got a good woman - with the meanest face in town. Got teeth like Margaret Thatcher - and she weigh 500 pound."

4. The Blues are not about choice. You stuck in a ditch: You stuck in a ditch, ain't no way out.

5. Blues cars: Chevys and Cadillacs and broken down trucks. Blues don't travel in Volvos, BMWs, or Sport Utility Vehicles. Most Blues transportation is a Greyhound bus or a southbound train. Jet aircraft and state-sponsored motor pools ain't even in the running. Walkin' plays a major part in the blues lifestyle. So does fixin' to die.

6. Teenagers can't sing the Blues. They ain't fixin' to die yet, now that the Vietnam war is over. Adults sing the Blues. In Blues, "adulthood" means being old enough to get the electric chair if you shoot a man in Memphis.

7. Blues can take place in New York City, but not in Hawaii or any place in Canada. Hard times in St. Paul or Tucson is just depression. Chicago, St. Louis, and Kansas City still the best places to have the Blues. You cannot have the blues in any place that don't get rain.

8. A man with male pattern baldness ain't the blues. A woman with male pattern baldness is. Breaking your leg cuz you skiing is not the blues. Breaking your leg cuz a' alligator be chompin' on it is.

9. You can't have no Blues in an office or a shopping mall. The lighting is wrong. Go outside to the parking lot or sit by the dumpster.

10. Good places for the Blues:

    a) highway
    b) jailhouse
    c) empty bed

Bad places:

    a) Ashrams
    b) gallery openings
    c) Ivy League institutions
    d) golf courses

11. No one will believe it's the Blues if you wear a suit, 'less you happen to be a' old black man, and you slept in it.

12. Do you have the right to sing the Blues? Yes, if:

    a) you're older than dirt
    b) you're blind
    c) you shot a man in Memphis
    d) you can't be satisfied.

No, if:

    a) you have all your teeth
    b) you were once blind but now can see
    c) the man in Memphis lived.
    d) you have a retirement plan or trust fund.

13. Blues is not a matter of color. It's a matter of bad luck. Tiger Woods cannot sing the blues. Gary Coleman could. Ugly white people also got a leg up on the blues.

14. If you ask for water and Baby give you gasoline, it's the Blues. Other acceptable Blues beverages are:

    a) bad wine
    b) bad whiskey or bad bourbon
    c) muddy water
    d) black coffee.

The following are NOT Blues beverages:

    a) mixed drinks
    b) kosher wine
    c) Snapple
    d) sparkling water

15. If it occurs in a cheap motel or a shotgun shack, it's a Blues death. Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is another Blues way to die. So is the electric chair, substance abuse, and dying lonely on a broken down cot. You can't have a Blues death if you die during a tennis match or getting liposuction.

16. Some Blues names for women:

    a) Sadie
    b) Big Mama
    c) Bessie
    d) Fat River Dumpling

17. Some Blues names for men:

    a) Joe
    b) Willie
    c) Little Willie
    d) Big Willie

18. Persons with names like Sierra, Sequoia, and Rainbow can't sing the Blues no matter how many men they shoot in Memphis.

19. Make yer own Blues name (starter kit):

    a) name of physical infirmity (Blind, Cripple, Lame, etc.)
    b) first name (see above) plus name of fruit (Lemon, Lime, Kiwi, etc.)
    c) last name of President (Jefferson, Johnson, Fillmore, etc.)

For example, Blind Lime Jefferson, or Cripple Kiwi Fillmore, etc.

20. I don't care how tragic your life: you own a computer, you cannot sing the blues. You best destroy it- with fire, a spilled bottle of Mad Dog, or get out a shotgun. Maybe your big woman just done sat on it. I don't care.

21. Presbyterians, Episcopalians, Lutherans and Quakers cannot have the blues. Baptists, Methodists, lapsed Catholics, AME and AME Zion adherents and any member of any Holiness sect can. Jews cannot, although they can be in a New York state of mind that is a distant cousin to the blues. Muslims can have the blues but generally don't.




 

.....' waking up is hard to do' croons a singer ...

 

‘Woke up this morning ...’ and what am I awake to ....

I often turn the computer off. There’s more information - if that’s what I’m looking for - than I can absorb. It’s a torrent in which I could drown.

It’s the big picture but don’t forget the tiny detail. The outside world, the local world and the internal world.

Perhaps there was a time in which the outer world was on a roughly parallel path to the local world but, no, it was just appearing that way.

‘Those truths we hold to be ....’   try again ..... ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights,...’ oh yes .. that’s the one. United States - remember them? - Declaration of Independence.

Well - they’re not self evident and the fact that those fine words required such an emphasis as ‘self evident’ implies a doubt that they would be widely seen to be true.

Slavery and total control is what already exists in all countries and I’m not talking about cotton plantations and ‘Yes master’ scenarios from out the Deep South of some bygone age.

It’s a little known aspect about the abolition of slavery that many slave owner could see the sense in granting freedom. It was a granting of freedom to the slave owners and not the slaves which made abolition of slavery so attractive.

Owning slaves is a responsibility. They have to be fed, housed and looked after when sick. Why not grant them freedom, pay them the bare equivalent of what it was costing anyway to keep them alive ... and let them have the responsibility of ‘in sickness and in health.’

Brilliant - dress it up like that and call it freedom. They’ll be forever grateful and still, essentially, be slaves.

Nothing has changed and Democracy, Fascism and Empire have all failed in respect to freedom.

Nobody can grant me freedom - not from the limitations which my own mind accepts..... and accepts as normal, the ‘way things are,’ and not to be questioned.

Question everything .... I pause and add  ... including God. Why would a loving God not welcome all and every question? Getting an intelligent answer has never come back my way in words from ‘out there’ but comes back in small, rich detail from those around me, ‘nature calling’ and from within.

What is self evident to me is the bloated and corrupt nature of those who pretend to lead - and it is a pretence when no-one is ever held accountable. The parasites of Wall Street .... even the name ... a wall which, by its very nature, separates .... and it’s held separate from Main Street - where the real work takes place, where jobs at minimum wage are to be found. Or not.

There is no trace of nobility to be found within the ‘powers that be.’  Sly, cunning and devious are the fabrics of the robes they wear. Stunted in stature by the weight of their tawdry ambition.

So waking up this morning, to a bright and sunny day.
And what am I awake to - oh tell me this, I pray.
That nothing is just what it seems - within us, we contain the means
to make a difference, to have some substance, to take our rightful  place.

I don’t go out and play music often. I don’t know why I’m so ready, particularly in winter, to find reason to not go out and play. It’s only up the road a bit but I’ve got no great urge to be a performer nor am I an entertainer so, if my singer/songwriter aspect wears a bit thin - there’s my reason.

Symbols and Meanings everywhere, if I care to look. There are two local pubs in which a ‘plug and play’ operates. You put your name down on a blackboard and get ‘three songs or fifteen minutes’ to wail away.

The hotels are the Family Hotel - which is on every week - and the Imperial Hotel - once a month.

I’ve missed the Family Hotel for awhile and rarely get to the Imperial but I’ll go tonight and try out a song I wrote years ago but could never play quite as I heard it in my heart, rhythm and head. I’ve been practising and pretty much ‘got it.’

The Festival.

 

..... I was gardening in the winter mist ...

 

Are our thoughts our own? Can’t speak for ‘you or we’ but for me - I’ve had to reach a point where they are mine or rather pass through me. Either way, I take a brief and mild responsibility for them
It’s brief and mild because thoughts aren’t isolated from feeling particularly if conflict is involved. I’m not in conflict.
And conflict with others being the sometime different creature from conflict with ones self.
This line of thought is prompted by a mention of not censoring my thought, witnessing, not acting on the ones which may do harm - albeit we don’t know outcome. Witnessing is the key.
The concept of acting out of love - from sincere heart, nothing expected in return, isn’t - in my experience -  possible while the heart burns with resentment, bitterness and the like.
I don’t know how you might arrive at such state but, for me, the process of emptying the cup, the chalice, of bitter fruit took ... decade or two.
And when I thought, perhaps, ‘That’s it.’ it wasn’t.
Being a father within a lifetime intimate relationship wasn’t ‘in my fate.’ Being a father, regardless of fate, is part of my destiny - which is what I make of my fate, my ‘given’ life circumstance.
‘Put yourself last.’ became my mantra as I accepted that any sacrifice in order to maintain both relationship with child and cordial contact with mother must come from me. These are lifetime responsibilities for me to live up to. That’s the way I’ve ‘seen’ it.
While I can cry ‘Unfair !’ when mother moves to another State, thus involving blah, blah blah for me in terms of difficulty, it’s not unfair at all. It is a natural consequence of lives taking separate paths. It is up to me to make adjustment accordingly. And do it with ‘good grace.’
Simple though it sounds, it wasn’t.
‘Put myself last.’ isn’t a wimpy mantra. Its ‘shiny’ aspect is ‘Put others first.’ For me this involved bringing ‘whatever was needed’ to make life run smoothly. The ‘going the extra mile’ as a way of being.
Somewhere in that life process, the cup got emptied, scoured clean which, in turn, allows love to take its place.
O.K. - I’ve left out so much - life is like being in a washing machine.
It was ‘are our thoughts our own’ which got me thinking - well - yes, for me, they are. There’s no blame or judgement implied.

The horrendous state of hatred where all manner of beasties can arise within my mind is from within my human nature which is, by definition, shared. I don’t blame it on demonic possession or outside agency but accept that ‘this too’ is part of the human condition.
It’s whether I act on these dreadful impulses which matters as much as the acceptance of ‘This is what I feel and I can do no more than endure it.’
Much later in life I experience hatred. Endure it. See it gone.
I’m not in such miserable state so ‘brief and mild’ responsibility for my thoughts is relatively easy to bear.
The conflict with both the other and oneself becomes minimal.

I don’t know why this comes to mind but, once upon a time, I was the garbageman at a high school where the playground bins had printed signs saying ‘DO THE RIGHT THING.’
I could and did leave the place spotless at the end of each day. I never liked that slogan - that insolent command. What ‘RIGHT THING’ are you talking about which makes sense to a kid who lives, temporarily, in a clothing bin? We had a few in troubled circumstance.
I replaced the slogans with signs which read ‘PLEASE CARE.’
There’s so much implied in the word care .. and in the word please.
‘Should be more of it!’





























                   

 

.... life's a journey ....

 

The paradigms are a shifting. Are they? How do I qualify that?

At the Family Hotel for the Wednesday night ‘plug ‘n play’ and I get there early enough to eat something before playing.

I’ve contacted Eliot, who runs the night, to ask if he can alter the frequency of the song we’ve just recorded - the one about paradigms.

I had felt a need to check what a paradigm actually is - it’s a way of thinking, the background beliefs which guide our actions, the way we see the world - both the man made and the natural. The assumptions we make. A paradigm is a standard, perspective, or set of ideas. A paradigm is a way of looking at something.

Why would I want to change the frequency of a song recorded? Because it was recorded using 440 Hz as the frequency used in the tuning of A above middle C.

This may sound complicated but it really isn’t.

“Most music worldwide has been tuned to A=440 Hz since the International Standards Organization (ISO) promoted it in 1953. However, when looking at the vibratory nature of the universe, it’s possible that this pitch is disharmonious with the natural resonance of nature and may generate negative effects on human behaviour and consciousness.”

If that sounds ‘could be/maybe’ it isn’t. There’s much work been done in the field of cymatics.

“432 Hz is said to be mathematically consistent with the patterns of the universe. It is said that 432 Hz vibrates with the universe’s golden mean PHI and unifies the properties of light, time, space, matter, gravity and magnetism with biology, the DNA code and consciousness. When our atoms and DNA start to resonate in harmony with the spiralling pattern of nature, our sense of connection to nature is said to be magnified. The number 432 is also reflected in ratios of the Sun, Earth, and the moon as well as the precession of the equinoxes, the Great Pyramid of Egypt, Stonehenge, the Sri Yantra among many other sacred sites.”

I can tune the guitar using 432Hz but this presents difficulties when playing music with others. As to why 440 Hz was promoted as the standard to be used - despite opposition from musicians - is another question. The effort to promote 440 as the standard - a discordant standard - was achieved in 1939 - in time for World War 2 and it was done so by both Germany and Britain.

This information isn’t generally known and changes the paradigm I’d held about music. A paradigm which I’d never questioned because my assumption was that music is .... music.

So Eliot will change the audio file but more to humour me than because he sees a need. For me this is a need. If paradigms are shifting then it makes sense to make this subtle but important change.

The paradigms - they are a shifting. This is true in many areas of life as we experience it.

We don’t hear anything about 9/11 and if I bring up the thousands of architects, engineers and pilots who question the whole event, I’ve received back a response which suggests that many just will not entertain ideas which threaten their assumptions...... to paraphrase .... “What about the hundreds of thousands of architects who see nothing wrong with the official story.”

I’m back in time where Galileo is hearing a similar response when he dared suggest that - not only is the Earth NOT the centre of the universe but that he has proof.

Such were the paradigms of the day that his situation became ‘Recant or die.’

Many are aware of the assault happening now upon all of mankind. It’s both direct and indirect. Many are not.

A fall from grace is understood to be usually the result of pride or some combination of attributes which removes us from our common humanity and has us soaring far above with lofty viewpoint. Such is the view from those, squatting for awhile uneasy, at the top of a material pyramid

A fall to grace is also possible. This song was prompted by ... you’ll have experienced similar thoughts - perhaps but possibly - no doubt.

On a flight out of darkness. ......on a day such as this
I fell through the cloud and......ragged of breath
 ..........stumbled on into the night

It’s a  grim satisfaction, .....a stranger delight
That in the midst of the trouble ......more can be taken
Before  stumbling on into the light

And  you  say  to  me   it’s  a  beautiful  day,
Not a  cloud  in  the  sky -  not that  I  can  see anyway
And  you  say  to  me    it’s  a  beautiful  day,
Not  a  cloud  in  the  sky................  no  matter anyway
          
On a flight  out of chaos .........by the seat of my pants
Life  brought me the cup which is bitter and sweet
 .........took  me  right out of  my trance
Who’ll  now say it’s half empty.....who’ll  now say it’s half full
A  toast  to  the  walking  wounded  of  spirit
A dram  for  the  splintered  ghost

And you say to me it’s a beautiful day
Not a  cloud in the sky......not that I  can see anyway
You say to me it’s a  beautiful day,
Not a cloud in  the sky.........   no matter anyway
         
 
What planet are you really from. Is there a point at which I can get on D’you  know how much I’d like  to  believe
Resting  for a moment in this ....

When you say to me ..... it’s a beautiful day,
Not   a  cloud  in  the  sky ............... no   matter anyway  

 ...............I  can see anyway.

It’s quite possible to hold many views - all at the same time. Words are slippery, an insight is a sliver of experience, something carved and shaped but not the totality. How can it be when clumsy words are the tools at hand.

 

.... paradigms ....

 

There’s a limit to what I can do alone. I stopped most of my writing here at saucepanbach but found zen gardner’s site which bubbles with new articles about every subject under the sun.
Interesting, educational, encouraging and welcoming. All with a healthy dose of love.
It was zen who accepted my song - two planes - and posted the great video which goes with it - the creation of finncut.
A pool of water is beautiful but can become stagnant. Pools, joined together and flowing, escape such a fate.
‘Would I like to record ‘The paradigms they are a shiftin’?’ asks zen.
I’ve done so.

Come gather ’round people
Get out of your car
The cameras around you
All know who you are
You thought this would happen
In some time afar
But it’s happening right now before you….
As the waves you saw mounting
Now flood where you are
For the paradigms they are a-shiftin’.

Religions, Freemasons
Illuminati and all
They each work in concert
To devise our fall
Will you look around
And take up the call
This world they’ve contrived is a prison…
So you’d better wake up
Or get locked in their walls
For the paradigms they are a-shiftin’.

Come senators, congressmen
And all who are bought
You know you are crooked
And with fear are fraught
You’ve neglected the poor
And our good have not sought
We know you’re all working against us…
But in your devices
You soon shall be caught
For the paradigms they are a-shiftin’.

The curtain is drawn
And now all can see
The Matrix is not all
It’s cracked up to be
It’s we that they fear
Since we’ll always be free
No matter what evil befalls us…
Just let in the Light
And the darkness will flee
For the paradigms they are a-shiftin’.

And so we wonder
Just what can we do
Know that to Truth
Love and Conscience be true
The awakening’s happening
To me and you
And there’s no way that they can control it…
So follow your heart
The vibrations are true
For the paradigms they are a-shiftin’.

 

... Building 7 ...

 

‘9/11 and the Seventh Tower.’

Building 7, coming down in free fall - for me -  was the fourth shock of that day. It wasn’t hit with a plane yet it fell into its own footprint.

9/11 has been the litmus test of our times but you had to ‘be there’ - at least via the media - to witness the unfolding of the event. If you weren’t a witness you’d have missed Building 7. Hard to make a forty seven story building disappear but that’s exactly what the mass media did with it over the following days.

First plane hits and shock of ‘terrible accident’ hits me to be followed by a second shock of ‘no accident’ as the second tower is hit. Third shock as both towers come down - again into their own footprint - and controlled demolition and massive organisation is obvious and, thus, a false flag event is not just implied but realised.

Fourth shock when Building 7 falls and the laws of physics were apparently broken.

I witnessed all this and more.

Years went by and I watched while 9/11 faded from mainstream memory and the world changed for the worse because of the wars which followed.

Hours and hours of video and articles, questioning the official story, morphed into hours and hours more and most of it seemed reasonable to me.

It got a bit mind boggling and I eventually distilled my original four shocks - my gut instinct - into a song - ‘Two planes’ - which focuses on the impossibility of Building 7's downfall.

Neil Harrit is interviewed in the video ‘9/11 and the Seventh Tower.’
He is both blunt and careful.


With that idea of ‘do what I can to pass it on’  .... ‘the truth hurts but lies kill us.’

 

..... to what's ahead ...

 

Not everything I write is worth reading. It’s partially why I stopped writing – ran out of things to say and haven’t found the clarity needed to express my thoughts any differently.

The state of the world hasn’t got better but as I don’t expect good news anytime soon I’m left wondering – a normal state of affairs.

I’m not a doomsayer nor in the depths of depression but I am tired. Weary is closer. Weary of so much that a holiday won’t fix the issue.

Almost thirty years since I had a paid holiday in any normal sense of that term. Quite a few adventures but nothing in the ‘let’s just be a traveller/tourist’ framework.

Not complaining, just stating. There are many who feel weary with greater cause than I.

Huge changes going on within the Health Care system here in Oz. It may not affect you personally as yet -  if you live here - but the accountants have looked ahead and see a massive increase in demand for services across the board. Home Care and Child Respite services will be privatised over the next few months, the system of Group Homes to follow shortly after.

As our staffing can’t be cut any lower than it is now – usually one staff member on duty at a time, it’s hard to see where profit is to be made by the private sector. As it will be privatised by a tender process, no doubt, a profit margin will be factored in and I think the profit factor in this equation is of little concern to the government and that the passing over of responsibility is the primary and most urgent impetus for these changes.

I’ll welcome this change on a personal level and look for some other outlet for my energies. It will be a natural break. Natural as opposed to forced.

Can’t easily afford to retire but it sounds very appealing.

Like much in life ….  ‘ We’ll see.’

Events unfold in the wider world and my awareness of the extent of – can’t keep calling it misinformation when the truth is -  lies become more apparent and transparent. Very futuristic as a Brave New World within a New World Order takes greater shape.

There is a growing and clear eyed awareness of the extent of the problems facing us all and this does hearten me. For all the evil manifesting and being exposed there is and will be countervailing forces which will have impact.

What shape this will take is unknown to me so – ‘have a bit of faith’ is my quiet reminder.

 

... in a mirror distorted .....

 

Today, like others, I carry the keys to the kingdom. They hang around my neck and are used constantly. It’s a responsibility and it mirrors the responsibilities of the kingdoms of the wider world.
That mirror is distorted in the wider world.
The keys here are absolutely needed. So it usually is, with keys, in the wider world. The population here accept authority, some don’t even see authority but just accept that ‘This is the way it is.’
There’s the occasional rebellion though it’s fragmented and fairly easily managed. There is no controlled opposition. In this kingdom all can vote on the decisions which are simple to understand but the greater concerns of this kingdom and the overall planning for a future for this population is not a matter in which they have any say. Whether their lives are creative, constructive or pleasant is a concern but it’s subservient to the wider plan. They’ll just have to accept the new reality. These people have very limited options.
And yet – who knows what goes on within the freedom of their minds. I can guess but I don’t know. We barely speak the same language, as far as words go, but we do speak warmth and inclusion, as best we can manage.
This is the reality I experience within the Group Home in which I work. That’s the kingdom.
I’ve held partial stewardship of this realm for two decades. It’s been rewarding in terms of insights gained. Insights into our common humanity.
Within each of the people here, within their strengths and weaknesses I see myself reflected. Not all have much in the way of empathy but none are inhuman.
This place is remarkable – unlike any other. The people here lie within a very narrow band of intellect which – if it were lower – would place them in a nursing home and if any higher would give them the capacity to lie, cheat and steal, to be manipulative, in short – to be like those who rule in the kingdoms of the wider world.
This is why the phrase ‘ mirror distorted.’ comes so readily to mind.
The keys here are needed for one reason alone.
We have a problem or rather we’ve had one and the potential remains. We have a man who knows no boundaries, for whom the idea that ‘ One is good’ has been expanded to ‘Two must be better and three better still.’ It affects every aspect of his life and, without boundaries, his life becomes a disaster. A walking ‘occupational health and safety’ issue for all around him.
For the good of all concerned a great deal is locked away until needed.
The ‘mirror distorted’ in the kingdoms of the world has such people in positions of power and control. There is never a point at which the sanity of ‘enough is enough’ prevails. They want it all and sharing isn’t an attribute of such people.
I wonder whether they’d be better served in a Group Home, with behavioural intervention strategies in place, but – such is the distortion of the mirror – this isn’t recognised as a reasonable idea.
Whether we’ve room for them or could cope with such an influx is another matter.

 

 

..... along the the way I met ...

 

It was science fiction, in those far off days of youth, to look ahead and not just wonder at how scientific achievements might change the world but also how society itself could be manipulated to achieve goals which had no benefit to mankind.

I was young, idealistic and naïve and didn’t appreciate that manipulation is incremental by its very nature and that, from beginning to end, this process takes many small steps, none of which – on its own – need be of obvious concern.

The road to hell – not necessarily  paved with good intentions – is also a slippery slope.

Older now and still with ideals and naivite.

It’s what you’re used to - familiar with - which sets the standard and, in those far off days, there was less conflict on the streets. Less obvious conflict but seeds sown for future conflicts, none of which were taught to me at school.

The maps of geography had detail showing the terrain. Contour maps and maps which show the borders of countries. Barely a straight line in sight across Europe, or in South America but Africa and the Middle East have long boundaries drawn with a straight edge.

Why did our teacher not see fit to remark that these straight line borders were deliberately determined by the world empire of the day for the purpose of dividing tribes and nations from their traditional lands thus keeping them fractured and of no great threat while pillage was carried out in the name of business dressed up as civilisation.

It’s what you get used to and our teacher perhaps thought that this was a good idea ... the way things should be.

A straight line on a map is artificial but if accepted as real then it might as well be real and will be accepted as such. That this may cause conflict and division with the tribes artificially separated will be of no concern to those who drew the lines.

Now I’m living through those once far off days and it concerns me how much is not mentioned.

We are living in a time of perpetual war where the seeds were sown long before straight lines appeared on maps.

I have a mental map which is true and accurate in which the oceans are poisoned by the spew of Fukushima, where toxic sludge fills the once pristine rivers of developing countries, where the savagery of man is glorified and where the skies rain chemtrails and the air crackles with electromagnetic waves.

It’s a toxic brew and needs to be voiced and vomited.

There are more tracking and surveillance devices in the pipeline and none of it bodes well for humanity.

In that science fiction of far off days, there was little mention of spiritual forces which counter the evil we see exposed. Not talking of mystical powers but of growing awareness on a personal level and a corresponding call to action.

What form that action takes is an individual matter - an aspect of the heart in motion perhaps.

It’s a good start. I can only go one step at a time. It’s a journey and while we may have a map of sorts, we don’t know what we’ll meet along the way.

 

... not so smart meters ...

 

... meanwhile, here in Oz, I'm prompted again to write to our local newspaper which doesn't like my rare letters but this matters.

When mobile phones first made an appearance, there was little thought given to the medium to long term health effects of this technology. The benefits were obvious though that’s open to dispute.

That you would not give such a device to a small child was generally understood – after all, a child’s skull is thin and  radiation is not conducive to normal growth.

Nothing has changed. The studies are still being undertaken yet babies in their cribs have well meaning parents placing mobile phones with an application which plays soothing sounds of the sea, placed near their child’s head.

Who will speak up? Not those who make money from this technology and, partly because of this, society is lulled into a deadly stupor.

Smart meters – a dismal failure for those who suffer health problems and for those who are concerned about privacy - are now being touted by our Federal government as being the next thing we all need.

We don’t. It’s the last thing we need.

There is no sound reason for the population to accept this ‘internet of things’ as if it’s automatically good because we’re told so. It does not benefit you or I. It benefits those who market information. It’s ultimately about control and not about giving you control.

If it were otherwise, solar power would be both promoted and subsidised until the individual has no need of a power company.

We generate our own power – unless we give it away.


 

... how are you .....

 

What’s been happening for me this last year or so which has left me enough discombobulated to have little to say but a great deal to contemplate.
Very long term friendships - gone. Two of them. You don’t get many. One may be rescued but not by direct means. The other - just let it go. I’m not happy about it.

Both are women - soul sisters in a way. Both are wonderful women - an asset to their community. Both are victims and ‘do their best’ but cannot or will not address issues central to their well-being or, eventually and ultimately, to mine.

Those around them are also an issue.

‘They’ are those who, also, cannot or will not address issues central to their own well- being but are now dependent upon another ‘human being’ and one who has a limit.... recognised or not.
It all becomes a sham in some utterly real way. ‘Shhsshh ... don’t mention ... whatever’ .... and it’s like walking on eggshells while pretending it’s deep pile carpet.

I don’t like pretence. I can’t do it. It’s a cursed blessing of living a quiet life. I live with me, my thoughts and feelings and, also, with those  moments when a veil is lifted and I see things as they are.... within a situation, a relationship. I grieve a bit. How could you not.

I’m not meant to have ‘Friends for life - through thick and thin.’ I don’t accept that ‘blood is thicker than water’ .... not under all circumstances. My life doesn’t work that way. I’m needed and respond as best I can and, vice versa, no doubt, and then ‘that time’ is past. It doesn’t negate a relationship just because I withdraw and make clear why... or just because the usefulness of the time is over.

There’s nothing melancholy in this. It maybe just reads that way.

Huge changes are happening some of which are deeply personal. I can cope with that because ... huge changes are to be expected within the times in which we live.

It costs a great deal but no price is too high ... too high for what ... and what’s ‘it?’

Some form of integrity? Some expression of selfless love - some common humanity? A ‘do no harm’ approach to life? Yes to all that.

My somewhat pleasant life is constantly discombobulated by world affairs, the unfolding of what I see but those I love - as family or friend - do not.
Not quite  true, of course, as pretty much everybody recognises direct threat.... or the sense of unease which precedes it.

My life has been sustained by ‘looking after people’ - that’s ‘it’ - essentially. This will come to a natural end within a year as the health system here gets privatised and I then have opportunity for ‘something else’ to become my reality.

I have no idea what that may be - within this present moment.

‘God, guide my steps.’ .. you always have.

 

... social being ...

 

How’s your social life? I only ask because an email correspondence brings up that subject.

“ ...We three couldn't be more blessed/lucky, we only lack one thing & that's people action. I don't know where everyone has disappeared to, well I have ideas - most likely cyber/tv world. We live like recluses. It bothers me that people only make an effort to visit if you invite them for a meal. We are fun, kind, generous, interesting people (no bragging, just honest) & nobody comes or invites... WTF? We feel like we're living in a social vacuum.”

Hmm .... my family would suggest that I live like a recluse. They visit each other for weekends.... not too often but I don’t and not because I don’t like/love them but because of other aspects of ‘me.’ ... as life experience has shaped me.

My response was as follows.

‘Ironic that we should be talking about it as my social life is minimal. Although I go out and sometimes play at the weekly 'plug and play', that's about the extent of social life for me. I go to dinner with a few musicians and see the family but not much more. I think you're right about cyber/t.v. world and the cocoon that that offers and I think that this runs deep.

Even the dim witted must get some sense that all is not as we'd wish in the wider world and, rather than face that truth with all its ugly implications, it's easier to pretend otherwise... and, I guess, if you don't think about it, there's nothing about which to be concerned.

I have a friend who is wealthy and earned it in a good way. He laments that few come to visit in that 'just drop in' sense and I respond by suggesting that perhaps those people feel as though they don't quite measure up .... it's not as though they've been overseas lately and are, maybe, struggling with difficult circumstance. Their concerns are different. ... and, of course, when you're in your sixties you've either 'made it' in some sense or you haven't and if your self esteem is determined by what you've achieved in some obvious way then ... you might feel inadequate.

My friend is a warm human being with huge heart who has enriched the lives of those he's met and worked with. His occasional parties are great and yet I feel a bit of trepidation about rolling up on my own. It's silly but there it is. Many people are on their own and will understand that trepidation.

I haven't had a holiday as such since 1986 when I went to Bali for a month. The rest of my family have trod the well worn path of marriage, secure job and family and have benefited well from early entry into the real estate market. I don't know how deliberate their moves were but - for me - I didn't quite understand 'career' and 'putting a roof over your head' as being as important until forty or so. Thus - still paying but no problem with that - in terms of putting a roof over my head - as it dovetails, without too much effort - into the fairly solitary but somewhat creative life I lead. Career was never something which worked in easily with the sixties and the life I've led, thus, overseas holidays aren't on my agenda and it took many years for me to understand that a cup of coffee in a street café holds more benefit than just having a cup of coffee. ... I got used to poverty and adjusted.
I don't feel poor because it's all relative and the affection which comes my way is regardless of good looks or position in society..... yet I 'live quiet' but do so in the knowledge that everything can change very quickly.
I make a plan to travel around Wales - my childhood home - in a year or so but equally, feel that life is so uncertain that 'all bets are off' is actually the way things are.
I play chess, by correspondence, with a friend on the other side of Oz. He isn't connected to the web so we write letters. It's very funny. We're on our second game. First one took ten years, then we had a break of a year before deciding that we might both have enough time to play the second game. We started that one in 2009. Maybe we’re half way through and the game is unimportant. The connection between this man and myself spans forty years and that connection wouldn’t have survived without a ‘Greetings, David ...’ every few months.

How’s your social life? Don’t quite know how to actually measure it except by the quality rather than the quantity of connection.

 

.... matrix crashing ....

 

 I wrote this as a response to an article at zengardner about 'The matrix is breaking down.'

Some of you may not, yet, have discovered zengardner. If you are moved to dig deep for truth, you could do worse than pay a visit.

 

Reincarnation makes great sense to me. Doesn’t mean it’s the truth.

On the other hand, one life and that’s it - all weighed up by a deity and it’s ‘over here or over there’ for eternity doesn’t make any sense to me and that’s simply because it took three decades for me  to work out which way was up.

How can I be expected to come into this world with an innocence which at some point is gone, work through a whole series of lies and deceits, not just in personal life but in the wider world, not go crazy in the process and come out smelling of roses.

I come into this world, live, die, go to the worms and that’s it. Alternative three perhaps. I’m sure there are more points of view.

That reality is ‘more than this’ isn’t something we’d argue over.

I watched a group of aboriginal tribal elders talk together today - an Aboriginal t.v. program - and they were talking about the notion of sovereignty.

So much wisdom - or rather common sense - was said over that hour.

We haven’t even got a treaty here in Australia.

How does this all link into the matrix is breaking down?

Perceptions get changed. Three words with huge significance for me. If it’s true for me, it’s true for you, otherwise this sense of we are all one, dimly or keenly felt, is a nonsense.

Here are some of the points that got made but first - I must mention the map.

I love maps. They’re works of art with other uses. We understand maps or, at least, we recognise them and give authority to what the map contains.

Even though I have some slight understanding of Aboriginal Australia and recognise that different country is looked after by different tribes, there was still a vague background image of hunter gatherers moving across this vast, ancient and empty land .... a sort of ‘no barriers’ idea which the map dispelled. Of course, I know it wasn’t empty but such is the power of repeated idea that if you asked many for a descriptive word for the dead heart - there we go again - of Australia - empty would come to mind. Not true. Not empty or dead. Convenient idea for some to portray.

It looked like a map of Europe with different colours separating the different countries. That’s exactly how it was. The different tribes would generally stay within their boundaries. Their customs and languages were different in much the same way that Spain is different to France or Wales to England. There were three hundred or so nations.

Numbers are a funny thing. My dad spent time in Africa and made a point of letting us children know that the word tribe is usually associated with a few hundred or a few thousands. There are some tribes with millions - they are nations.

This isn’t about numbers and is mentioned just to make that tribe - nation connection.

‘Sovereignty cannot be given - it can only be acknowledged’ was a point an aboriginal woman made in reference to white Australia and what might be meant by the word sovereignty.

‘We never ceded an inch of this country,’ she continues.

She talked about democracy which I’ve always accepted in that ‘shrug your shoulders’ way we have - hey - yes democracy is inefficient but it’s the best of a bad bunch of options.
She saw the idea of democracy arising as a response within  societies to a reality in which serfs and slaves existed but which didn’t exist in aboriginal societies. She didn’t approve of voting because it creates immediate division. Consensus is the aboriginal way.

Consensus is the aboriginal way. Powerful idea and doesn’t encourage charismatic leaders - usually men - who might be tempted to extend their influence.

She suggested that much of white Australia was just as subject to colonial mindsets and hierarchical systems, which suck the life and resources out of us, as aboriginal societies.

Not once did she use the word matrix but my sense was very much that all four of these people see today’s world as a sham, a hollow thing. Something far removed from real alternatives.

Of course, we know that’s true.

I think I’ve written this because there really is a core to my being which yearns for connection with whatever the divine is and chooses to believe that nothing - no entity, no whatevers can stand in the way of what ‘heaven’ decrees. Prison planet? Maybe so but I’m here with my real responsibilities to guide my actions and while the detail in the bigger picture is important, it’s not the ‘be all and end all.’

Stormy days ahead though.
much love is going to be needed.

 

... and the news from space is ....

 

Been reading again, Velikovsky’s ‘Earth in Upheaval.’

‘Worlds in collision.’ was complete ‘eye opener’ for me when I first read it decades back.

Velikovsky reveals a chaotic and recent catastrophic past which is etched in the collective memory of mankind and finds common expression in myth and legend from all parts of the world.

What a scholar. His pages have footnote after footnote. Meticulous presentation yet written with such vivid imagery that I see what he describes.

Forgive me if memory plays me false but this is how I remember his initial prompting to follow a line of thought.

The Bible - with which he was familiar - mentions a time when the sun stood still.

‘Surely not.’ he thought.

‘In all of recorded history, no-one has made such an absurd claim. What could possibly account for the sun standing still.’

There is such a possibility and it refers to the slowing of the rotation of the earth itself. If this actually happened then there must be a corresponding remembrance of a ‘Long night.’ on the other side of the planet.

He looked and found correspondence in every tradition.

‘Worlds in collision.’ is magnificent. Science fiction - of which I’m a devotee - pales compared to the scope of what mankind faced and not so long ago.

Although his book was at the top of the best seller list, his ideas and proofs presented so threatened the established view that a tiny group of academics were able to convince the publisher to cease publication or face a consequence of having a lucrative text book contract terminated.

That ploy succeeded but Velikovsky - who was a scholar in many fields - persevered.

Derided for relying on folklore with which he’d made his case, he promptly wrote ‘Earth in Upheaval’ which looks at the geology, fossils, improbable realities such as snap frozen mammoth elephants discovered in Siberia complete with the temperate climate vegetation in their mouths which became their last supper.

Velikovsky is admirable. He wrote his books and made predictions about such matters as the temperature on the surface of Venus. He did this before space probes could verify his claims.

Venus was thought of as a sister planet - perhaps a viable place for man. Velikovsky suggested a surface temperature utterly hostile to life and an atmosphere composed largely of hydrocarbons.

He retracted nothing and his predictions were verified.        

He proposed an electric universe and it’s upon his shoulders that so many now stand.

Thunderbolts.org are electric universe proponents. Their work is also meticulous.

As yet, mainstream academia has too much to lose, in the way of tenure, for them to give up a non electric universe where comets are still described as dirty snowballs when all the evidence is to the contrary.

Suspicious observers have a link to a video which prompted this piece.

try youtube.... then search Suspicious observers 'Comets, a great flood and electric geology'

... for some unknown reason I can't just post links on this page

 

..... just wondering ......

 

What sits at the back of my mind are the question marks regarding the ten commandments and how ...’thou shall not kill’ has been and continues to be dismissed, without a second thought, by Judaism, Christianity and Islam.

I read the commandments once, I read them twice - and again - and look at a world where, at best, those commandments are seen as a wish list and not something to be taken seriously.

I take them seriously. Why doesn’t religion?

‘Thou shalt not kill.’ - four words with no discretion or room for manoeuver shown.

There is no ‘extra’ bit stating that it’s fine to kill if the other is not of your religion.

The implication is that all of mankind are God’s children so ‘Do not kill each other.’

There is no justification for killing yet we do it anyway.

Wouldn’t God already know that if someone comes to kill my family that I would respond in like manner? Kill or be killed?

So why have a commandment which, at times, is impossible to keep?

Because taking a life is serious business and we DON’T recognise just how serious it is for both the killer and the killed.

The commandment is there to let us know that - regardless of men’s interpretation - there is no such thing as a holy war - it’s a nonsense, an abomination, a fraud.

If there be a holy war, it’s the one I wage against myself and that gets waged against bigotry, mean spirit, dishonesty and the like - the more miserable aspects of myself - and, as you are no different to me - this applies to you.

I’ve been wondering about religion which ultimately is no more than a coat, a framework, a ceremony. It is of no use at all without a direct relationship with the Divine. Without a real relationship with the Divine, religion is empty ... and all the bowing and the scraping in the world won’t change that truth..

The whole world is my church.

If I accept that God is ALL then ... then what?

The I Ching predates all the Abrahamic religions but ‘Who got here first.’ isn’t the point.

The Divine - being ALL - was here before the I Ching.

If there be truth in the idea that God is aware of a sparrow falling, how much more so, perhaps, in the lives of each and every one of us.

As that thought came to mind, I was standing at the kitchen table, staring out into the garden through the screen door.

I glance down at a piece of paper sitting on the table. A tiny spider appears from underneath the paper. So tiny, I surprised myself by seeing it at all.

Without conscious thought, I manage to pick it up and transfer it as gently as I can to the garden outside.

From the thought about the sparrow to the action with the spider to resuming my standing position takes only seconds and the warm thought appears in my mind that the Divine has just demonstrated to me, yet again, both the Divine’s existence and that the Divine is always with me , never left and that we have real choices to make - moment by moment.

The world is ruled by cabals of criminals. They operate as a gang. You’re either in or you’re out. Columbian drug cartels, the mafia, the list is endless and none of them make pretence that membership in the gang is for everybody.

They kill, rape and corrupt. Slavery is the name of the game and all the talk about honour, respect and so on is transparently ... rubbish.

Am I talking about the British empire, the American century, the world financial system which finances every evil under the sun ... and has done so for centuries?

Yes.

Am I talking about the extremists of Islam?

Yes.

Am I talking about that tired and withered branch of Judaism which sees those not in the gang as cattle?

Yes.

Christ made clear what Christianity hasn’t.

We’re all God’s children - no exceptions.

‘No man comes to the Father but that he come through me.’ is not literal. It’s about having some tiny spark - and that’s all that’s needed - of Christ consciousness.

You can find Christ consciousness in a Buddhist. There’s no contradiction.

You wont find a trace of it in ISIS anymore than you’ll find it at a Rothschild’s tea party.

They’re cut from the same cloth.

The revulsion I feel for the bloodthirsty zealots amongst us is partly because I recognise the zealot within myself.

ISIS - you butcher your way through villages, towns, societies and families. You take sex slaves on the basis that they’re not in your gang and thus that makes it o.k.?

How are you doing God’s work? How are you any different to any other gang of thugs - the American government and Israel come to mind.

I’d like an answer which doesn’t come dripping in blood and I’m asking this in name of the God whose glory you chant and do so with all the mindless passion of a crowd of football hooligans.    

I’d like to know what it is you hold in your heart and not your hand.

You o.k. with that?

Love ... cautiously.

 

..... quieter awhile .....

 

By 2008 I’d self recorded three cds which may appear excessive as none of them have done a great deal. Not if I look at success in quite such a limited way.

Without music - and I can’t read music - my life would be less creative..... we are all creative. My attempts at poetry were able to be coupled with perhaps three or four chords and a melody which usually revealed itself by singing the early words.

If a happy combination of circumstance had not come my way, I wouldn’t have had any of those cds. I don’t play guitar on any of my recorded songs apart from the last few. Why would I? I had the ability to write a song or two a year but playing it with some technical competence isn’t needed in the writing but is so in the recording and excellent people came forward.

So - it’s now four cds and how to promote them when my underlying sense has always been that songs stand or fall on their own merit. Runs counter to sensible marketing but that’s the way it’s been.

Felt uneasy about using facebook because I don’t like facebook and I’m rude about my views on many things that strike me as wrong and why would I wish to ‘tar with the same brush’ those who don’t share my views but are unfortunate enough to be ‘friends’ on social media.

Through CDBaby and then Hostbaby, this site came into existence as a logical last step in getting the music out there. That done, I started writing these small posts - often about gardening or on travelling across the Queensland plains and waxing lyrical about the strong sense of time displacement which had me driving below a placid inland sea in some ancient landscape only one step removed from today. Just imagination.

I got better at playing, started learning scales just before sixty and will continue playing regardless. It’s a lifetime condition. Along the way, I’ve plucked up the courage to play on a fairly regular basis - just locally but with other musicians. It’s been wonderful and a challenge.


This is a preamble to ‘going quieter’ here basically because I’ve nothing to say. However I’ve found real connection about interesting topics at zengardner.


cheers .... wouldn’t believe this but ‘Songwriters across Australia’ is playing on t.v.-  late at night right now - and the song they’re playing has a hook which is ...’nothing to say.’

Love synchronicity.



 

...... agreed on ......

 

                              Agreed on      (slow blues Bm, A, G )

I wonder if there isn’t something .... that we’re all agreed on.

There’s a need on, a feed on, a read on, a bleed on, a bleed on.

I wonder if there isn’t something ..... that connects us,

Don’t reject us, that expects us ... embraces you and me.


Whatever that might be ... means more than my survival,

Or our arrival at some point ..... of departure for places unknown.

Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, .....please.....take this serious
........... that world’s a changing and we’re not, .......not alone.


I wonder if there isn’t something .... that we’re all agreed on.

There’s a need on - that’s for sure - it’s for  more and more and more.

Got to be ready, got to be willing, got to be able to face the day.

As  the storm passes over, when the storm passes over, while the storm grinds away.

..............................................

I took this song to the weekly ‘plug ‘n play’ last night. The music night is always there, sometimes quiet, sometimes not. Nobody is there to get drunk and a love of music links us all. I don’t go every week - more a ‘as the spirit moves me.’ .... and quite often I can’t quite find that spirit for any number of reasons.

I’m not a good musician - and I know it’s all relative -  but it hasn’t mattered as, over time, people have been very willing to get up and join me. As I’m not an entertainer nor am I looking for fame and fortune, this active willingness allows for ‘the sum is greater than the parts’ to evolve and to do so naturally..... ego doesn’t ‘play’ at all when it comes to music so I still have to invite others to join in.

A tiny triangular stage doesn’t fit us all and Belinda looks brightly at me as she says ‘We’ve got an ensemble.’

I gave the lyrics out to keyboard and flute because I wanted intelligent response as to meaning or otherwise conveyed.

I got it.

Many of the people there are solo. Not looking for a partner but looking for a quality of connection.

The song was fine - I left plenty of spaces and threw the first verse in again, as a last verse - partly because very few listen to lyrics closely in such an environment but also because three chords are plenty for flute and keyboard to sing their notes and have fun.

I play my renditions of ‘Throw your arms around me’ and Leonard Cohen’s  ‘Halleluiah’ and our set of three songs is finished.

Keyboard player and I ‘have a chat’ and he observes that the world has seen storms before - Empires come and go - but that what is happening now is very different.

Without a music night, I’d have no social activity or almost none and I’d be fine with that but there’s an imperative at work which pushes me out of my comfort zone and says ‘Use the gifts you’ve got and are developing regardless of how small you see them.’

I find meaning here, there and everywhere. Sometimes I extract it and sometimes I put it in.

More often than not I sweat it to find it even when it’s staring me in the face.

 

..... and the well and the spring ....

 

All had gone quiet in my life when I got bitten by a reptilian entity.
It startled me with its bite though I realised quick enough that it was terrified and had missed my good intention.

I’d needed to clean out and repair the bowl of a small fountain which sits in the garden. It’s an annual job. One thought passes seamlessly into the next as I reflect on what a beautiful gift I’d been given. The fountain is two featureless heads, facing each other and with arms around each other’s shoulders. The water rises up between them and cascades - or rather, trickles - down a corkscrew type arrangement to the pool below.

The statue-fountain was a present and sits waist high. The pool I had to provide myself. The bowl, I purchased. It was the last in the shop and there aren’t many shops out this way so I accepted a damaged bowl which had been repaired. Perhaps not the best idea but ‘Impulsive’ and ‘Work with what you’ve got’ sometimes walk by, hand in hand.

The bowl containing the water not only feeds the fountain, relying on a small pump to do so, but all the small creatures who cannot see the fountain high but come to drink from the pool below.

How were they to know that the source on which they depended had momentarily ceased to be. Well they didn’t and thus the three day repair job was perhaps eternity to them and each day I’d remove the bugs and tiny critters, who come to drink but found nothing there and looking deeper, over the edge, so they’d fallen in.

After the repair, three coats of a rubber like substance gave the inside of the pool a sturdy resilience but left it black. I wondered that for awhile and decided to use some left over cream house paint to leave it ... lighter.

Paint doesn’t take long to dry. I can watch paint dry while I wonder. It’s just enough time for me to associate fountains with wells and wells with people. And the state of repair of our individual wells and how no blame attaches to anyone who has undertaken the task of repairing their well and - in the course of that process - become unusable for however long it takes to do the job properly.

I move to manoeuver the fountain back to the pool. The exquisite and delicate moss which covers the statue- fountain is drying out and patches are fallen off but it will recover its glory.

A tiny lizard - no longer than my little finger - runs around the inside of the bowl. It has cream paint upon it - must have fallen in within the last few minutes - and its head looks up, frantic, at the impossibly high walls.

My heart goes out to it. I find a bit of wood, to serve as a plank, so that it can escape but, after looking at it awhile,  it doesn’t use the plank for such obvious purpose, but uses instead the small shadow cast by the wood and sits within the shade.

It’s hot and bright white for it, in an empty pool.

A piece of paper prompts it to move but my fingers, looming large, as I gently try to move it in the right direction, frighten it yet again and it gives me the tinniest of nips from some tiny reptilian teeth.

Seizing the moment, because everything is at hand, I use the paper to lift it over the wall of the pool and it scurries away and under some mulch without backward glance.

‘It’s still covered in paint and in some shock.’ thought I and sprinkle some water over the area in which it hid and send it my apology.

The fountain is back in the pool. The bowl is holding water again. It’s quite small and needs replenishing every second day partly because the birds drink and wash and splash around and this physical pool is not fed by an inexhaustible spring.



 

.... well well ......

 

I don’t know where the nearest well might be located in this small town. Water comes by a tap in this neighbourhood. It’s done the same in every place I’ve lived. Perhaps I drank from the small stream which ran behind our house in my early childhood village but not because I had to, but out of childhood choice.

The image of the well is very powerful for me.

A well needs to be conveniently situated if it’s to be of use to people, so the romantic picture of a winding track, a leafy lane, leading to a glade in which a moss covered well sits unexpected, isolated  but charmingly placed also means that the well is probably seldom used which is a bit sad.

In such a woodland glade, the water may be pure, fed by an inexhaustible spring, coming up from the rock below and all contained within walls of stone. This is the best of wells and why wouldn’t it be an obvious blessing for everyone who needs a drink. Worth the walk even if you had to take your own rope and bucket.

Over time and most wells need repair. No great blame for that, just normal wear and tear. Whilst this is going on, the well cannot be used. It takes time and effort to clear out the muck and the debris of the accumulated years..... and once you’ve started why would you turn back. It must be good thing to undertake such a task if the outcome is a fully functioning well.

You can see where I’m going with this. I am responsible for my own well and the state of its repair.

That’s why this image of the well is potent for me. The common well of human nature from which we all draw. Our individual well and its capacity to nourish or otherwise. Is it fit for human consumption.

Took a long time to sink in that all of us are wells.

 

 

.... the heady wine of sucess ....

 

             Counting blessings .... strange expression.

Climbing the winding stairs which led to the upstairs room of a turret, he opened a solid wooden door and entered a darkened room. It was one of many, largely unused but furnished rooms within his Ivory tower.

The room was darkened with solid drapes because he’d never been able to shake his anxiety that someone, somehow would be able to see him as he opened the large chest which contained his treasures.

Silly, he knew. Nobody sat higher upon this hill.

He sighed with satisfaction. They’re all there.

He started to count his blessings. Wealth was coloured sparkling greed within the soft candle light. Bloodstones and Envy necklaces, Blueblood goblets, daggers of silk.

‘Ah.... this is good and all’s all right.’ he said, and as he turned, he sighed his relief.

Health looked tarnished but ‘ Age does that.’ he murmured, not totally reassured but heartened by the wealth to maybe fix the health.

Power shimmered, contained but flowing, held in a translucent globe.

‘That’s my baby,’ he whispered. ‘What will we do with you tomorrow?’

He’d never expected an answer and was never shocked when none came.

Day after day after day, the same routine. Power used, power abused, power grown. Wealth increased but health gets harder to weigh and measure.

Not once did he consider his blessing a curse. Not once did he notice the warmth existing outside his domain. Not once did he wonder at all.

Locking the door, he turned upon the narrow landing and looked at the view below.

‘Better hurry,’ he thought, ‘The Emperor’s new clothes are on display. I must get the name of his tailor.’

 

..... ticking boxes aint enough ....

 

I’m not suppose to talk about Dan.

‘Policy and Procedure.’intone the powers that be.....‘It’s a privacy concern.’

Right then.

Once upon a time and in a far off land lived a man called ..... Dan.

Dan is Down Syndrome and, in a darker, perhaps more compassionate age, he would have been placed, at birth, upon the hillside overnight, with a mother’s sorrow to keep him warm, until he died of exposure.

Dan squandered any chance of a childhood spent in a loving environment because he had no choice but to spend his internal wealth in ‘The Hall for Children’ where he spent much time at the back of the queue being robbed blind of all but his lingering humanity.. He didn’t understand the robbery. He didn’t understand what a pointing finger indicates and he didn’t understand that - for most of humanity - shit stinks.

He didn’t have a good time.

He whispers, if he speaks at all, and it’s so rare and brief a thing that I invariably miss it and am reduced to ‘What did you say?’

He looks at me with a face devoid of expression but not blank. He wears no make - up and doesn’t much know himself what’s he said.

He mimics what he learnt in early life and although he doesn’t speak as such, he’ll break into tuneful song at very loud volume and he does so at the drop of a hat..... and then he’ll stop. It’s terrific to hear him sing ‘Noel ... noeeelll.’ and the words come out as ‘No work.... no woooork.’ Sometimes he gives me a toothless grin as I chuckle but usually not.

His other delightful eccentricity is to swear very loudly and in complete sentences. The voice he adopts in which to swear, in such vile and consistent manner, is a faithful copy of some brutish carer, perhaps, long since dead but whose voice and savage intonation ripple into ‘now.’

‘Pull yer pants up,yer bastard.’ is ‘lite and easy’ standard diet for Dan and many a sweet little old lady has turned in the supermarket when Dan has spoken thus, only to recognise in an instant ‘where he’s at,’ and forgive accordingly.

The following, for me, is an illustration of the triumph of the human spirit and it’s this triumph which prompts this one fingered typing.

Dan can say far worse and often does. We just have to hope that the neighbours appreciate that it’s not the staff who ‘speak so grim.’

Anne Marie tells me that Dan was pushing the trolley in the supermarket the other day and that she could have sunk into the floor with embarrassment when Dan - behind an Aboriginal woman - lets rip at full volume with,

‘Get out of here you fucking black bastard.’

Aboriginal woman turns quickly, sees both Dan and Anne Marie, looks hard at Dan, sizes him up and, after that pause, smiles at him and says. ‘Isn’t he lovely.’

 

..... when not at home ....

 

‘After three days, guests and fish smell the same way.’

I’d thought it was a saying of Arab origin but not so...... it still rings true.

Spent much time, in decades past, in which circumstance have required that I be a guest, for a few days a week, in order to make life work.

To be a ‘good’ guest, I make as few demands as possible and even then - I’m conscious of being in someone else’s home or domain.

People make adjustments to accommodate a guest and, with the best will in the world, it’s a strain on the host.

As a guest, I’m fine in small doses and, being solitary in nature, feel that way about having visitors here in my home.

‘After three days, guests and fish smell the same way.’

Fish, sheep and cattle ..... strange ways in which to describe people.

 

......... nothing added .....

 

It’s Remembrance Day - why only today?

Can’t shake the underlying sadness of the last ‘awhile.’and take a walk through the valley of death.

No-one steps forward with anything but grief in their eyes. It’s not for themselves, it’s for the utter waste.

There are a few who are absorbed in listing the dead - I don’t know why - the list gets ever longer.

A figure stands alone. I recognise him.

‘Hello - Callous Indifference.’ say I.

‘Hello Idiot.’ he replies.

‘What’s with the idiot?  say I.

‘You assume too much.’ says he. ‘Indifference is my name. I don’t care. ..... Callous is an adjective added by someone who cares and who doesn’t understand my nature.’

‘Thanks very much.’ say I .... quite sincere and I continue on.

Lost in his indifference or in contemplation of it, he said no more.

 

...' it matters ' he muttered......

 

The brilliant blossom of the Spring flowering trees have all but vanished, replaced by the dense growth of new leaf in all available shades of green including - elusive and tender.

Jasmine perfumes the air and the first glimpses of fruit and berry begin to show their ordained future.

Ordained by their very nature but no successful outcome guaranteed.

I don’t know how long it’s been since this realisation, this growing knowledge, arose that tomorrow is as uncertain for man as for plant, not just individually but as a species.

Poignant, melancholic, slightly sad – none and all of these convey a feeling or a mood which can’t help but be coloured by my beliefs regarding whatever shape the bigger picture happens to be revealing.

Can’t disregard Fukushima, nor coal seam fracking, the callous disregard for this or future generations. Can’t dismiss  the fraud of Central Banking which strangles the life of nations but never gets a mention. Can’t dismiss the fact that Total Spectrum Dominance isn’t the name of a computer game but a way to put you and I closer to completely compliant or out of the picture entirely.

Can’t evade the shoddy version of reality presented that ‘THIS is the only game in town – you can’t fight the system.’ ..... and this is accepted as true when it isn’t.

One life or many – as reincarnation suggest - it’s this life which is being lived and that matters.

‘It all matters.’ he muttered.

 

 

..... a first for Fred ....

 

It was the knock on the door that Fred had been waiting for.

A seven foot tall, alien life form stands in the entrance.

‘You took your time, introducing yourself.’ was the first thing that came out of Fred’s mouth.

It’s an oddly complaining way in which to greet such a visitor but he’d known ‘we’re not alone’ for quite awhile.

‘Come in, sit down.’ he said - ‘Take a load of your appendages.’

Hard to judge alien expressions so he couldn’t tell if the alien was offended or cared.

‘What can I do for you?’

‘Come to tell you that the planet’s not yours. ..... it’s why we haven’t landed on the White House lawn.’ The alien paused.

‘It’s not like you’re being evicted but the Universe is electric and swarms with life. Your sun is a lightbulb and some species here are the equivalent of cosmic electricians just doing their business. Nothing to do with you. Some are tourists. Some with sinister intention and some who fight that inclination.’

Fred drew breath, ‘So why tell me?’

‘I didn’t intend to...’ replied the alien, ‘ I was looking for your next door neighbour.’

It was difficult for Fred - getting to sleep that night.



 

.... drunk history ....

 

The sound of helicopters, not far above my head, is both reassuring and close. They’ll be back and be needed tomorrow.

They’re  not gun ships but fire fighters and I don’t emotionally associate helicopters with napalm and carnage nor do I instinctively cringe at the sound of the whirling blades.

Lucky me and I’m well aware of it.

I’m in no trench, ducking and weaving to avoid the flying death, but I know that those trenches, foxholes and the like exist and that the stuff of my nightmares -  if I were to have them - is someone else’s daily reality.

The sanctity of their place is destroyed and erased and it’s all in the name of improving lives while killing any chance of living those lives.

It’s disgusting behaviour which couldn’t, wouldn’t and shouldn’t be tolerated but, where National Interest is concerned, such niceties as good and evil are disposable notions.

What action do I take which makes a difference. Speak up, speak up again. I have no idea what effect, if any, that has .... and I appreciate that it isn’t sufficient, in and of itself,  but in concert with others, it’s preferable to remaining silent.

A distinct blue haze sits in the massive valleys which surrounds this area of the Blue Mountains. Not yet the haze of smoke but the sweat of eucalyptus oil miasma, escaping from millions of trees, sunbathed in the sweltering heat. A firestorm - awaiting for a spark.

It comes - as we know it will. If not today then someday - and not in the far off future but some day soon.

Being lucky is a relative term - lucky compared to what? Security is an illusion both in terms of sanctity of physical place or continuity of a world system, corrupt, arthritic and diseased.

Do I dwell on the fact that I live within a potential firestorm or accept that this is an aspect of life which is not within my immediate capacity to change. And if the whole world were to be made of that similar tinder, where is there to be but here.

This isn’t idle thought but a reaching for a perspective in which I’m able to find joy amid the ashes and the ‘what will be.’

While I’m at work today, my autistic client watches a James Bond movie and starts to get agitated by the action and, when in such a state, his automatic impulse is to hit his forehead with his fist. It’s self destructive yet it’s so much part of his response to conflict that I shout out ‘It’s only a movie, Tim’ ... and he quiets.

I’m bush fire prepared in terms of clearing out the dead wood - making it disappear - and I work on the assumption that if it’s not there - it can’t burn.

It’s sensible insofar as anything is sensible in the face of a fire storm which creates its own weather as it fuels its progress. There’s nothing neat and tidy nor predictable about a bush fire which explodes trees and sends embers miles ahead of the main front.

This is the world as I see it. Conflict in so many places that spot fires break out in unexpected manner. We endure it as best we can but it isn’t helpful to be transfixed by the fire.

Like my autistic client, my reactions are often empathic. I feel it.

‘It’s only a movie.’ is exactly how it is and yet it’s not. Get your legs blown off and life may be a movie but, perhaps, it’s a long time before the movie ends and ... just maybe, you get your legs back.

I choose not to be transfixed by the fire. Acknowledge it, yes, but keep my interests - call them distractions but they’re not - because there’s more to life than unrelenting anguish.

 

 

..... away and back ......

 

Brilliant red Flame trees sit side by side with the delicate mauve of a Jacaranda. It’s a popular combination, to be planted in gardens and  along the roadsides, and it hits my eyes with continuous delight as I drive the seven hours - down the mountains, skirt the great city and head north and into a Spring which arrived six weeks earlier than back here, at home, one mile high - in the hills - and in the sky.

‘One mile high’ is a comfortable place to live if you’ve a cottage to live in. .... after all ... mountains do grow much higher.

‘We are all one.’ is true from the lofty standpoint of a mountain peak but a mountain peak is both unsuitable and inhospitable for permanent residence by man, woman or beast. Flowers do not grow there. Nothing lives there.

That breadth of vision - seen from space or mountain peak is real but how to maintain such vision in daily life - which is what occurs on the coastal plains where the horizon may well be a street corner and a red tile roof..... an apartment window and a dusty street.

We are all one doesn’t have the ring of truth when surfing the coastal plains. Vision is reduced and often to blank eyed nothing but not really  - not when cunning replaces ‘true’ behaviour.

‘Oh yea,’ .... sigh ... ‘What’s that then? .... ‘True’ behaviour ?’

Back to the mountain peak where the companions you may have travelled with share an approach to life which is uncommon. There are traits of character - the ability to endure in the face of obstacles, both large and small but obstacles all - and to ultimately overcome by virtue of what once may have been called patience but, like a rose in bud, reveals more dimension when in flower.

How can you not display endurance on the way to a mountain top... literal or otherwise.

‘To thine own self be true.’

That’s nice but first you have to know who you are and you can’t find that out unless you’re in a position to observe yourself and, by that, I mean - observe how you interact with others, have a think about what motivates the words that come out of your mouth....the actions you take or fail to take.

Along the way - if you’re serious - you uncover many a rock, buried deep in the sludge of your mind, and which exposes just how capable we are - if ‘we’ are truly ‘all one’ or not  -  to create heaven or hell on earth for those who have the good fortune or misfortune to pass our way - to cross our path.

Creating hell - it’s what some of us do. If cunning replaces the ‘natural’ - the instinctive knowledge that we all possess which recognises right from wrong .... which knows that greed and love do not co-exist, then the possibility of a real relationship evaporates.

Having recognised that reality in this particular world, I recognise that many, in apparent human guise, are literally monsters and become so, as I see it, by abusing their power of free will. Members of our immediate or extended family, they take no responsibility while they take everything else.

Love gets worn away within me by contact with such people and its threadbare cousin consists of good will and probably nothing more.

‘People change.’ was what I’d said, in conversation with sharp minded sister.

Quick as a flash she replied ‘No they don’t.’

Hmm ..... people do change ... or some do but whether it’s because of a deep change of heart or simply a recognition that the games played no longer work - that’s another question.

 

 

.... the dream today ....

 

What IS the purpose of my life?

That there are others who walk the earth and are far in advance of me in some spiritual sense is evident because everything within me falls silent when in such a presence.

Doesn’t happen often and doesn’t need to. I walk alone - sometimes with companions - before those rare events and I walk on alone afterwards.

Companion and I may disagree on precisely what has occurred but what unites us is an acceptance of the underlying reality of love.

Great cycles of time, the astrological wheeling of the ages, the wisdom of the ages .... have to chuckle here because it’s not as though I can say ‘Oh - wisdom of the ages? Yea - read that. Got it. What’s next?’

No.

I don’t know what worship means for other people - I don’t much like the word - but for me it has nothing to do with words or prone postures and everything to do with communion in which gratitude, awe and wonder are common threads.

Why this should occur when the world has so much horror to bear is not such a mystery if my sense that ‘all is but a dream’ is real.

All is but a dream ... AND it’s real inasmuch as this dream involves other people. This dream gives me responsibility. This dream places demands upon me which stop me from just dozing.

Dozing in a dream.

‘Wake up, David.’

Hooray, I’m not alone..... well ... I am ..... no, you’re not.

Who said that?

Love.

 

..... lime green, bronze red and lemon yellow greet the eye ...

 


A brilliant lemon-yellow Rhododendron flowers outside my window. The garden explodes with colour and the weather has been kind these last few weeks. Tree Fern fronds - as they unfurl over a period of a few weeks - are remarkable to watch. Tender, delicate and fragile, they look like a Mandlebrot set - seen in slow motion.

Timing is everything with Tree Ferns. Too much sun and the fronds get burnt .... get hardened before they’ve unfurled and then they act as an obstacle to the unseen, still forming fronds, waiting their time, beneath the crown.

We’ve had sun and now decent and gentle rain to help the process go smoothly. All to the benefit of those Tree Ferns whose new crown is already unfolding. Remarkable how very individual the timing of the growth is for each Tree Fern. All spread out over a few months and thus some get better conditions for growth than others albeit that sixty or so live within this same garden.

It’s as though each ones sings ...  “I did it my way.”

Half the colours of the rainbow and many of the shades in between grace the land around me. Beautiful it is and not a chance of discord in nature’s colour scheme.

A quiet time for me. What a relief. I’ve undertaken my annual Spring Bindii hunt. If you don’t have them, consider yourself lucky. Bindii are a very beautiful, ground hugging, plant. Small and gentle looking - they are not what they seem. That such a plant should decide that the best way to propagate itself is to turn itself into a pin cushion with the pins turned out means that walking around the garden barefoot is no longer a pleasure.

It’s a meditation to go over every inch of your garden looking for Bindii. Like looking for Sapphires, your eye gets tuned into what it is you seek and when you close your eyes you still see Bindii in vivid detail.

So far this Spring I’ve only ‘taken out’ a few saucepans full which is a good result as the Bindii method of propagation means that - left untreated - your garden is not feet friendly anywhere.

Such are my pleasures.
               

 

... when reason reappears ....

 

I came in at the end of the conversation.  A Samoan bloke is saying;


“You’ve got to have a Plan B. Look at the Aborigines. They can go live off the land….. Hey …this is o.k.” ….. and he makes a sweeping motion to include all that is visible ….   ‘ but they’ve got a plan B…. had it for thousands of years…. so have we!” and he laughs in good natured triumph.


There’s no argument from the few listening around the table, having a smoke in the beer garden.


The Imperial Hotel at Mount Victoria is quiet  - much like the village itself. A small stage now sits where, until recently, a dull, dark room full of poker machines held the floor. It now looks light and excellent. Hooray for new owners with vision.


Elliot and Gill have set up the sound equipment for a  ‘plug and play.’ session….a three month trial of ‘Every second Thursday of the month.’


It’s good to be involved in inaugural musical situations.  


I’ve haven’t played, except at home, for most of winter past so I was receptive enough when Suzanne from Mad Cowboy Disease rang to say that the gig is on and am I coming. “Of course.” say I.


As the evening expanded, it got to the point where I’d played my three songs , listened to others awhile and then stepped out into the beer garden  for a quiet smoke which is where I found that bit of conversation.


A Plan B. …. Oh how nice it would be to have a Plan A.


Where I am right now is Plan A but I didn’t plan it…. and I don’t have the financial resources to stock up on too much in the way of essentials….. to be a prepper as the Reality T.V. illustrates them. A large bag of rice and a few tins and jars of honey is about ‘it’ for me. Enough to feed a family for a few weeks or so. I doubt whether too many round here have much more in the cupboard, if and when life goes pearshaped.


As to whether I could live off the land …. unlikely and particularly so if many are trying to do the same. And unless you live way out the back of beyond, you’re likely to have unruly company.


That’s why there’s little in the way of a plan B for me. I’ll be with my neighbours and perhaps some family and we’ll go through whatever it is that arrives.


While I chose to live here, decades ago, it wasn’t because I had the slightest desire to move to the mountains – perhaps be ‘safe’ - but because, by moving here, I could be around to see my child grow up. Simple as that. Responsibility dictates action.


Now – decades later and I’m Plan B for family who don’t really believe my dire warnings but love me anyway and who now live two hours drive away – in the city - the sprawling metropolis where it’s bad enough in a traffic jam let alone whatever else the imagination can conjure….. but it really is a beautiful life to live surrounded by sparkling beaches and gorgeous harbour.


They don’t believe doom and gloom or even realism. Some still thinking about taking a cruise to the Baltic in 2015…… might have to delete the Crimea from the itinerary but that’s o.k.


Maybe that’s the point. If I lived in a city and I could do so, I’d be moving out.


I’m already ‘out’ and living ‘further out’ would just isolate me, by distance, from those I love.
Perhaps we’ll share a common fate.


I’m fine with that because physical existence and outward appearance are flawed. An incomplete story which, perhaps, is to be continued.


On a lighter note …. who gets to take a garden rake, some cutting tools and a guitar to work and gets to use them all.


There’s much to induce gratitude.



 

...... when there isn't much reason ....

 

I’ve gone quiet awhile. One of those internal prompts so insistent you can’t help but acquiesce.

‘These are times of sadness and madness’ and no wonder that one in five, here, suffer some degree of mental illness. I would have put the figure much higher. You’d have to be deranged to not be mad.

It’s Mental Health Week - or Month - in Australia. Perhaps we could afford a few months or more - just to ‘get things right.’

When words lose their meaning, society is in deep trouble. A few beheadings and talk of sex slaves and the world forgets the indiscriminate carnage caused by bombs all across the Middle East and elsewhere.

To be fair - we don’t forget, just as 9/11 and Fukushima aren’t forgotten but words do lose meaning in dark times and .... as ‘Just Wars’ become the catchcry of the day.

It’s bullshit but I’m one of the twenty per cent who don’t ‘buy it’ here in Oz .... as we fall in line with ... well ... what Israel wants for the Occupied Territories of Gaza, the U.S.A, the West Bank and all the countries surrounding.

Yea - the spotlight changes as the scenery gets moved. Nasty terrorists and all well funded and able to access bank accounts.

So much for intelligence.... of a secret service variety.

It’s pobably all been said regarding world events, the times in which we live, the cosmic cycle of Kali Yuga, how damn long it takes to move into the Age of Aquarius, how Mr Apocalypse comes a knocking on our very door and if not ours then someone close.

If these are the times of sadness and madness then we can throw in badness just to make the rhyme. There isn’t much reason.


I can face these times with some degree of equanimity when it comes to myself and the not terribly important matter of my own survival partly because, at present, I have a bed to sleep in - a warm spot in which to rest and revive. I have a secure enough job doing useful work on a part time basis and if I don’t get to travel the world, it comes to me.

Took a long time to achieve such a precarious illusion of continuance.

This isn’t so for the many and there’s little that I can do to change it.

Suggesting to someone that they need help of a psychiatric nature is fraught with danger. I’ve needed to do it and it’s been rejected thus far but events are playing out and time will tell.

External world and local circumstance are cause enough for mental unease. They impact on the local inasmuch as jobs are scarce and who would be insane enough to suggest that ‘things are getting better....’ in any aspect of life.

Major change is happening. For better or worse. The last few months have been more than stressful as I find the limitations of my capacity to be useful. Waiting for events to unfold can be agonisingly slow when there’s nothing more than the truth to tell.

Recovered enough equilibrium to start playing guitar again.

And Spring is unfolding.



 

.... what's the problem? ....

 

‘9/11 - 102 minutes which changed America.’

I’ve just watched it on commercial T.V. Why? It’s the only mention I’ve heard all day, here in Oz, which has recognised this event - upon the anniversary in 2014.

What a carefully constructed movie it is. We’re taken on a documentary styled voyage in which it’s all about the people, their reactions and - two towers.

There is no mention of Building 7 - the forty seven story building which also conveniently fell into its own footprint.

Forty seven stories is a very solid building. Gets no mention.

That building stands alone - no longer physically, but in world history. No other building has mocked the laws of physics in respect to freefall - ever.

Architect and Engineers for 9/11 Truth have a billboard in Times Square. Terrific corner position which mimics the freefall and draws attention to Building 7 - the very building not worthy of mention in the only mass media offering, here in Oz, on the subject.

Who cares? That’s the issue and the implications are so huge - if ‘the truth be known’ - that what we really witnessed that day is the two fingered salute by those who rule - the ‘Fuck you’ - now you see it - now you don’t...... and Building 7 can be stuck where the sun don’t shine.

 

... standing in front of the juggernaut ....

 

The juggernaut known as the system ignores opposition. It’s worked well enough up until now. Change in the air? Maybe.

I wake up. Wake up to the fact that I’m unlikely to be able ‘follow my dream’ whatever that may be .... not in a ‘riding off into a happy sunset’ sense.

What is wrong with the world is common knowledge or becoming so.
There is no end to crisis upon crisis and bleak looks the landscape.
That’s the material world wherein ‘Abandon hope all who enter here’ is a more clear lit sign than ‘We’re all going on a summer holiday.’

I’m not gloomy - the material world and appearance don’t tell all of the story and don’t give the bigger picture.

In that picture I recognise that most of our DNA isn’t in obvious use. Not switched on. What could cause it to switch on and what effect could that have upon consciousness? I would think profound would be the effect.

I’m aware that an outburst from the sun could fry our communication systems - consider I do what a burst of energy from the galactic centre might do to the human race in a positive way.

Just musing on the problem of marrying up our common human nature which hasn’t changed, with a global change in consciousness.
Unless something as profound as a DNA activation or a tidal wave of love engulfs the whole of humanity leaving us drenched with ‘Oh - now I understand, now I get it and I won’t forget it.’ then human nature and the capacity we have to be downright nasty will remain.

The spiritual landscape isn’t something that I have the vision  to comment upon. I take - that there is a landscape - primarily, on faith. I know the spiritual to be real thus forces are in play of which I have scant knowledge.

A shift in consciousness seems a bigger step to take than just raising consciousness - which, to my mind, is something which may be issue based rather than indicating a deeper shift.

The peasants are revolting and, no doubt, they feel the same about those who rule. Hasn’t it always been that way.

Is there a magic wand for humanity and how would it manifest?

Divine intervention is possible - I don’t see how you can have spiritual without recognising and acknowledging some divine presence. Perhaps the slow wheeling of our star system through space and over time moves us into an area in which a particular frequency of galactic energy directly impacts upon our DNA or, perhaps, opens up our higher chakras and mankind evolves almost instantly.

The indications through spiritual teachers say we are indeed moving from one cosmic age and into another. For this to have meaning indicates a corresponding enlightenment of mankind, instant in nature or not.

Pain. Many of us are reasonably comfortable with our own death in the sense that it’s either all over and you won’t know about because - it’s all over, or - something else exists. It’s the pain of a gruesome death which has the ability to horrify. If you have feeling then you feel some sense of the pain which a fellow human being is experiencing and - like most, I don’t like it.

An official, governmental acknowledgement of Alien intervention isn’t likely to change human nature regardless of whether or not we are a creation - not of some divine presence but of a barely, further evolved alien race which needed slave labour.

That there is an alien presence and thus an agenda cannot seriously be in dispute. Sceptical is one thing but deliberately ignorant isn’t a position which can long be held.
And on Earth, what we hold to be criminal in individual people is a legal requirement within corporate behaviour. Ethics aren’t a requirement in law when it comes to corporations but maximising profit is.

We face an extinction event courtesy of Fukushima.

Flouride in the water, chemtrails, smart meters and false flags don’t hide this huge radioactive obstacle to life.

How does good intention towards mankind make a difference to this hideous fact of life.... I don’t know.

It’s this from which I draw back - the ocean is broken.

Regardless of what unfolds, those around me, on this side of the world have just endured a winter in which a seven day cold lasts two months and infants are at risk.

And I’m not gloomy?

Not in that cosmic sense in which death is inevitable and just a transition - something every human being has who ever lived experiences.

In that ominous sense of what we, personally and directly, will perhaps experience within the next few years - I draw breath, take heart and I don’t quite know why I take heart except for my reality, in which the divine imbues everything, has led me everywhere and has never left. It suggests that being loving is not airy fairy, feel good nonsense but the only way to be.  

That’s on a personal level and it’s something we can all achieve in greater or lesser form. On a global level, it requires more than sweetness and light.

I don’t know where that ‘more’ is going to come from but being open to being part of the solution rather than adding to the problem is where I take my stand.


 

..... smart meters which aren't .....

 

How’s your health? Not an academic question for me. I’ve been subjected to an experiment in which I had no idea that I was a participant. This makes the results more credible from a scientific viewpoint so I pass on my experience.

I’m in my early sixties and have had little reason to consult doctors or to be prescribed medication. I’ve lived in the same home for twenty years and more. Enjoyed good health, love my garden.

It started with mild dizzy moments, ringing in the ears and not much more but enough to make one wonder.

Over the next month, these manifestations got worse until I had a few ‘turns’ where the effect was similar to having the power disconnected from within myself. This isn’t poetic licence - I dropped to the floor and thought ‘This could be it.’ It took more than a few minutes to recover enough to be able to move.

Three of these episodes was enough to take me to the doctor where many tests were done, all of which showed me in good health.
‘Puzzled.’ was the diagnosis.

It was after these tests that I had cause to go to the electrical meter box, situated on the other side of my bedroom wall, and found that the analogue meter had been replaced with a smart meter.

I didn’t recall being notified or asked about this and did some small research which indicated that the symptoms I’d been experiencing are common amongst those subjected to EMF radiation.

I rang my electricity provider and got through, eventually, to a technical person who confirmed that I did indeed have a trial smart meter but that its output could not possibly be related to my health issues as the output was far too low to have such impact.

My response was to the point. “Your assurances mean nothing to me. I’m the one with the unexplained health issues. Where are the studies done showing the long - or even short term - studies which show no health issues? You don’t have any - they haven’t been done.... there hasn’t been time for them to be done.”

His response was surprising.
‘If you have health issues we’ll send a technician, at our expense, to degut the transmitting capacity.” He did add words to the effect that the problem of smart meters would eventually be all around me.
The transmitting capacity of mine is gone and I was here to see it done. My health has improved considerably. I have other issues with smart meters apart from health but in that respect the results are clear to me.
Smart meters are unhealthy. No company has the right to attack my health in such a sly and devious manner.

I now have take battle to my gas supplier or rather the company which owns the network which supplies the gas.

I’ve been sent a letter by Jemena - an aboriginal word which means ‘to hear, to listen’ or so their recorded message states. They don’t answer. They don’t respond to email.

I google them, find that Jemena are a smart meter ‘portal’ and then I do a quick phone around to establish that Katoomba may well be the first of our local communities to have smart technology rolled out.

My next action is to borrow a form letter found on the stopsmartmetersvictoria  website - a ‘Notice of Objection’ which I changed to suit local conditions and sent by registered mail to Jemena.

Kept a copy and laminated it and will place it next to the meter box.
Sent a letter of concern to the local paper.

Next action is to write this in order to share experience on the subject.

 

... do we need keys? .......

 

‘The kingdom of heaven lies within.’ so why is it so difficult to find - I’m not that big that you could hide it.


Perhaps it was an unfinished sentence ‘The kingdom of heaven lies within.......’ ... within what? ...that box over there ?


There’s a big problem in taking the bible literally - as in - not being open to interpretation. Taking the view that it means just what it says.


Problem is, for me, that just about everything which uses words can be given different meaning - perhaps levels of meaning.


Absolute clarity is hard to achieve.


‘No man comes to the father but that he come through me.’ Am I to understand that this is literally physical? No? Then interpretation arises straight away.


‘Know yourself.’ requires going within and isn’t there a lot of bramble and undergrowth to wade through. Perhaps I’m in that area which lies just outside the kingdom .... there are signs of agriculture and, blow me down, I find an onion and start peeling it only to find - after many layers and many tears - that it’s me.


So what was and is the undergrowth and bramble encountered along the way to ‘know yourself’ and the ‘kingdom of God’ which lies within.


Thorny things like spite, resentment, bitterness. Dreadful beasties named ‘self loathing’ and ‘malice.’. All of them have to be faced and overcome. Just being aware of ones thoughts and speech and looking at the ‘why’ of those impulses starts a process of elimination. The undergrowth gets less as you move to the heart of the matter ... and the heart of the matter is what manifests from your heart.

 

.... science fiction, science fact ...

 

That the universe is teeming with life has been self evident for most of my life. Well before seeing a UFO moving forty foot above my head, just after dusk and lit up like a Christmas tree, I’d devoured the science fiction in our local library by cheerfully and methodically going through from A to Z. I was eleven or twelve at that time and my interest has never waned though the fiction has sometimes turned to fact.

Three books a week as a minimum and along the way, a memory still stirs of Fred Hoyle and his story ‘The Black Cloud’ .... an enigmatic conscious entity moving through our solar system.

And that’s my point. Stories of conscious entities making their way through star system after star system don’t translate well into movies. We need Stars Wars - cowboys and Indians in space, bad guys versus the good. Truly alien in the sense of no possible means of communication is not the stuff of movies. What’s to say?

How disappointing that the photographic images from the moon, Mars and elsewhere are not shown to the public - who have paid for these adventures - in a raw data form. No true colour and little definition yet we ‘know’ that we or our licence plates can be seen from space.

Secret space programs, alien species, drip fed technology which is turned to poisoned chalice for you and I because you and I are irrelevant within this scenario. Far too many ‘useless eaters’ although those ‘useless eaters’ are, in reality, those parasitic forces who are .... whom?

Human beings are quite capable of any hideous thing your mind and mine can conjure and, no doubt, there is nothing new under the sun in that respect. So we call it evil and it is. Bloodlines and long term plans which span generations aren’t fantasy. Is there a parasitic intelligent entity such as that known as an Archon?

It’s equally possible that Archons are not real but allow us a version of ‘ the devil made me do it,’ - moved into a twenty first century sensibility.

We can blame the archonic influence rather than take responsibility.

The longer I’m here and able to access the huge amount of information available, the more reality - the background reality which deals in mankind’s real history, and gives a vastly different view of the electrical dynamics of the universe than that which I was taught at school, impacts and deepens an understanding which resolves into - what meets the eye is a fraction of what exists.

Perception is everything so what do I know which is of use and sustains me through these times.

Not much but that’s not a negative.

A background reality for me contains the certain knowledge - not subject to belief or otherwise - that other dimensions exist in which a tree is still a tree and a cliff is likewise solid but it’s another dimension. Other entities inhabit there, not seen in this dimension. Not seen with human eyes.

My culture - sparse though it is in terms of real initiation - is full of faerie folk, dwarves, elves , trolls, genies in lamps, magic carpets and deep and mysterious experience.

Where did it go? Where did they go? I’d love to be in a world where I could explore those dimensions as part of our common and uncommon possibilities. That reality never went away but, still and all, it isn’t in my daily life. It probably isn’t in yours - no offence meant. It’s a barren landscape in a virtual world which is offered with lavish determination by those who wish this all to - just continue. Damn the cost.

I’m fine with death - doorway to elsewhere or a sleep that knows no difference. I’m fine with the fact that I chose to be here, at this time, to play my part for unclear reason with as a good grace as I can manage.

Can I pick up a sword, or some such loving weapon,  to defend the weak against the evil?

I don’t know what tests love is going to present to me as these times unfold.

That puts me in good company. Being aware of the extent of the evil manifest before us in this world has left me as deranged and unhinged as most must be feeling. Which brings me to my own situation which is still uncomplicated by life and death issues such as those being felt everywhere such as Gaza and .... most places.

Yet the local news still has that underlying desperate optimism which purrs about low interest rates and the real estate circus. We can all make money.

I’m starting to babble so I’ll stop.

Before I stop, the background reality is in flux, subject to change, but my daily reality is still composed of interaction with other human beings. Do I be kind, compassionate, capable of reaching out? While I can I will.

 

..... Sophia ......

 

 

So where would Sophia live, if Sophia be the name of the very conscious planet upon which we live. The Goddess Earth but in human scale manifestation.

The only ‘paid’ holiday I’ve ever had was a month in Bali during the mid eighties. I’ve had other breaks and other adventures but usually because I was out of work and facing uncertain future - and with no resources - so not too much of that counts as a ‘proper’ holiday.

It was cheaper to go to Bali for a month than to catch a plane to the other side of this continent.

Sophia would be in luxurious home in Bali.

‘Ah - you should have been here twenty years ago.’ came the voices of the seasoned travellers and I could see why that sentiment was being expressed. Even then, boorish behaviour was common in Kuta.

I’d been working as a cleaner and because of that low paying but crucial job, I’d accrued my month’s paid leave.

I arrived with my battered pair of Dunlop tennis shoes, very little clothing and a month’s rent - already paid - for the use of a motorbike.

It’s a great adventure to travel alone. Things come your way which, perhaps, don’t when you’re a happy couple, hand in hand, seeing the sights.

You meet the locals. Exchange ideas and sensibilities.

‘You’re rich.’ was said to me and my response was along the lines of ‘Look at my shoes - you think I’m rich? I work in a lowly and poorly paid job in Australia. This is my first holiday in twenty years.’
‘You’re rich.’ he insists, ‘You got on a plane to get here.... none of us could afford to do that.’


I had a splendid month in Bali and if the Gods choose places as  home on earth then Bali is a magnificent garden in which to dwell.

I moved, briefly, from the coastal strip to Ubud and to a spartan room on the outer rim of the royal palace compound.

I’m recollecting back the decades, right now, to recapture the sense of an incredibly beautiful country, alive in some truly magical sense and where the land itself breathes in and out and the people are infused.

I’ve lived, as best I can, with open heart and Bali responded in kind.

My sense of the Divine is that everything, and the spaces in between, IS the divine. You, me and the cabbage. How can there be a separation between the creator and the creation? Perhaps there can - I don’t know but the mess that mankind finds itself in is not due to celestial mistake but is a direct outcome of free will and the abuse of it.

But that’s on a human level. Gods, Goddesses, Djins and demons and parasitic Archons no doubt have their place but all owe their existence to the divine - and whatever that is, has to have love as the motivating force. It is that to which I cleave and not to something which is not that. And strange it is that ‘cleave’ has two very different meanings ... to split open and to cling or be faithful to. Maybe they’re not different meanings.

And then it’s up to me to keep making a difference in this life.

Because I’m simple then I have to come back to - love is the essence. Lucky for me that challenges arise in daily life where love can find constructive expression.

I’m a very curious human. What turns out to be true in some larger picture with other dimensions, I have no fixed idea and probably no real idea and maybe far too many.

   

 

.... one foot in the gravy ....

 

With one foot in the grave and the other in the gravy, I’m covered for death or dinner.

The world twists and turns like some mad dancer, singing out untruths like confetti.

A jagged spaghetti of satellites circles far above the weather modified sky.

I’ve been sick - physically - for almost two months. It’s a cold. Something which would normally have been gone in a week to ten days. Not this time.

Ah well, we’re all in the same boat but are we?

Dear Queen, I’m not amused and less impressed, as time goes by, with the dismal way in which your reign is proceeding. I know you’re busy with ceremony but it’s substance we need so - I’d like my money back and I’d prefer it in gold. The same thoughts apply to Pope and President and to those who pull the strings.

In truth, I don’t want my money back - gold or paper. I want change for the better not some variety of ‘change in your pocket.’

It’s well before dawn and the puppet show continues. The audience is still here. Many have no-where else to go. We watch the stagehands go about their business, cleaning up the debris from last night’s show.

It wasn’t very good. The usual ‘fight and die’ for God and country with subplots of revenge.

There’s no point to it. Nothing is gained and everybody gets diminished .... apart from the parasites.

You and I aren’t parasites. We have some degree of free will. How can a parasite be anything other than a parasite? It is what it is and remains true to its essential nature. Where does that leave me?

Fighting the good fight? Shadow boxing?

On some cosmic scale everything is as it should be but that’s often cold comfort in the time before dawn.

The first glimmers of light appear as the garbage truck rolls down my street, readying the village for another day.

Points of light, like stars, are visible across the world. They are you and I, doing the best we can.

 

....... right on time, the flowers arrive ...

 

The first ten days of August and winter saves its last hurrah to, southerly blow, wild Antarctic winds. Which way does the wind blow? Sometimes round in circles..... and so it is that these winds arrive, through the mountains, and from the north.

The Magnolia, in the front garden, has chosen to cover the tree with fragile cream and purple flowers - within the first ten days of August -  for the last twenty years and more, and to do so regardless of prevailing conditions. You’d think the tree would ‘leave it’ for a month when Spring comes gentle but - no.

It’s a wonder.

The garden is also fragile and, notwithstanding the mildest July for ... who knows .... actually reflects the drought underlying the sunny days.

Are the fronds of many of the Tree Ferns reflecting the poisoned air, the poisoned water? The soil was the best and brought in with much labour - excellent though it was to undertake that task.

Being surrounded by National Park means millions of trees breathing oxygen into the air above. The rain coming down - when it chooses to do so - what does it contain which causes many of my Tree Fern fronds to cease being rich, vibrant and almost as long as a man is high?

Fukushima? Deplete uranium? Gulf of Mexico ‘after effects?’ Electro/magnetic pollution?

I don’t know but many fronds are stunted, burnt short by blazing sun, reduced to stem and little foliage...... but not all .... some are doing fine and looking radiant.

It’s as bad as it appears and appearances are deceptive. ‘Twas always so.

Meanwhile, those who state that the universe is electric, gain ground.

Astronomers are ‘baffled’ by so much which doesn’t just fit into a view of the universe which still prevails within mainstream science.

That gives me heart, uplifts my spirit.

It’s the middle of winter here in Oz and regardless of the warmth on the plains, it’s cold here in the mountains.. I’m playing very little music and many, including myself, cannot shake off a ‘cold’ or the flu. What used to last a few days to a week or so, now lasts a month or more and comes back again.

Small concerns in a bigger picture and not making too much of it.... it’s just the way it is at the moment.

The Magnolia blooms and it does so with abundance. What happens after the wild winds strip the flowers is outcome and there’s nothing that the tree can do but hold to its own essential nature and ‘let it be.’



 

..... com/ part/ mentalise ....

 

New words in the English language - compartmentalise.

O.K. - It’s not a new word but it hasn’t been used much for most of my life - not until the last decade or so.

I can’t say the word without stumbling. I have to pause and break it down and then say it slowly. It’s the only word which affects me in such a way..... such is the meaning of that word.

Like cognitive dissonance, words and phrases make a place for themselves as our changing reality requires.

How to successfully add such a word to my life experience when I’d rather integrate than compartmentalise. Don’t think about it? Let it be?

I can’t change the outer reality of this world except within the context of my interactions with other people. I know that my life will end - sooner or later - and the best that I can manage, thus far, is to be aware and to care but not be overcome by that capacity to care.

Life unfolds as the garden grows. Change is constant as I’m reminded by Daffodils replacing Jonquils replacing Snowdrops. There is no pause although the depths of winter can make it appear as though change has stopped entirely.

Below the surface, growth continues and, perhaps that’s the mantra for this time. There are no easy answers nor ready responses which will magically solve the ills of the world.

At such times, it makes the heart sore to think too far ahead so, perhaps, being in the moment, as best you can, is sufficient.    

 

 

..... the idiot box or .... what? ...

 

Cartoon  reality or co-created reality? Not talking cosmic but about the power of the imagination

The first twelve years of my life were spent without television. My dad wasn’t alone in calling television .. the idiot box. Television was presented as both educational and entertaining and, of course, no-one, at that time, suggested that commercials would appear anywhere but at the beginning and the end of the program.

We’ve seen how empty those promises were.

I read a great deal as a child. My imagination was stimulated by The Faraway Tree, with Enid Blyton’s ideas of different lands which would arrive, stay for awhile then leave .... and all of which could be reached from the top of that magical tree.

Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Book with Mowgli having to deal with wild and savage animals, making friends with snakes and monkeys and with a jungle - deep, dark, mysterious and full of danger, lurking in the luxuriant undergrowth.

The Chronicles of Narnia and Lord of the Rings, which couldn’t have been made into films in those far off days and which had to wait many years until computer generated images fleshed out those stories with realism.

Why this matters is brought into sharp focus as I talk with my neighbour, who has children, about Mowgli and she tells me that she’s seen it.

This isn’t a criticism. She’s never read the book but she’s seen a cartoon version - as presented by Disney. How can a cartoon possibly compare with the wonderful reality that my mind could conjure .... it can’t, it doesn’t and ultimately the story is diminished by such treatment.

The same applies to the Faraway Tree which, sadly, has had the same dismal cartoon treatment applied to stories which are a source of delight and wonder.

I like cartoons but life isn’t a cartoon.

I write about this garden frequently. The tribe of sixty or so Tree Ferns who live here. A small, moss covered fountain - given to me as a gift - from which birds both drink and bathe. Satin Bower birds, Red and Blue Rosellas, King Parrots..... it’s all real but your own imagination creates, perhaps, a richer, more vivid reality than the one which I describe.

A circle of Canna Lilies, at least a hundred strong, stand chest high and their spears of red, yellow or orange flowers are lifted high  ...... when the season is late summer. They rejoice in being Canna Lilies. The harsh frost of mid winter reduces them to dried out, ankle high fronds and while this change occurs the Jonquils and Snowdrops have been turning their faces to the winter sun for weeks. Daffodils start to arise. Bluebells, Polyanthus, purple Iris .... and a beautiful Port Wine Magnolia just starting, now, to show the first opening blooms of cream and purple. This magnificent tree, bare of leaf, will be covered in flowers by the second week of August which tends to coincide with Antarctic winds which strip the tree of flowers in the following weeks .... and all before the arrival of ..... and so it unfolds.

In twenty years this garden of slow growing tree-ferns and their beautiful offspring will be an oasis. As yet only a few of the larger tree-ferns stand much more than the height of a man. Their crown of fronds can lift this remarkable tree much higher.

If I were to put all the changes, all the wonder together - the Tiger lilies, crouching and springing, all orange and black, under the shade of the ferns.... but only for awhile, only through mid summer ..... they’re invisible for most of the year, but they’re still there, under the ground, awaiting their time.

A Nashi Pear, a white fleshed Peach and a Nectarine tree stand side by side in one of many garden beds. Black currant, red and white currant bushes, an Orange and a Mandarin tree ... all have their day but it’s not the same day.

Our imagination creates and I don’t know if I’m labouring the point - I could cheerfully keep writing about the shape of the garden beds, all bordered, of necessity, by a small concrete border, which - if seen from space - would reveal some curvy Mandala, who’s shape I don’t know from that perspective but you can, maybe, picture it -  and the garden ..... and I don’t ‘imagine’ any of it would be in cartoon form.

You can easily find a link to a picture of some of the parrots who grace this garden..... the King Parrots are truly regal and that brings up the thought that there is a natural nobility within mankind which has nothing to do with place, privilege or position. We meet them.

 

 

...art, life and reincarnation ...

 

How art imitates life and vice versa.

Many of us ‘have a go’ at acting and soon realise that the juicy parts go to those with the most clout. I have no problem with that reality. Acting is a hard world. The director will state that ‘there are no small parts - only small actors’ which neatly motivates actors to strive or just give up.

My limited acting career started with a role as a derelict which, by method acting, I found within myself - not far below the surface - and garnered my only prize within that field.

I played a few roles in which I didn’t understand the play let alone my role but the one that stays in my mind was within ‘The life of Galileo.’ where I had a few small roles, one of which was as a monk who berates Galileo, and who ‘needs must’ splutter with indignation at the blasphemous reality which Galileo puts forth regarding the position of the planets in respect to the sun and which contradicted the established view of the Church.

At that time in history, the earth was deemed to be the centre of the universe and the Bible reinforced that view.

My role - as a bigoted, mainstream monk - was to take Galileo to task over his heresy. I found the bigot within me. I was quite good at it and to be ‘quite good and believable’ one needs to be in the moment.

The one time in which I ‘crashed and burnt’ happened because I needed to come down some stairs while Galileo was seated, with his back to the audience. As I started to ‘splutter in my indignation’, the actor playing Galileo either winked or smiled at me and completely threw me off balance to the extent that my lines got confused.

I don’t think many in the audience noticed but, of course, Galileo was hugely amused.

I played the son of a sea God in a radio play and was pretty woeful ..... it’s not easy to find the perspective from which one would speak in a role such as that.

Anyway - this is all to link into the idea of reincarnation and how aspects of this life were, perhaps seeded in previous lives.

Satyananda, if I recall correctly, suggested that Karma - even what we call instant karma is not something that can be determined... it’s a futile exercise to try.

I work with intellectually disabled people and have often wondered about the karmic aspect of disability. I haven’t come to any conclusion but the thought remains that, perhaps, some great souls choose reincarnation within disability as a way in which compassion can be drawn out of those who care for them.

It turns that whole idea of ‘you deserve it’ on its head.

The bloke for whom I’m a ‘key worker’ is a stoic. With a withered arm and a ‘gamy’ leg, he manages to live a cheerful, uncomplaining and full life yet most wouldn’t understand his speech but still warm to him regardless.

I see this played out when I take him to hydrotherapy sessions which are full of men and women who’ve seen better days. They warm to him and his enthusiasm before they warm to each other.

I also work with an autistic bloke for whom the mantra is ... ‘if one is good, two is better and three is better still.’  He applies this to just about every aspect of life and thus I need keys and locks to restrict his actions - particularly when it comes to access to  the fridge - because his actions are detrimental to himself and to those around him.

 I’m left with the slightly uncomfortable knowledge that, on the surface at least, I represent the ‘powers that be.’

‘Order out of chaos’ is often the clarion call when I arrive at work, particularly if the previous worker is a bit lacking in the skills needed for the job.

I get tired, I get intense and need to remind myself that there are those who ‘look after me’ in some spiritual sense and who possible feel the same way.

Our blokes have souls. To have a soul or not can’t be determined by I.Q.

I don’t know whether the ‘powers that be’ in terms of this world also have souls..... it’s a bit of a slippery slope once we start deciding who is soul-less. I’d prefer to believe that all sentient creatures have souls - albeit black and shrivelled  - which,  in the case of the earthly  ‘powers that be’ is ultimately their choice. 

 

.... I don't play much music lately .....

 

It’s not that America has ceased to exist but the incremental way in which this has been engineered.

As a scholar I don’t rate. I forget dates, details and get confounded by the truth that history is written by the victors and, thus, tells the story that we’re taught to accept. You have to dig and dig deeper. Nothing is as it appears and if it doesn’t appear in the main stream news then it isn’t happening.

Palestine and Israel’s continuance is in the news - when was it ever out of the news? I don’t use words such as ‘loath’ without actually feeling such emotion. I loath Israel and the Zionist nonsense which infects portions of humanity.

America ceased to exist when Israeli control of the political life of the U.S.A. became total. The death of Kennedy signalled that change for a worldwide audience. No doubt it started long before but that was the moment Camelot died.

Those who pull the strings don’t live in Israel, don’t care about Israel and use the falsehood that Israel has a religious right to exist - it doesn’t. Repeat - there is no religious justification for the state of Israel to exist. The fact is that the Jews - as a people - were scattered to the far corners of the earth because they couldn’t live up to a covenant.

So, by deceit, Israel arises from the ashes and manipulated guilt of a angst ridden world, shell shocked by two world wars both financed on both sides by a Jewish cabal of bankers who - a few hundred years ago - conspired and made ‘perfect’ a plan to take over every country in the world by stealing the way in which economic life occurs.

‘We create our own reality’ is a phrase I hear over and over and it never makes any more sense than when I first heard it and wondered on what level of thought that idea comes from.

My personal reality is composed of thoughts, feelings, perceptions and so on. In that individual space, yes indeed, I create my own reality. If I’m filled with hate then there’s not much room left for anything else and my moment by moment existence is hideous.

Then there’s the backdrop - the scenery of our lives. The spaces and places we physically occupy. My space, my home looks out into gardens. While I tend the gardens and plant at will and with some vision in mind, I don’t equate that with ‘creating your own reality.’

Nature is creating and - yes I helped in a way but nature carries on regardless.

Palestinians don’t have the luxury of creating their own reality. Israel treats them like vermin. Gives them concentration camps and demands that they die while pretending otherwise.

America is an adjunct to Israel and if Americans are the new Indians, they are also getting a glimmer of what it’s like to be a Palestinian.

There are limits to ‘you create your own reality.’

If it were otherwise then I withdraw any consent - not that any was ever made - to the vile practices being carried out worldwide...... and while I’m whispering into a gale force wind  .... evil ..... cease to exist.

 

..... a beautiful day ....

 

Positions to defend.

Been reading much of great interest at zengardner.com over the last few months. From the practical to the ‘far out and cosmic’ - and as all these subjects matter to me then I’m invigorated and refreshed by the experience.

It’s interesting. An article goes up, comments appear and a conversation takes place. I’ve met great people there. Not quite sure how I define ‘great’ but you get the idea.

I suppose it’s obvious that if you put forward a proposition that you’ll be questioned on it and, thus, have a position to defend and so it is with the more cosmic topics.

Anyway - positions to defend - I don’t have one.

Going quiet for awhile. The music on this site is free or, at least, I’ve attempted to make it so.

It’s a glorious, winter solstice day. Brilliant blue and barely a whisper of a breeze. Vivid yellows of Jonquil and daffodil arrive by the day while last summer’s purple Tibouchina petals are yet to fall from the stem. Although much of the external world is in turmoil, I’m planting a few hundred bulbs this year which will look beautiful for years to come.

 

 

.... even limitation has limits ....

 

When your heart is torn from its moorings - what then?

Was it in safe harbour to start with?

Poetic imagery shapes ideas but words are slippery.

Where is my heart now - now that it’s free from its moorings?

The physical heart is where it always was but it’s the emotional heart which is in question. It exists .... that much I know.

Progress takes many forms and my progress in learning scales on the guitar is no different to progress made in any field - from the personal to the national. Elements have to be in place for progress to occur, not the least being our internal state ....and the application of our will and our ongoing commitment to the goal in mind.

Anything can happen, over which we have little or no control precisely because they’re external factors rather than internal wavering, but they can change the state of progress into .... retreat, standstill, conflict.... and many of those states lead into ‘difficulty in the beginning, ‘work upon what’s been spoilt, ‘preponderance of the small.’

These are all images from the I Ching and describe the limited number of states or situations in which we, as individual beings, experience in the course of our life. It holds true regardless of the time in history or the culture into which we are born. It is true for individuals and nations. It’s a matter of scale.

It’s an ongoing sense of wonder that it exists but it does.

I hesitate  to write about it at all. The image of a bear trying to describe honey to a dandylion comes to mind.

But I have written about it and for this reason.

An ‘out of this world’ experience is not uncommon. Did it change my character for the better?  Not in my case..... not that you’d notice.

Yoga is practical, wonderful and has certainly helped my growth but - much to my dismay - the cosy assumption that it somehow automatically improves character is an illusion when I hear that Robert Mugabe has practised yoga but failed miserably in respect to the country he leads.

The I Ching has helped reform my character. It speaks directly to my heart.

Where is my heart now? Most of the time it’s central and centered .... and love comes into it .... as love goes out of it.

Nothing ‘airy fairy’ about it and gee whiz - didn’t I have to work hard to empty the heart of conflict, resentment and bitterness in the process.

It’s not the ‘end of a road’ at all  but I’m now better served for the ongoing journey and for me to be of use to those I meet along the way.

I quite like that. It’s very ‘down to earth.’


 

........the not so ordinary ...

 

Here’s a concept which is somewhat alien to the broad brush strokes about reality which gave foundation to my life.

Life is limited .... well .... obviously. But to take it further, there are a limited amount of situations in which a human being can find himself.

That concept runs counter to the ‘anything is possible and - no limits’ mentality by which we, perhaps, unconsciously live or are encouraged to live.

The artist in full power is operating within the creative. Creative is a situation in which there are positions. You enter into creativity, move through it and leave.... or it leaves you. So it is with the Receptive.

So it is with ‘Difficulty in the Beginning.’ ‘Youthful folly.’ and ‘Waiting.’

...... and ‘Conflict’ .... and so it goes, through sixty four situations in which are references to six positions within each situation.

It’s not as ‘cut and dried’ as that but gives an idea.

It isn’t hard for my heart to leap into orbit as I read, puzzle and absorb the beautiful nourishment held within the cauldron which is the I Ching.

The oldest ‘book’ in the world can be read as knowledge and insight into the human condition. It can be consulted as an oracle. It can be mis-understood, badly translated and it’s quite capable of suggesting that - in respect to itself - that I am a stranger in a strange land in which it’s helpful to have a guide.

I didn’t have a guide and got quite bewildered as you do when you get lost AND don’t understand.

Sincerity helps.


In the same way in which we readily accept that there’s good and bad within each of us, the I Ching suggests that there is the superior and the inferior within each of us. As it is the repository of the ‘good’ - for want of a better word - it assumes that it is the superior part within oneself which is doing the consulting.

In the course of a life, all sixty four situations will occur again and again although our position within those situations may alter.

For me, ‘Youthful folly’, ‘Work on what’s been spoiled’ come up far more often than ‘Abundance’ with an accompanying image of ‘Be not sad, be like the sun at midday.’ It’s not for the faint hearted and - as I understand - wasn’t really looked at until age and experience offered a context in which it could be understood.

There’s much to be in awe of ...... that this book exists and is living.

The Richard Wilhelm translation was my first introduction to the I Ching and the R.L. Wing version is next to me now.       

It has had me in tears and torn my heart from its moorings. That’s what life does.


 

.... at the heart of my head .....

 

Heart or head? From where do you operate and how to balance left brain/ right brain hemispheres.

When I started yoga classes, we looked at breathing and whether the breath runs equally through both nostrils. You find this out very quickly by alternate nostril breathing.

For me, blocking off one nostril then the other showed vast difference in the rate of flow. You could fit a freight train up my left nostril and very little passed through the right nostril.

Although a mechanism within the body exists which allows for one nostril to dominate for an hour or so before the process reverses, it can’t operate as designed if we - as many do - breath through our mouth because - it’s easier.

Used a neti pot for awhile to clear the nostrils and the passages which link and, after awhile, the breath runs free through both nostrils.It still does.

Left nostril - right brain, right nostril - left brain. When both sides of the brain are equally nourished, it can’t help but balance heart and mind. Does this approach to breathing make you a better person? Depends on the state of your head and your heart.

 

 

.... the ordinary ....

 

The joy of being ordinary and what the hell does that mean.

Ordinary is what hides extraordinary until extraordinary is needed.

Working with four non verbal people, within a Group Home, is what I do for a living. I’ve done it for a decade or more and it allows for a life to be lived .... mine. It’s a fair reason for me to write and the job is not for forever.

You are considered non verbal if the ‘ordinary man in the street’ wouldn’t understand your speech. For me - their voices are usually loud and clear.

It’s considered an ordinary job and pays accordingly.

The four men with whom I work are extraordinary. They don’t wear masks. They aren’t ‘bright’ enough to develop one. What you see is what you get.

They mirror my own ‘blind spots’ and disabilities and they’ve taught me a great deal.

I don’t know or rather can’t label love or understand the mechanics of it except by its expression. So I call it tenderness or whatever comes to mind.

One of our blokes really does live ‘in the moment’. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who is so consistently enthusiastic about being alive. Drags one leg, one withered arm, poor eyesight and epileptic, he doesn’t hold grudges, is uncomplaining and loves music with a passion which has never diminished. He is a self contained man.

It’s a Group Home. Problems occur, mistakes are made and he knows he ‘done something wrong.’

He wilts - it’s remarkable to witness. He stays wilted while ‘the storm passes’ as he tries to understand quite what it is that I’m talking about. There is no storm, of course, I’m just telling him - in sorrowful and slightly stern voice - why it is that he won’t get another cd player for awhile. You can’t keep breaking the lids and this model isn’t in the shops very often.

Having said what needs to be said, I ask him if he understands, he nods - he IS considered non verbal - and I say words to the effect that the matter is finished and  “what do you wanna do now?”

He blooms - it’s equally remarkable. Right before my eyes, he moves from constriction to joy. He doesn’t wear a mask.

State the problem, express the consequences, tidy up and move on.

If only this wilt bloom were understood, wouldn’t we make more effort towards resolution of conflict - if not with our partners then definitely with our children.

If there’s a love that passes all understanding ..... that’s not what I’m talking about.

And the purpose of masks, I suppose is  ... to hide. .... and oh yes ... to reveal.

While I’m very fond of these blokes, when I walk out the door, that’s it.

An athlete at the peak still comes off the field to be ordinary. The film star is, perhaps, haunted by a growing bald spot, the Queen of England horrified at finding a pimple.

There is joy in ordinary and the  moments of ‘extraordinary’ which occur.
                               

 

...... friend in need ......

 

I am no ‘friend of Israel’ - I am no friend of ‘evil revealed.’

Strong words? Vaguely inflammatory? I can’t inflame a situation which has burnt for so long and used a people as its fodder.

Within the last few days, our Australian government has decided that it’s not ‘helpful’ to talk about ‘occupied territories’ - not helpful to whom?  Not helpful to the truth of the matter?

It’s a ‘principled stand’ or so they - the Israelis - would have us believe.

Israel holds the power. They control all resources in and out of the pathetically shrinking puddles of land - including water - which make up Palestine.

How long can this charade continue? Israel has had sixty years and more in which to demonstrate ..... an ever tightening and merciless grip.

You can tell a madman he’s insane and the chances are that he won’t understand the meaning of any of those words nor how they could possibly apply to him.

‘You don’t understand.’ ..... oh yes, I do.

Not one Palestinian would be offended by these words .... and if they were, they’re too busy surviving to divert resources to ‘re-educate’ me.

 

.... a fortunate man ....

 

I think our songwriter nights are drawing to a close at the Gearins hotel. Turning it into a backpackers palace or so I hear.

We get a half dozen performers on a monthly Monday night and it can’t be worthwhile keeping the bar open but - then again - it’s never been much different.

From my point of view, it’s never been about audience but always about the challenge of getting up and playing. It is a challenge both to my heart and to my technical ability. Thankfully heart matters more.

I don’t write many songs - one or two a year at most - and quite what to play has always slightly puzzled me. I don’t have new songs to display so do I stick to what comes easy and what works for others?

The sum is greater than the parts and over the years I’ve been doing this, the greatest joy has come from having other musicians join me and add their energy to the mix. Sometimes it’s startlingly good and so it was last night.

Apart from us local yokels and a couple who wandered in from the winter cold, our valiant song writing society president is the only other body in the place. He makes the two hundred kilometre round trip to add encouragement and leave me amazed at his dedication.

Winter arrives with a blast and audience numbers aren’t likely to increase. We’ve moved venue a few times in the last five years - usually  with no obvious reason other than the passing whim of the owner of the venue concerned. I’ll mourn the passing if this gig has run its course. It’s just up the road.

‘Don’t give up your day job’ was very sound advice. Not given because what I have to offer has no value but more because there’s a desperation inherent - unless you’ve plenty of resources - in allowing yourself to be put into a situation where ‘No’ is no longer a musical option ..... even if it’s the correct option ..... you need the money.


Let’s see .... living in the lucky country ..... lucky to have a part time job and basic mathematics reminds me that four bills still don’t divide very well into one paycheck.

Been fighting my addiction with smoking for awhile. Made real progress then faltered. Done this before and will do it again. It’s hard enough to ‘do something’ - to ‘not do something’ is a weird one.

You have to do something with a moment which would otherwise be smoke filled. Apart from making a decision and sticking with it - or so my advisor ruminates - best way to give up something bad is to do something good. I maintain my six rounds of ‘Salute to the Sun.’ with a slightly grim, daily determination.

None of this is a whinge or a complaint. I am where I am and I’ve a lot of shifts at the Group Home coming up. The men with whom I work are considered very intellectually disabled - which they are but that’s not what they are nor who they are nor how they are.

Thankfully for me, they live very much in the moment and while they can care for most of their basic wants and needs, they aren’t ‘bright’ enough to wear a mask.

Here’s what I mean by that. The bloke for whom I’m ‘key worker’ is the most enthusiastic and cheerful man I know. A bit of a withered arm and a gammy leg, combined with poor eyesight yet he bounces out of bed each day with delight. ‘Good for him.’ you might say.

That’s not the point. He doesn’t wear a mask. He doesn’t know how to put one on. He blooms when praised and visibly wilts under criticism. It’s right there before my eyes so if a mistake or problem occurs, it has to be dealt with and finished with before ‘wilt’ changes visibly into ‘blossom.’ It’s a wonder to behold. If it’s true for someone who doesn’t wear a mask, it makes sense to me that it’s true elsewhere.

By nine thirty at night, my back is tiring from the up and down, on my knees, stretch here and there .... and my vertebrae make noises but they’re good noises. It’s the ‘Salutes to the sun’ freeing up that which is tight, that which I’ve neglected.

I think I’m writing this for those in wheelchairs or without limbs or with chronic back pain who would see my ability to physically do these things as ‘ you’re a fortunate man.’ and I am.


 

..... can you hear me snoring ...

 

Sleeper cells. Never much heard of them until Hollywood needed such a creature as a reason for the good guys - our government - and our super spy James Bondy types to have reason for much slaughter.... winning hearts along the way.

Woops hearts AND minds and let’s throw in some ‘shock and awe.’

‘That’ll teach the bastards!’

‘Sleeper cells are bad news and nefarious by definition and nature.’

Boy, it’s good to get angry and let someone else do the killing.

In all the moments of ‘What’s the point?’ along the way ... anger, exasperation, indignation, rage, fury, have often attended such moments. They still do and it’s a motivating force but rather than tie myself in knots I recognise that ‘rise of energy’ - because that’s what it is - and let it pass through as energy rather than lashing out.

‘Good for you. So what?’

My blood pressure is fine for starters.

And I’m a sleeper cell. I don’t know what it is that I’m awakened to do so I live my life as an ordinary, ethical human being and delight in the knowledge that awakened sleeper cells are everywhere.

 

... sorry .... what was that? ... sorry ...

 

“Sorry.” there’s something light about sorry.

My ‘sorrys’ and the need for them arise frequently. They’re always accompanied by a realisation.

Wandering around, happy as a cloud, and I arrive at the supermarket check out. I can’t now recall why a woman in front of me almost snarls but, in that instant, I know I’ve deeply offended her and it doesn’t matter how and my immediate response is to say, “ I’m so sorry.”

By her body language, she grudgingly accepted my apology at face value and without saying a word continued through the check out.

Such thoughts as ‘You never know what terrible burdens people are carrying - along with their shopping.’ pass across my mind.

I glance around - as you do - and the moment has gone unnoticed by all except a middle aged woman with gentle eyes. We smile at each other and she quietly says something to the effect that a soft answer turneth away wrath.

True enough in that circumstance but there’s more to it than just turning away wrath. You don’t snarl unless you’re defending a position. You don’t defend a position unless you’re under attack. Whether the attack is from within or without, real or imagined or a combination of both is almost irrelevant.

The walls go up and we’re peering over battlements seeing enemies everywhere.

I don’t have a position to defend - although ‘the truth of the matter’ comes to mind - so ‘sorry’ is easy. Sorry is what you say when you’ve made a mistake.

The critical aspect of ‘Sorry’ for me, is that it needs to be specific for it to have meaning. If the other party wants to see grovelling - hmm -‘sorry’ again but not really. I’m not playing silly games. The other party reveals poor character if ‘sorry’ draws such a response.

You draw from a well and you are the well.

Then there’s the ‘sorry’ which isn’t light and which is deeply important.

One of our Prime Ministers had a major issue with using the word sorry when Aboriginal reconciliation was prominent and timely within the public mind.

He’d use words like ‘ deep regret for past wrongs.’ which is a sentiment and not an apology and millions of us ‘know’ that difference.

As the nation we’ve now become, we’ve careened with all the warmth of a gigantic iceberg across Aboriginal culture. You can’t get anymore personal than that. It hurts and continues to do so.

‘Deep regret ...blah,blah.’ is an insult from a Prime Minister, speaking on behalf of the nation. ‘Deep regret’ is not an insult in itself but betrays a lack of understanding as to what personal and collective responsibility entails.

‘I’m sorry.’ had to wait for one of our greatest prime ministers.

Along the way, all the responses possible to ‘Sorry’ and the implications of using this simple, direct word were expressed.

‘Why should I say sorry - I didn’t do anything ..... nobody ever says sorry to me.’

‘That was then - this is now - get over it.’

‘If your culture was that great, why don’t you go back to it.’

And so it pours out, the muddy water of a stagnant pool.

I’m sorry that saying sorry is seen as a sign of weakness ..... try saying that without it sounding as though you’ve suddenly developed a speech impediment.

Just wondering about hell and how one might find it, examine it and put it aside

‘Sorry’ is somehow entangled with hell. No answers nor neat conclusions and all that comes to mind is

‘If you’ve got goodwill towards others - it’s a pretty good start, so please stop being so critical of yourself.’

.... and if you enjoy dark humour you could take consolation in the knowledge that plenty will be more than happy to be as critical of you as you can take...... you can give up that job - resign even.
Do something else.

 

 

.... truth be known ....

 

I live with a tribe of Tree Ferns. There were three of four already here when I arrived. They’re slow growing - and after twenty years or so, only a dozen have reached much above my head.

Now there are sixty or more and, if left to their own devices, they’ll  reach their maturity long after I’m dead.

I tend to their needs which is both tender and funny because they don’t require much - Tree Ferns have had millennia in which to become fairly self sufficient but they accept my ministrations with good grace.

My ministrations have been in the nature of a couple of hundred wheelbarrows loads of good soil and even though they do fine with whatever soil is available - we’re on sandstone here, not far below the surface.

They must like the conditions because Tree Fern will start appearing next to mother tree. They grow together for four or five years and sometimes look a bit cramped so I separate them by sawing down into the root mass - which they accept without complaint - and I then take the hour or so needed to manoeuver them out without unneeded shock. It’s how I’m now surrounded by Tree Ferns

By late Spring most have a crown of emerald green fronds - all unfurling at different speeds and all fairly delicate because they haven’t had a chance to toughen up.

It’s been my practice to prune off the dead fronds and, quite often, the fronds which are sunburnt rather than dead - just to achieve some look which reminds me of pristine but which is closer to ‘ just pretty.’

And how beautiful it is to see a tribe of ‘clean cut’ Tree Ferns, brown and emerald green, basking on a still, blue sky day.

Still -  blue sky days don’t last for long and the wind blows everywhere, the storms arrive as we know they will. The Tree Ferns sway, the fronds bend and the most tender and untried often snap.

Although they’re a tribe, each member is planted in a different spot and conditions change accordingly. What was a light breeze in one spot, howls damage elsewhere and they’re not all having the same experience.

The dead fronds aren’t useless, they serve a purpose if they’re still upright - as do the sun burnt weathered fronds. The tender, delicate new fronds grow out of the center. They are surrounded by the older, tougher fronds which, in turn, have the dead - somewhat brittle but hard fronds still there and upright at various spots.

When the wind blows, they move in accord with one another They intertwine, they bang into each other but when, all is said and done, they survive the storm and growth continues at its own sweet pace.

I still give them a haircut or a light trim, as needed, and their fronds ‘still kiss’ me as I pass.

That’s my ‘natural’ tribe when it comes to trees. While trees are usually and naturally thought of as deeply rooted in the earth, slow growing Tree Ferns have a remarkable ability. The whole of the trunk is a root system so they’re able to drink the rain straight from the air as well as being able to draw it from the earth.

An implication of this is that you can saw off a slow growing Tree Fern at the base and move it elsewhere. Although the fronds of the following season will, generally, be smaller, the tree has no problem with going walkabout and it’s highly likely that another will arise from the original base.

It’s why I now live with a tribe of Tree Ferns and understand what  good teachers about humanity they are.

My human tribe are another story and it’s a wondrous story and yet it’s not much different ...... truth be known.

 

...... such conversation .......

 

The Earth and this World.

There’s a difference in meaning for this Earth, this shining, perfect jewel upon which we live, and the World - the rough blanket we, as humanity, create and drape about its shoulders.

You could say ‘Of course.’ but it’s taken until now for me to see it.

To see it.

In my twenties I played Russian Roulette with my mind by eating LSD as often as my body would take it. I needed at least a long sleep and food between trips and I wouldn’t recommend that path because many just don’t come back but - still and all - wherever they went, they’re having to deal with it.

I don’t know how many trips I took - only a few months worth - before I started a series of about a dozen experiences where the thought would arise as the trip started happening “ Why are you still  doing this?”

This is no small matter when it comes to LSD and doesn’t bode well for the next ten hours or so. Thoughts come through like steamrollers and thoughts like that have no place in a potentially wondrous experience.

Being pig headed, I persevered and, if there was any rational thought, it was only a grim determination that ‘I don’t want my last trip to be a bad trip.’ So, the universe and nature carried me through and the last one was ... very nice. I haven’t really pushed my luck in that direction since.

That question ‘Why are you still doing this?’ made veins on the side of my head that I didn’t know existed stand out and throb.

Months later, when I could articulate something about those experiences, over a cup of tea with mum, I could only start by saying time ceases to exist or rather ceases to have any meaning. Impressions rush in with breath taking speed. You don’t analyse anything, concepts like ‘hands’ disappear and everything starts a ‘shimmering.’

Lots more but you’re  not in a position to be taking notes and most of the stunning insights about oneness or ‘the Universe’ are lost upon re-entry.

We’d have our cuppa and she was a good listener who loved her errant son.

‘You know, mum, when a baby looks at the world, it’s not differentiating, it’s not naming, it’s seeing everything around it in its glory.’

If I see a tree in all its glory - as a babe sees a tree - the perfection of the bark, the living streams of energy in the grain, I’d never move again so beautiful it is.

But it’s not a good survival skill to be in a perpetual sense of wonder so that perception of reality is quietly lost as time and space and ‘naming things’ become important in the growth of the baby.

My mum was open to such conversation.

 

...... is it funny ... if so, how so ....

 

‘Everything matters.’ is an odd thought to come to mind when the world holds much in the way of illusion.

I don’t know that any of my words make sense or whether they just appear that way to me. Sometimes - only talking sometimes.

Which is why everything matters. Talk about going round in circles.

If everything matters then what does that indicate - specifically?

For me, it’s about drawing meaning after meaning from what happens in the course of my life. Finding the lessons which improve my character, purify my soul. It’s a very active process.


‘ Do me a favour.’ is an unfinished, incomplete post written here awhile back and so I come back to the last sentence.

“ Do me a favour.’ It’s very funny.

Well, no David it’s not. Be specific - funny/strange or funny/funny.

Neither. Serious concerns aren’t laughing matters or maybe they can become so  but only after they’ve been treated seriously.

The Tribal Elder who showed me much, on the first Arts Council tour, and to whom I’d given my shirt, had also made me his brother. The demands of the time required this.

When he sent the shirt back - being happily worn by his grandson - he was not only greeting me, both immediately and from a distance, but telling me to look after his/our grandson.... and of course he didn’t need such a shirt in the Northern Territory.

Because I hadn’t really given the shirt away by virtue of fondly imagining my ‘brother’ wearing the shirt ‘back home.’, I completely missed the joyful greeting and experienced instead ‘deep disappointment.’

So what he gave to me was exactly what was needed in order to strengthen our family ties sufficient enough to complete the task at hand. Having done so, he moved on.

It was a huge gift and I’m still unwrapping meaning.

 

..... I'm not backing fracking .....

 

Awhile before the Bentley Blockade win in Northern New South Wales regarding fracking and I left a marquee tent holding a bumper sticker which read ‘Can’t eat coal. Can’t drink gas.’ ..... pretty good slogan, I reckon.

If there had been a sticker which read ‘Frack off.’ I’d have taken that.

What can you do with a bumper sticker? - without being  rude about it.

I put it on my guitar case and thought no more about it. That speaks volumes in itself.

Portland is coal mining, power stations, cold winter, turn the heat up.

Every second Sunday of the month, Cill and Snow have been running a late afternoon to early evening ‘open mic’ night. I got to go to two in a row recently. It’s an hours drive west of here.

I didn’t have the sticker on the case for the first one. Arrive at the pub and walk through the good natured or otherwise public stare of the public bar and into the back room where the music was happening.

Dump guitar, say hello and go back to the public bar to get a drink and swap succinct ‘G’day’s with those already at the bar.

It was an excellent few hours in which - when I stepped out for a smoke, I got to meet a few of the walking wounded. Valiant souls, hurt by war. Some of the more remarkable interactions I’ve had have been of brief duration and so it was.

Second gig and the sticker is in place as I walk through the public gaze of the public bar. Subtle change in atmosphere. Into the back room where warmth and music prevail.

Again, at some point,  I step out to the beer garden for a moment’s reflection and a smoke. This time I find myself standing next to a big, brawny bearded bloke and his equally beefy friend.

I haven’t got second sight and I don’t see auras but I didn’t need either to recognise that the good natured  “ What sort of music do you play?” was going to be a leading question.

“Oh - pretty ordinary guitar over a bit of social comment and some ‘achy breaky heart’ sort of songs.

The beefy bloke looked expectantly to the bearded one who then said

‘Saw your sticker.....’ and I knew how this would then play out.

All three of us are smoking as he tells me that coal is essential and how are we going to keep warm without it. I tell him that it’s fracking which is the issue and that I know about coal and don’t have too much of a problem with it.... that fracking is different.

Triumphantly he said  “You’re smoking - that’s pollution.” to which I replied equally cheerfully, “ I’m not a fricking saint, mate.” 

This ended the conversation amicably and we went our separate ways.

I’ve since taken the sticker off the guitar but would readily replace it with ‘Frack off.’ or similar.

Focus, focus..... what's the lesson?

Be specific.

 

...... what was the rest of it ? .....

 

......and did Satyandanda say anything about love which would somehow diminish the love experienced between two people and which may start as romantic love? Not that I can remember and that’s the problem with relating experience into a story - a remembrance of the experience is all we have to work with.

What hit home about his talk, for me most deeply, was the knowledge that any expression of love that I may have imagined was romantic was fraught with huge barriers to any possibility of me getting past the initial flush of ‘gaze in your eyes.’ My limitation and no complaint about it.

Fortunately, that’s not the living experience of many who have  found companion and partner along the way..... who have moved ‘beyond the bliss.’ Yippee for that..... and for love.

Unconditional love is real for me across the generations. Two year olds don’t give a stuff about weighty matters.

I needed to write this because my remembrances of my teachers aren’t all they have to teach me.

 

..... funny strange and funny funny ....

 

“ Do me a favour.” is a phrase which makes me draw back and pause.

I tend towards taking people at face value by which I mean that you have my respect - it doesn’t have to be earned - until you prove otherwise. Does this make me vulnerable? Of course.

I’m not cynical by nature and while it’s useful to be sceptical, cynicism has always appeared as a cancer of the spirit and something of dubious value.

The very idea of favours given and received makes me recoil and it’s nothing to do with generosity or the lack of it but more to do with giving freely.

‘Favours’ implies largesse, patronage perhaps and it also implies a ‘wink and a nod,’ a ‘you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ mentality from those who ask for favours.

Not talking here of one mother pausing in her work to call over the fence  “ Hey Daisy, if you’re going up the shops could you do us a favour and pick up some washing powder?” That’s helping out and goes back and forth with no strings attached.

“ Do us a favour.” of the variety I’m describing is cunning by nature, it establishes its need or desire and looks for easy options. Work isn’t seen as an easy option. There are always strings attached and while we’re bound to each other by many a shared circumstance, those ‘favour’ strings have a habit of tightening.

“ No, I won’t do you a favour but I may give you a gift.”

Here’s a little tale to illustrate how even giving a gift isn’t always as clear cut as it appears.

Nearly forty years ago and I’m in a ‘solitary confinement’ room of a hospital where I’m confined - for a week or so - while it’s worked out how many strands of hepatitis are coursing through my veins.

I don’t feel ill but energy isn’t high and there’s nothing to do so I decide that I’ll embroider a shirt. Never done it before but - hey - how hard can it be? .....says the inner child. One of my grandfathers did fine work in this field as a solace from the First World War and his pillow cases and cushion covers still bring back to mind the kind, gentle and humourous man of my early childhood.

When I left the hospital, the nurses were as ‘tickled pink’ as I was by a very cool shirt embroidered with Palm Trees and Suns and other displays closer to Dali than realism. I was both pleased and proud of that creation.

I went off to recuperate until I got the phone call asking if I was now well enough to join an Arts Council tour into which I’d somehow found myself employed as a company manager but then ‘gone sick.’

They’d found someone else to do my job but it hadn’t worked out. I packed my bag and joined the tour.

You’ll appreciate that spending a few months, spread over two tours, with a small group of tribal aborigines is going to be intense. The Arts Council, at that time, was charged with bringing culture to the masses - I don’t mean that in a patronising manner but it’s a convenient way of expressing their mission statement.

Two tours and both had a tribal elder in attendance. The idea of putting together some ‘show’ which could then be sent round to primary schools throughout the country was new and untried and fraught with danger.

The tribal elder on that first tour showed me the best of what it might mean to be untainted by western addictions.

I gave him my shirt. Poor exchange for him but it was - or so I might have  thought - a spontaneous, generous impulse from me.

He didn’t come on that second tour. His brother tribal elder took that place but many of the men were there for both tours so there was a continuity and - from the Arts Council - I was that continuity.

I was deeply disappointed to see one of the younger tribal men wearing ‘my’ shirt.

Took awhile for me to realise that if I still felt some ownership of the shirt then I hadn’t really given it away.

“ Do me a favour.” ..... it’s very funny.

Funny strange or funny funny? Both are cause for pause and wonder.

 

...... expectations .....

 

‘We wuz poor.’

Used to regale the children with tales of ‘we wuz poor.’ It was great to see the wonder and delight on their faces as I told them of living in a cardboard box with seventeen brothers and sisters and only a bit of tissue paper to keep the rain off.

‘Eh - call that poor! We used to get up - often before we went to bed - to suck on piece of gravel then we’d work down the mine for eighteen hours straight.’

‘You lucky sod - we couldn’t afford gravel .... but we did have a picture of gravel upon which we’d fondly gaze.’

And so it goes.

I can do without a lot in life but humour is essential to my well being.

Am I poor? Not well off in any material sense but wealthy enough when it comes to love given - love received.

What’s this ‘love’ stuff? I wonder as ‘love God, love each other, love your neighbour and love your enemy come to mind.’

‘The best love I’ve received ....’ starts the thought to be immediately followed by ‘Oh - can you quantify and qualify love?’

I can’t - I don’t have any measure for love but I do remember Satyananda gently teasing out the issue.

Along the lines of .... ‘Is it love when two people meet in that romantic sense ? Is it really love in that unconditional sense if the love expressed is eventually rejected and we’re left to mourn with such bewildered sentiment expressed as “What’s wrong with my love? My love is huge - you won’t find any better....... all right then ......I’m not going to love you any more..... I’ll take my love elsewhere.”

If we’ve got expectations - which sorta goes with the territory - when it comes to our more intimate relationships then it’s not quite unconditional.

I’m pretty good with warm affection but as that’s a feeling, I don’t know that it’s love in a larger sense.

Unconditional love is there in my life as sometimes more than a generalised concept and fortunate indeed I am to experience, in friend and family, that leap of the heart ....but there’s the catch ..... I love, respond and interact because they’re lovely people so they ARE meeting my unspoken expectation.

‘We wuz sooooooo poor, we couldn’t afford a lovely day ..... but we did once see a picture and we reminisce about that frequently as we sit in the mud..’

‘Aye - talk about doing it tough.....kids today don’t ‘ave a clue.’

 

...... the well and the spring ....

 

The well is a beautiful thing. Whether in use by many or in neglected state, it’s beautiful. That's the way I see it.

To take it a bit further, we all draw from the well of our common human nature, which is within us, and of our own experience. So each of us is a well in more than just a poetic sense.

Not all wells can be used. Not all the time. There are times when the well needs to be cleaned out and repaired. At such time or times there is nothing to offer to the outer world. The task of repair is pretty much all consuming. You have to do it yourself. You may receive some guidance but it’s up to you. This IS the great work as my limited understanding perceives.

Other wells have clean and pure water but no-one knows of their existence. That’s always a regret when pure water is needed everywhere.

How do you get pure water? Go down to bedrock.

Aren’t these beautiful ideas and they’re straight from the I Ching.

 

.... laws and laws and more laws ...

 

The Law of non interference. I looked it up and it didn’t make a lot of sense to me.

Oh - it’s a spiritual law. Yes - everyone is on their own spiritual journey - however dimly perceived it be and we have no right to interfere – unless asked. Does that have to be verbally expressed?

I’ll accept that this may be true for aliens visiting Earth who don’t want to be mistaken for the panacea of all that ails mankind.

I’ve found breath taking selfishness at all levels of society and although I’ve visited no mansions, hovels I know.

We had what is called an intervention here in Australia and did it kick in some furious debate. Did we have the right to prohibit - to a large degree - the massive sale of alcohol into vulnerable Aboriginal out stations and communities when the damage done is obvious to all but the venal and the stupid.

“ Freedom of choice.” goes up the cry with echoes of “ Dignity of risk” and yet - and yet - an Aboriginal voice cries out the truth of the matter.

To paraphrase : if your family were disintegrating before your eyes  - from many causes undoubtably - would you accept that continuous drunken behaviour was somehow a ‘Freedom of choice’ issue?

You’d take the steps needed to rectify the situation. You would fail in your duty as a parent or a family member if you did otherwise.

None of us are so inherently daft that we can’t recognise evil consequence when we see it.

The law of non interference isn’t a law. It’s a general guide and probably stated as a law to perhaps prevent us from wasting our resources and getting into ‘deep shit.’

I was brought up with a degree of such folk wisdom as “ If you’ve got  nothing nice to say about a person then say nothing at all.” 

It’s got echoes of “ Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” and I understand that in a similar way as I do “ For God’s sake please don’t discuss politics or religion at the dinner table.”

Judgement and discrimination aren’t even related concepts as I understand it. I don’t judge but I do discriminate.

So it’s often about ‘polite and decorum’ and it saddens me to call anything evil - evil doesn’t like to be publicly named as such - but I find myself - in one lifetime having great sympathy, as a child,  for the poor Jews of the Second World War..... and then losing it. I didn’t lose the sympathy for wrongs done but gained a horror as the state of Israel used the same tactics as the Nazis did in order to fulfil their aims.

Rwanda had a holocaust as did Cambodia as did millions more elsewhere. They don’t get a mention in the world press - neither does Palestine.

Re-incarnated Nazis or otherwise infest Israel and play out their miserable games of superiority just as others have done over eons no doubt.

Do I hide behind some spiritual law which the Divine has not made known to me except by virtue of ‘You could shorten this particular life by speaking up.’

Meanwhile, in Gaza ......

There are limits to everything - apart from the Divine - and polite doesn’t cut it anymore. You don’t personally have to take action now, speak up or be revealed. Different times at different moments for different folks applies.

That, I think I understand.

 

..... at midnight - in this time zone ...

 

“ You may have noticed that I’ve a receding hairline.” said the bald British comedian.
“ What I didn’t realise was that body parts talk to each other...... my gums have taken note and obviously think it’s a bloody good idea to move on.”

Made me laugh. Exactly my situation. No complaints otherwise. I’ve got back to my six rounds of ‘Salutes to the sun.’ on a regular basis and the fine energy released is kicking in.

Swami Satyananda made it clear that if you were to do six rounds each day with full awareness then that would be sufficient. It is literally only a few minutes exercise but the ‘full awareness’ aspect continually escapes me as I wonder whether I’m on two or three and so I’ve taken to doing an extra one if I’m in doubt.

Amid the world mayhem and I go to work at the Group Home and - just maybe - have resolved a conflict there with a work mate which is more about, focus, fine detail and awareness than outright neglect of our clients. Time will tell.

‘Policy and procedure.’ prohibits  too much disclosure of personal detail on our clients .... privacy aspects come into play but I can’t see any issue with sharing observation.

Non verbal they may be and developmentally delayed but they know what they like and all four are remarkably self contained. One of the things that I’ve learnt from them is that the preceding sentence can just as equally apply to me.

And do they pick up on the emotional vibrations which, we - as staff - carry into the place? You betcha. The autistic one starts to tense - he hates conflict and will beat himself up if he senses raised voices.

The other three are happy if I get the time, towards the end of the shift, to sing a few songs with the guitar. I don’t always do it but just taking the guitar and placing it near the t.v. seems to lift the spirits of the house.

When I do play, it’s Waltzing Matilda, Knocking on heavens door, You gotta move .... and some of my own and now also throwing in Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah.’

They’re a great audience, they don’t clap or anything and if I give them the choice of  “ Whacha reckon? Good or crap?” two of them will answer truthfully while the other invariably says nothing but may start singing ..... or sometimes swearing so ferociously that you know that he’s echoing something from his past.

I’m fortunate to work with clients who have no appreciation of stranger danger, who can’t cross the road on their own, who are ‘limited’ in so many ways yet have no deceit within them, don’t hold grudges and don’t know enough to know that they’re disabled.

I say fortunate because if our clients were less intellectually disabled, the siren’s call of corruption seduction would be, at least, dimly understood ..... ‘let’s be manipulative because everybody is.’

So I come home and have a stiff drink at midnight.

 

...things of value ....

 

Once upon a time I had the great good fortune to see Swami Satyananda at an ashram. The hall was packed with people who waited quietly until he arrived.

Within me, all questions faded away as he spoke. The audience was receptive and the experience was uplifting and profound.

A while later and he spoke at a public town hall meeting. I was pleased that a couple that I knew who were ‘born again’ Christians accepted my invitation to come along and hear him speak.

The atmosphere, while polite, was not quite the same as it was at the ashram.

What stays in my mind was this. Within moments of him starting to speak, Cheryl started looking under her seat and then John did the same. They spent almost the whole time trying not to be conspicuous but completely absorbed in their quest.

After the event I asked them what had happened and got told that Cheryl had dropped either a diamond earing or a diamond ring..... I forget which and it was found later.

They missed the talk and yet the missing ‘thing of value’ would have been wherever it had lodged as equally at the end of the talk as at the beginning.

We get so familiar with pictorial representations of Jesus Christ with a halo around his head that it’s hard to understand how anyone could have missed it -  or rather missed that spiritual quality which stills the heart and opens the mind - during the time in which he walked the land.

Something to do with awareness and receptivity. Not everyone wants to know.

 

... much to my surprise .....

 

Much to my surprise, our local paper actually printed a letter of mine. I write rarely because foot paths and the like generally take precedence over anything controversial...... and as my last printed letter, many years ago, had as a sub editors heading, ‘Understanding the mind of God.’ a certain wariness applies.

No doubt, many of us get weary tilting at windmills but the bloody things keep appearing.

Where to start? Did that years ago when a website on which to host my music seemed a logical step. I’m a solitary creature who feels that talking to the Divine and whoever you might be has given me - here - some ‘place’ in which to stand - just while the music took off or didn’t. Over the time in which it’s become apparent that the songs only have a limited resonance, I’ve blathered on about the beautiful colour of a Tibouchina which, by rights, shouldn’t grow above the frost line but - yippee - has managed to do so within this garden.

I’ve covered a great deal of ground in terms of expressing what is important to me but it’s done.

I never was a voice in the wilderness as I discover that millions sing a wilderness chorus - a wilderness lament..... a joyous keening.

It’s all for the purpose of demonstration - to quote Les Visible - and it will all play out as the Divine intends.

I understand that but just as many continue to speak while the world is subject to strange destiny so I do my limited ‘bit.’ ... as you do yours too.

We’re not alone but we do walk alone regardless of family or partner. No one experiences our moment to moment but us.

A whisker away from ‘tears well up’ as they did yesterday - ANZAC day in Australia - when solemn is different, by virtue of age and experience, to the solemn which is experienced by the young.

This is the letter which might stir discussion within your community - feel free to edit and add your name or mine.

I don’t think I’ve anything more to add except ‘Cheers - good health’ and similar sentiment.


Dear Editor,

Before too much time passes - many thanks to the organisers of the North Katoomba festival.

There was a small marquee being run by people opposed to fracking. It’s such an obscenity that my spellcheck function doesn’t recognise fracking as a word.

Can’t help but have these vivid associations in my mind.

It’s the height of summer and a swarm of mosquitoes hovers outside the screen door. The new born babe sleeps serene until someone goes outside and leaves the screen door open. The mosquitoes go straight to the baby and drink - as is their nature. You’d close the door and roundly chastise whoever was responsible for such carelessness.

However, if the door was opened deliberately and an assurance was given that no harm would come to the babe, would your reaction be to believe it?

A less gentle image to contemplate is that of a junky.  Anyone who has touched that path knows that when the plunger of a syringe is pressed, the contents travel through the vein and the smaller veins and the tiny capillaries and invade every crevice and cell in the body. How can it be otherwise?

There is no barrier in the body to repel such an invasion.

The process of coal seam fracking is identical to that used by junkies.

There is no barrier within the earth to repel such an invasion.

The assurances put out by energy companies about safety are as plausible as those given out by the junkies dealers.

Do you have children?  I apologise - of course, you don’t need  wide family to have concern for a future that you will not inhabit.

Yours Sincerely
                                     David Griffith

 

..... not sheeple and not cattle ....

 

It’s reality that if I criticise Israel here I will receive an internet visitor from Israel. Probably just their sensitivities.... and their resources.

Hey - I could criticise the Palestinians and, almost certainly,  would not receive an internet visitor from the Gaza Strip. They’re too busy trying to get clean and regular water from their Israeli Overlords to be concerned with me.

There’s a cosy assumption abroad which sees the Abrahamic religions as all branching from the same tree. That Judaism, Christianity and Islam are somehow linked in a ‘Come by ya.’ chorus.

Took me years to actually follow the logical train of thought to a conclusion in which Christ is not seen by the Jews as the Messiah and ...... thus what?

The logical ‘what?” is that Christ was a fraud. Judaism not only sees Christ as a fraud but the Talmud delights in the notion that he is boiling away in excrement somewhere in hell.

Any idea that Christianity and Judaism are somehow ‘brothers’ is a nonsense if, in fact, Christ is so mocked and derided.

But who exactly is deriding Christ when there are strands of Jewish thought which are opposed to each other?

The Talmud - Sacred book for many Jews - is the compilation of thought against which Christ spoke so strongly that he expressed the thought that ‘this makes naught of God’s word.’

There are Jews who follow the old Testament and not the Talmud and who patiently await a messiah who will reinstate Israel - not this existing man made construct but one in accord with ‘God’s Plan.’ ... as they see it.

An uncomfortable truth about the Talmud is that non Jews - Gentiles - are seen as cattle. We have no souls and are here solely to serve Jews. They got this absurd idea as a direct result of seeing themselves as special...... which they, maybe, could have been but weren’t.

Special is when you’re a living example of ethical behaviour. Any other sort of special, in this context, is just puffery and the wearing of gang colours.

There is no compatibility between Christianity and Judaism. How can there be?

No doubt there are millions of Jews who don’t hold such extreme beliefs but they are not in control of that ‘state of mind’ called Israel.

Zionism has hijacked Judaism.

I wouldn’t dream of attacking Jews for being Jewish. You still have to take people as individuals.

Christ has a message transcending such cults as Judaism has become.

Mankind as cattle? What became of the contract between you and - was it a Universal God which you turned into a tribal deity or a tribal deity which Christ revealed as being Universal?

 

......truth as a recurring theme ...

 

It’s Easter Sunday and chocolate eggs are the reason for children to be excited and for parents to get out of bed.

Christ comes a distant second and the t.v. presents a Hollywood version of Ben Hur which is then followed by an equally Hollywood version of the Bible. Of course, that’s just one option for t.v. watchers - retail therapy channels offer much the same fare.

Christmas got replaced with Xmas in my childhood of fifty years and more ago. It’s easier to sell stuff if Christ is replaced with a big X. After all, X marks the spot on the treasure maps. It’s very clever and very underhanded.

How long does it take to utterly change a society? A lifetime - if that.

Just listened to Gilad Atzmon of ‘The Wandering Who.’ fame, discuss THE central question of our time - the almost complete Jewish domination of Western media and societies.

There’s no arguing that this isn’t so - it is. Doesn’t take much digging to find out where the money comes from - apart from thin air. It takes little investigation to find freefall brought down three buildings on 9/11 which then furthered the cause of destabilisation of the whole of the Middle East and who benefits?

Israel is a blot on the landscape. How is it possible for a religious people to get turfed out of the land of their fathers, by the God with whom they had a contract AND broke, to then decide that they couldn’t wait for that God to bring them back to the ‘land of their fathers’ - they’d do it themselves.

There are religious Jews who agree with what I’ve written. Their protests get no coverage. Israel has no religious right to exist until brought back into existence by their God - which hasn’t happened.

Truth can be buried but resurrection is a recurring theme.

 

...... a blood red moon .....

 

Have you got a blueprint for the ills that ail this world?
Or do you find a shoe that fits as you tread upon the pearl.

And what’s the pearl so easy trod and cast before the swine?
I cannot name its value but I know that it is mine.

And as it’s mine and so is yours where will we take this tale?
When there’s something really happening here as we pass beyond a veil.

Please give me grace, my God, my source, to be more than ground left fallow when, all the while, the time demands, we dig deeper than the shallow.

‘Love governs all.’ is standard high, I can only tread in steps.
I walk alone but so do you and we can only do our best.


 

.... coal seam poison ...

 

Spent a lot of time being ‘sensitive’ in the lead up to our local festival. Are my songs o.k.? Will I forget the words or vomit .... that sort of sensitivity.

In the end all went well and the pressure was useful. Didn’t forget the words because I practised the songs. Didn’t vomit because there was too much to do - on the day - where help was needed and so I didn’t have much time to be anxious.

There was a marquee being run by people opposed to fracking. It’s such an obscenity that my spellcheck function doesn’t recognise fracking as a word.

Can’t help but have this vivid association in my mind.

Forty years ago I spent time sticking needles in my veins. Anyone who has touched that path knows that when the plunger of a syringe is pressed, the contents travel through the vein and the smaller veins and the tiny capillaries and invade every crevice and cell in the body. How can it be otherwise?

There is no barrier in the body to repel such an invasion.

The process of coal seam fracking is identical to that used by junkies.

There is no barrier within the earth to repel such an invasion.

The assurances put out by energy companies about safety are as plausible as those given out by the junkies dealers.

I doubt our local newspaper would print this but yours might.


 

...... local initiation ...

 

“Whatcha gonna do ‘bout it?” sings the chorus line of a song.

Damned if I know.

I’m not a Gandhi nor a Ghengis Khan. I don’t take to the streets in protest nor do I occupy Wall Street .... it’s too far away.

The qualities needed for leadership are not mine. The capacities needed to be a centre - in the way that Chinese thought differentiates between leader and centre - are also not mine.

I know this because I’ve met people who are centres and some who are leaders and - in rare cases - you meet someone who fulfils both functions. I’m not one of these.

‘Palestine replaces Israel.’ .... ah .... a brief dream but it brings to the fore - what can I actually do in the face of rampant evil in all directions while here in Oz - my local concern is with being a good neighbour while quite probably,  ‘Rome burns elsewhere.’ ..... and it’s only a matter of time before it happens here.

I don’t live in a run down slum where life is cheap. We still have a functioning society here where niceties such as mowing your ancient neighbours paddock are actually still important in the greater ‘local’ picture.

In that vein, I’m very happy to be invited to play - or it could just have been a case of a note in the letter box saying ‘Put your name forward.’ - at the inaugural North Katoomba Festival. That beats the Sydney Opera House hands down for me.

A forty five minute set sounds great and although I’ll have nervous energy, I’m looking forward to it like I would an initiation. Peter Ball is on board and I’ll sound out, this Wednesday, a few others.

Between now and then, a world could change but that is not one of my immediate concerns nor is it my immediate responsibility. I can only act locally, not get overwhelmed.

‘Whatcha gonna do ‘bout it.’ is keep upholding the standard.

Sounds grandiose and I don’t mean it that way. I’m ordinary in what I trust is the best sense of the word. If I  can see what needs doing and it feels appropriate to do it plus the energy is there - then do it. I don’t need a reward although the doing of it is a reward.

I can afford ethics. I can afford a semblance of free choice in how I use my time and energy. It’s what people do when they take on responsibility. I’m not forced to make those choices of kill or be killed. Not yet so I’m untested there but death comes to everyone eventually.

There are clear voices I hear who graphically describe the world as it really is. I guess that my function here is as an ordinary human who had better get his act together and play some songs of meaning and trust that they resonate.

Real leaders and real centres operate in every community. They are the wealth from whom people take encouragement, nourishment and real benefit.

Why wouldn’t that be you as equally as anyone else.

Odd world when being ordinary is often extraordinary.

 

.... life is ongoing unexpected .....

 

First - you’ve got to care.

Spent ten years paying the bills by driving cabs - night shift. It’s a hard way to pay. First nine years and I’d have a chat with anybody and everybody and, because I worked the Northern Beaches and looked for the long jobs, I’d often have an hour or so in which anything was possible.

The last year and life is grim. I’ve become almost silent and don’t care anymore - apart from A to B by the shortest route. It’s time to leave the field which I do as soon as is possible.

Before I cut up my licence, I vividly remember driving an advertising executive from Palm Beach to the airport. As we’re passing over Sydney Harbour Bridge, late afternoon, and I’m rambling on about the ills of the world, he cuts in from the back seat and says - very matter of fact - ‘Look mate, I don’t give a fuck. I’ll be dead before then.’

The rest of the trip was fairly quiet.

Many years earlier and I’d  moved from a brief job, working in the rain forest and coming in behind the loggers and also under licence to the Forestry Commission, in order to rescue Tree Ferns, Stag Horns and other deserving plant life. I went from brushing leeches from my jungle boots in the wild country to cleaning toilets and picking up the garbage in a high school.

After a not too considerable time, I realised that such slogans as “Do the right thing.” were of little value to some of our students. Their home life was non existent. One was living, short term, in a clothing bin. Why would such niceties as ‘Pick up after yourself.’ impact?

I was there for five years and  found time to garden on a grand scale, to paint murals, to help with the lighting for school functions - in short - to work constructively from within a lowly position.

It’s true that if you can’t be trusted with the small, you most certainly cannot be trusted with the great. Ultimately, the cleanliness of the school and the grounds were mine. If I didn’t fulfill my daily basic function the stray dogs would have their day and I’d still be left with a mess which was mine alone to make disappear.

At the end of every term, I’d take all the garbage bins and clean them out with high pressure hoses. A filthy job but essential. Who thinks about cleaning the tools which allow a filthy job to be - somewhat less filthy.

After a few terms, I painted the garbage bins and added a stencilled message which read, ‘Please care.’ It caused some comment and amusement but I didn’t know what else to do but to draw attention to the prime directive.

‘Please care.’

One certainty that I’m left with is that we never know quite how we impact upon other people. At that school, I was equally loved and respected AND loathed and despised. The Universe WILL place you into situations which always demand strenuous and consistent effort if we’re to do more than pay ‘lip service’..... can’t stand lip service.... this presupposes that you’re willing to do your part, however humble.

What’s the greater cause? Nothing that I can compress into a slogan.

Funny that - ‘Please care’ comes to mind.

 

.... it was a change ongoing ....

 

A long and winding road, after six hours on the highway, leads me to a small village which owes its existence to the river and the beach.

Too wild and dangerous to be a surfing beach, too close to family friendly villages which grow into popular towns - this spot is a limited attraction. A quiet spot in which to live .... and fish.

Or so you’d think.

A main street with single story, slightly tired looking  houses, two shops at one end and a tavern at the other. A few side streets and a caravan park and that’s it for real estate development.

It’s late in the afternoon when I arrive to be greeted by my friend and her two dogs - one of whom is limping. Poor old thing had damaged her hind leg joints which mean a $4000 operation or lots of care involving taking her swimming.

My friend has always had to work with what’s available. Easy options involving money aren’t possible for her. Her own health has been a trial and a tribulation for decades yet she rises to the occasion in ways which indicate  huge reserves of all the qualities of character which can make human beings ‘amazing.’

And so I find myself walking down to the river, an hour or so before dusk, along the main street, and wheeling a child’s stroller which my friend has rescued from a council clean up. The frame is bent so that it veers to the right and the dog is sitting there, in the stroller, eyes front, grey of muzzle and looking calmly into the far distance while the other dog trots along at the side.

It’s a little bit surreal for me but everyday experience for my friend. She shows me how to lift the dog out of the stroller and the two dogs happily swim in the river for a half hour or so. I then wheel the dog back home, along the main street, her looking regal and solemn, all wrapped up in a towel.

That evening was a quiet catch up and a bit of music. I’d hardly seen a soul but the village has a good feeling about it and has a backdrop of mountain and rolling forested hills.

My friend deals with more disasters than I can keep count of yet she manages to find it within herself to enjoy life with a whole hearted commitment that I find remarkable.

She plays bass in a band, with one of her sons playing drums, on the following night. A charity gig to boost a struggling restaurant in a neighbourhood coastal town. It’s a fantastic night with lots of dancing into which I’m drawn. Thankfully we took two cars. A drum kit and a P.A. needs two vehicles.

Three in the morning before we’re home only to find that there had been a wild brawl in the street outside the house a few hours earlier. It involved people being thrown over the fence. Five police cars later and all eventually is quiet.

‘Thank God we weren’t home and the lights were off.’ says friend. ‘ I don’t need to be that conspicuous.’

I got two days away with some lovely music played before a call back due to very sick child. All o.k. eventually but traumatic for all concerned.

Being a God father isn’t something for which you volunteer and - with some reluctance because I take such things seriously - I agreed to take on that role without feeling at all qualified to fulfill such a role.

‘Notwithstanding the horrible experiences which life has given you, do you still believe in a God?’

This was the question asked of me by an elderly and very perceptive woman with whom I worked, decades ago. What prompted her question was me dropping a syringe on the carpeted floor of an open plan, huge office space. It didn’t take long for the ‘powers that be’ to figure out that I was a liability to the organisation but before that happened she sacrificed a lunch in the park and some quiet meditation in order to get through to me.

‘Yes ‘ I replied after a small pause. God - whatever God is - remained distant but not completely out of view - notwithstanding anguish.

It’s with that in mind that I find myself ‘flummoxed’ and inadequate when it comes to being of real use to my Godson.

Children grow up and some just grow older long before they grow up. Some never grow up nor begin to develop those qualities of character which make them useful, constructive and a source of strength and reliability to family, friend - and by extension, the wider community.

Godson has children of his own and, thus, ongoing responsibilities and while he is happy to introduce me to his friends as his Godfather, I haven’t had a real connection with him since he bristled, a year or so back, at the slightest sense of criticism of his behaviour.

What can you do with someone who already knows everything?

Perhaps a letter. I really don’t know. Unfinished business.

Now that I’m home and with a bit of time, I’ve been finding bits and pieces of video which are now being added to the video page here at this site. It’s more about ‘tidying up’ than a sense that they’re any more than curiosity value.

 

..... no news headline ....

 

‘You create your own reality’ is a phrase often bandied about as if it were that simple. Or as if the phrase had only one level of meaning.

You don’t create your own reality, just by wishing it, not when it comes to relationships. Takes two to want to tango. Families are often hotbeds of discontent, of refusal to find common ground let alone a common reality. The roof over your head is only there for your lifetime so it makes little sense to have that as the only focus for ‘creating your own reality.’ The tree doesn’t disappear if I choose to think it out of existence. The phrase has limitations not the least being the nature of reality.

Sounds good ... ‘The Nature of Reality.’ ..... brought to you by.... da,da,daaa .... ‘Snoggins and DoRight’ purveyors of Fine Entertainment.  Except that it can’t be shown like that. It’s unfathomable.

My limited experience makes the idea that ‘this is all there is.’ a lie.


To prove that you’d have to have had my limited experience. Then I wouldn’t have to tell a story, a great story to be sure but not an experience for anyone else. Just the experience of the story. Hence, instead of knowing, there is only the possibility of belief or otherwise. What use is that? So reality is far more than meets the eye and there’s no purpose served in just telling stories. Where to from there?

Momentous times in which to be living. The onslaught of the wicked continues everywhere. Its bleak and banal message is putrid and there’s nothing obvious that I can do. Not in a large sense.

Again, I come back to the small, the ordinary, the ‘nothing short of miraculous.’

While I’m not satisfied to have some religious figure intone ‘Mysterious are the ways of the Lord, my son.’ I’m very comfortable to get that sense from the Divine. All semblance of power is on loan at best. And for a limited time. That’s it.

I get to work with what’s in front of me.

You do get to help create your own reality within that ongoing creation within yourself. For me this is ‘gotta be’ lifetimes worth of difficult lessons. With that in mind I understand that people have an attachment to this one life which overrides any sense of ‘I’ve played my part.’ when the director says “Exit stage right.”...... then maybe a bit of a rest, a debriefing, perhaps a holiday, another briefing on the next assignment, and ‘Here we go again.’

Most beautifully put by ‘child  no longer’ who observed, ‘That may be true but the only reality for me would be that you’re no longer here.’

Choices are limited when it comes to ‘creating your own reality’ if you’re Palestinian, Syrian, Libyan or from much of the world.

I can’t do anymore than recognise that pain. You don’t need to be in an official war zone to see the wounded everywhere.

It’s not as if they’re hiding.


 

.... it is very still .....

 

Quiet sort of day for me. A few days into a holiday where ‘time out’ is more important than ‘Oh - lovely. A holiday Where are you going?’

I’ll have a few days or more ‘away’ and ‘off the grid.’ and I don’t know after that.

I don’t live in an exalted state and feel like pulling the doona over my head but I’ve already done it.

Three or four days into soaking and much needed rain. Perhaps the melancholy being felt has more to do with allowing myself to be receptive - in the same way that the earth is receptive to the rain - than some variety of sadness.

There’s actually nothing to do, at such a time, but be receptive.

Going quiet.

 

....... from moment to moment ...

 

Misconceptions that I have held.

‘People drawn to an ashram are holy and pure.’

Big chuckle when I voiced this.

‘Not so.’ came reply. ‘ People come to ashram because they know that they’re not holy and pure.’

They come to do the hard work upon themselves in a conducive atmosphere..... and have remembrance that ‘clothes do not - a swami - make.’

Next.

‘The spiritual path requires that I do away with bad habits before I start.’

I’d still be waiting.

This next one’s a bit ‘open - ended.’

‘ That purification starts with what we physically take in as nourishment.’

It’s the word ‘starts’ that stops me in my tracks because purification has so much more to do with our internal state than just food and drink.

Conflict within ones immediate life was a gauge for me to use. My approach was and still is,  to remove - not always with success - any cause for conflict in respect to the practical matters of close relationships whether at work, home or play.

It’s true that a stranger can thump you from behind but the everyday insecurities start to disappear.

In terms of my work .... there is nothing to complain about so there’s no conflict with anyone. In fact, if you do your job really well, you have the right to be disagreeable if needed. Odd aspect of reality.

Resentments from childhood don’t necessarily fade. They colour our reactions. They smoulder within.

What was suggested for me was to assume that the conflict being experienced was largely my fault. Not in terms of blame and condemnation but more in terms of my understanding of what was happening being insufficient.

It would cause me to pause rather than react in ways which may have worked ‘once upon a time.’ but no longer have use.

Slowly, slowly. It takes a long time for family or friend to see that the person that you once were is different.

The world is long weary of gestures and ‘people don’t change’ is the flatly stated view of many. It’s only true in the same way that a cracked, church bell can still be heard to sing forth a note.

People do change. Some anyway. It’s an ongoing, lifetime process but it’s not as if I’ve got something better to do.

I like ‘slow.’ I’m o.k. with taking the slow train  rather than the jet plane. I’m not looking for bliss or quick entrance into paradise.

One day at a time



 

..... recognition of the child ....

 

 

.... and the fall of an Empire.

 

I recognise this mist.   I’ve walked this path before
I recognise this mist - before I went to war
My senses are alert, there is no need for haste
I recognise this war on peace
I recognise my state of grace
Do not allow for the fall of an empire
To be our personal downfall - too much at stake.


We’ve walked this path before
It was in ancient times - you remember
We’ve had our Armageddon - we’ve had our holocaust
We’ve walked this path before - we know the cost
Do not allow for the fall of an empire
To be our personal downfall - too much at stake.


I recognise this child. I recognise the need to be gentle
I recognise this much, we’ve walked this path before
I cannot say which need is more but needs our dedication
I will not allow for the fall of the empire
To be our  personal downfall - too much at stake.


I recognise this mist. I’ve walked this path before
The mist is just before my eyes - extends no more
My vision clears up. There is no need for haste
I recognise this new born child
I recognise my state of grace
Do not allow for the fall of an empire
To be our personal downfall - too much at stake

 

.. I met a harassed woman .....

 

I met a harassed woman today. She could have been the harassed woman of a recent ‘writing’ here -  but she wasn’t. We were both invited to a dinner. She lives locally so I picked her up and dropped her home.

Being in my sixties, many of the people I know fall into that period of life where a dreadful childhood has been followed by decades of pain, lived through massive decades of effort, only to be burnt out and shafted by the age of fifty -  leaving one bitter and still in a pain which prescription medication does little to diminish and with a body which doesn’t work too well.

I witness this lady -  delight, as best she could,  in a ‘normal’ dinner at a home where the wine flows - but not too fast -  where there are no raised voices in the conversation and where the guitars come out after a good meal and I also know she’s as relaxed into the moment as she can be - given circumstances.

But I’m keenly sensitive to that coming moment when all can go ‘pear shaped.’ so I restrict my drinking and we ‘call it a night.’ at pretty much the early hour that I normally ‘call it quits.’ ... on the rare occasions in which I go to dinner.

Why do I call it an early night - with or without her being there?

Because - regardless of niceties - we’re all traumatised to some degree and can only take so much. Friendship, love or whatever. My friends in question have worked in the violent end of mental illness and the worst aspects of sexual abuse. None of us go out much and the playing of music links us.

At one point this woman tells us how she feels when walking into the supermarket.

I’ll paraphrase the words - you put in the anguish..

“I just want to get in and get out. A baby screams and I want to smack the parents. Why would you bring a baby into this world? A child gets in my way with one of those silly trolleys that they give small kids and I want to punch it AND the child. I can’t stand the lights, the music and that they change where everything is!”

That experience doesn’t happen to me and I can only offer ....

“ You’ve got to change that outlook - it will eat you.”

She knows that. She has also been a worker within the disability industry until recently, and she is one to whom I ‘tip my hat.’

She responded to real need where the lazy and the cunning do less than nothing. She is not a parasite, not a ‘taker’ but now she’s 'sort of' broken and recognises that there’s no assistance for the broken unless you’re mad.

Catch 22  - to those who barely recognise that phrase - was the military ‘catch’ which prevented soldiers getting out of the service by claiming madness.

If you say that you’re mad then you can’t REALLY be mad because a mad person wouldn’t know that they were mad.

Catch 22.

The fabric of society is torn to shreds. The Emperor has no clothes and never did. Any damn fool can see that.

What to do?

‘Hang a Rothschild’ springs to mind but my God doesn’t echo that sentiment. My God - dunno - perhaps says ‘Let the Rothschilds and all their ilk know that mankind knows of their evil and is done with their evil.Wants no more of their evil.

When that cry reaches heaven and when licence has run its course ...... all will be made right.

 

......got the moment to be just wondering ....

 

“Perhaps I should have looked for a job with a pension.”

So says a voice I respect but the voice is in print. I get no sense - except by context - of whether this is spoken in sorrow, jest or some subtle shading, lying in between.

Irony is something that I often ‘don’t get’ although “Isn’t that ironic.” immediately springs to mind. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.” - or so my parents said - which makes sarcasm sound a bit nasty.

I think it’s why the absurd is so delightful to me. It’s clear yet unexpected.

We can pick a ‘false note’ in speech because it’s all there in the tone, the pauses, the speed of delivery but when the written word is the form of communication, we can’t help but colour it with our own emphasis.

It explains why  “Perhaps I should have looked for a job with a pension.” could be taken as a flat statement of fact or be expressed as one of those gentle asides I personally use when talking to myself .... usually prefaced with “Oh dear ...” It’s not meant seriously.

I read the article through and was struck - as I often am - by clarity of thought and subject matter. I then read through the comments and one of the last comments is so irreverent and so ‘at odds’ with ‘what’s gone before.’ that I can’t help but laugh.

But it’s not actually a ‘good’ laugh or a deep laugh. It’s a ‘Blazing saddles.’ sort of laugh. The scene where the cowboys are all sitting around eating their evening meal of beans and more beans. The appreciative slurping down of the food is broken by a fart and then another until a cacophony of farts fill the air.

All goes silent and a voice pipes up.

“Can I have some more beans, boss?”

“No - you’ve had enough.”

I roared with laughter but the context was there and roaring with laughter was an apt response.

I wouldn’t find the same scene funny if set in an invisible church with communion occurring.

There is nothing in these written words -  of emotional tone - other than a gentle wondering and the expression of it.

 

 

... I'd been strumming ....

 

“Any way now, any day now - I shall be released.” .... and so sings the song but it hasn’t happened yet.

And therein lies a disconnect.

Some see ‘any day now’ as being fifty years away and ‘maybe due to climate change’ while others look to Fukushima and say ‘five years at best.’

Some say “What are you on about?” and some await an Apocalypse plus a Messiah.

In 2008 a baby was born - one of millions born that day so what makes this one special? It’s personal .... a new born comes into and out of the extended family and, perhaps because of my limitations, what becomes manifest within the wider world  - the universal giving of birth - takes on more meaning when it happens within my own  life.

Songs are born in mysterious circumstances. They come in their own sweet time - with labour pains - and then take on a life of their own.

I’d been strumming a slow four chord pattern for ‘some time’ before this child was born. My small home - a mile high in the sky - “ but still within a mountain range”  he hastened to add - is well suited to misty days which can become so dense that it’s actually a descended cloud in which we’re living. It’s excellent.

I have an image in my mind of a man walking through such misty trails with the knowledge that he is at war. At war with those who set wars in motion.  At war, as best he can, with such despots and with the same resolve shown by millions who have come before and who have witnessed the rise and fall of Empires .... and over and over again have been subjected to holocausts and Armageddons.

This man is walking in both ancient times and the present day. His grim concern is not for himself but for the generations to come.

Funny that .....my ‘spellcheck’ function  ‘tut tuts’ at my use of the word Armageddons because there is no plural to Armageddon.

Try telling that to those who’ve lived through Armageddon. Try telling that to those who died in Armageddon. You can’t get anymore personal than having your own Armageddon.

While there might be a specific, biblical Armageddon there is no specific Holocaust basically because they’re so common - more’s the shame.

I finished  “Recognition of the child.” a week or so after the birth of the new born and wrote it mostly within  the same,  solemn four chord pattern I’d been strumming.

‘Recognition of the child.’ is an odd title so I added - in brackets - ‘Fall of an Empire.’ That made it very clumsy as a title so it will probably now be named  “Fall of an Empire.” A video of it is almost finished but Matti - rather drily - told me, when I offered him my ‘vision,’  that film footage from ancient times is difficult to come by.

He’s been true to the narrative by using recent history and we’ve left me out of the video because I’d be superfluous.

So if  “War = failure.” as the anti war demonstrator’s sign suggests, how DO we go to war?

Wish I had a simple answer but we know from childhood bullies that saying “Peace brother.” doesn’t work if that’s all you’ve got ..... but you don’t. Not now.

You have a depth of resources not open to those who set wars in motion. They don’t need courage when they can depend upon the courage or otherwise of those who do the actual battle. Their dependence on blind obedience is faltering. Soldiers aren’t any more or less stupid than the next person and soldiers don’t take kindly to being played as a fool.

You have convictions from which you gather strength. Yes? Moral, ethical convictions which guide your actions and which define who and what you are - to some extent at least.

Am I at war? Yes, but sometimes with a more tranquil spirit than when I first set out. I fight on a local front because that’s where I am and the fight manifests in the queue at the shop today where I’m just ahead - but only just - of a harassed looking woman. “After you.” I say and she goes ahead with barely a glance. So where was the fight and where was the war?

I haven’t been good with a sword since I lost a part of my right ear, living as a pirate. Something to do with balance I think

My small minded, small hearted self would have taken immediate and equally small minded pleasure if I’d gone ahead in the queue. That greater spark within me said ‘No’ ... ‘ Pause.’ ... ‘Demonstrate consideration.’

I was kidding about being a pirate although - who knows? .... and if I’m being honest, the greater spark within me didn’t say a word. The moment unfolded as it did and I add the meaning by reflection.

For the harassed woman it may or may not have had meaning but for me - it does.

Resolve is a ‘good’ word to sum up the intent of this song I’ve been talking about. You need resolve to go with the dedication to go with the endurance.

It’s all a bit of a shopping list of qualities really. What you have already and what needs to be acquired..... and then, perhaps, you can only get those qualities by going within and asking for help.

“Er - can I borrow a cup of courage?” 

“Help yourself, ..... please.”

 

... wading through molasses on a good day...

 

Am I a ‘lover of life?’ It’s not a phrase that comes to mind when I examine myself.

Spent much of my life trying to get around an early vow that I wouldn’t ‘play’ anymore. Of course, life won’t allow such passivity without consistent attempts, by the universe,  to overcome such a limitation.

For me a brake has been applied - without me necessarily realising it -for large portions of my life.

If you decide that you don’t want to play then what options are open?

Suicide never beckoned in any serious sense but depression becomes part of everyday. Not a happy existence but ‘happy’ seems a somehow silly aim when it’s such an ephemeral feeling.

I looked at ‘content’ which makes more sense to me than ‘happy.’

‘Content’ isn’t as exciting but it’s reasonable and achievable if I accept that ‘this life’ - like all the other lives - is a lesson. ‘Being Happy’ isn’t needed as a foundation apart from delighting in the moment which ‘happy’ surely indicates.

I do love the mysterious ways in which ‘God’ - or the universe - appears to operate. I look at the ‘plays’ in which I’ve been involved. One of the earliest was performed in Welsh - which we barely understood. A play about three woodsmen, in which one has a golden axe, one has a silver and the last has an ordinary axe. I had the ordinary axe and the play pointed out the uselessness of either a golden or a silver axe when it comes to the chopping of wood.

I wasn’t that happy about being the woodsman with the ordinary axe but I was very young.

I don’t know that I’m a lover of life but I’m drawn into ‘being in the moment’ through the following generations for whom life is an ongoing and  unfolding wonder. Children demand that you ‘be here now.’ .... and so do my intellectually disabled clients at the Group Home in which I work.

I’m a solitary bloke who is still capable of rage and still expresses it.

‘Leave your problems at the door’ is what life suggests when duty calls.

When I did some small attempts at acting and looked at and used ‘method acting’, an actor who could really act suggested to me that ‘pretending’ works quite well. I think that this can sincerely be applied to life.

Don’t feel charitable? Pretend. Don’t feel kind? Have a go anyway. You can’t do this without sincerity - that would just be pretence :)

Sometimes we have to imitate in order to make the quality desired  our own and ‘real.’

You have to fight cynicism which looks constantly for ulterior motive but is really just the cry of a wounded heart.

I affirm life when I see it in others. For myself, I’d be fine with blinking out of existence and back to whatever God is but ..... we’re here for higher purpose .... dimly perceived though it be.

So I have to ‘join in’ but ..... Wading through molasses? You betcha.

Love to all - even if I’m not sure quite what ‘love’ is.

 

...... it's a pick me up sort of day ...

 

God may love a holy fool but it’s a stretch to extend it to wholly idiot.

So I’ll trust that God stretches.

It’s one of those cool, misty days in the mountains where birds swoop and sing to each other as they go about their arcane business.

It was sweltering hot yesterday.

There’s still work to do in terms of bush fire preparedness and a gentle rain just settles the dust and gives the illusion of relative safety.

That we are all here due to karma is the only conclusion I can reach. I’m in my sixties and very little of the certainties of my youth remain.

Any glimmer of ‘truth’ is hard won and the “Oh - I get it.” moments arrive late.

That life isn’t fair is obvious from early childhood but perhaps it is fair.

“Whatever happens to you - you asked for it.” was the flat response of a swami friend, many years ago, when I was talking about horrendous early childhood.

I didn’t react well to that.

“So at the age of four or five, you’re suggesting that I knew that I’d get beaten when I asked “Why?” of my father?”

“Yes.” he replied. “ You asked for the conditions into which you were born.”

What do I take from that early experience as food for thought?

There was a few hours as I sobbed, bewildered in my bed, when all could have been made ‘right’ if only my father had had the courage to say ‘Sorry’ to a small child. He didn’t and I vowed that I wouldn’t play with him again. And so it was.

And life went on as though nothing had happened.

I have no problem at all with saying sorry for mistakes made and if a child asks me “Why?”  they get as complete a story as I can give before they roll their eyes to heaven and say “Enough ... I only wanted an answer.”

If previous lives echo through our present circumstance then there’s food for thought for me in the few roles that I’ve played on stage or in radio play.

Played a derelict and won a prize. Played the Son of the Sea King and didn’t. Played a dogmatic priest in ‘the life of Galileo’ and spluttered with rage against the incoming tide of a wider understanding.

I couldn’t cry for many years, got better, and then got to a point where an episode of the Simpsons could bring tears to the eyes.

Thanks God. Off to do some work.


 

...... singing "I don't know" and aint that sweet ....

 

To achieve something of value usually requires helpers. Perhaps it’s why humility is so valued by all of our real teachers.

I’m moved. God knows that I don’t give a flying fuck about the riches of the world. That being so - what then?

I don’t know anything ‘of you.’ Perhaps you haven’t written a ‘song’ - hey - perhaps you grew a cabbage - ‘equally good’ to my mind - but you get up each day and do what’s required to make it all work. It takes unselfish effort. It requires that you go the extra mile and know exactly what that effort entails. ‘Going the extra mile’ is a biblical saying with specific meaning.

Not talking to the lone gunman with dreams of - bullshit - talking to those for whom ‘celebrity’, ‘success’ and ‘fifteen minutes of fame’ is a quick glance at the t.v. dross and the knowledge that it’s all complete crap.

So what then?

I don’t need to know the mind of God to know that the duties and responsibilities which fate and destiny put my way are those to which I need place my attention. These are ordinary but needed.

This is where I’m ‘momentarily’ placed within the wider Universe..... although it seems like forever.

I ‘love’ action movies but I’ve yet to see one movie where the hero says “Hold on a minute - I’ve got to go to the toilet.”

Better still - “Perhaps we should do the washing up before we ‘blow them away.’ .... it’s nice to come back to a clean home, don’t you think?”

We are working to a higher purpose if the riches of the world don’t beckon. I love that. I love that ‘spiritual’ is washing up, helping out where needed and fuck all to do with robes, dressing up and ceremony.

See you in the kitchen, no doubt.

Apart from that, my life feels ‘ordinary’ .... at the moment.

It is ordinary and I’m thankful for many things - being ordinary, boring, a nose picker. Sorry if that makes you wince  but does the Queen pick her nose? This isn’t an idle question. Picking your nose is actually an essential part of grooming and I posed the same question to my co- workers at work at the Group Home when I asked “Has anyone EVER seen our clients picking their noses?”

I got an odd look followed by “No - not that I recall.”

Perhaps picking one’s nose is, therefore, a sign of intelligence.

I’m cheerfully odd.

My Jewish neighbour asked me  - out of the blue - whether I pray.

“Yes” I replied and mentioned both God and Jesus without clarifying anything before she said “You know that Jesus was a Jew?”

“ .... but surely He’s a fraud in your eyes?” replied I.

But we had to leave it there as the school run beckoned.

I’m talking to God now. That’s what these posts are in essence. I don’t invite a conversation with other humans here because .... I’m talking to God as best I can without resorting to bent knee and ceremony.

My teachers are many and cut through time with ease. Because they’re eternal, no doubt. I tread my path - what else can you do? - and lay claim to nothing. There is nothing to lay claim to. I don’t mean to be obscure. The I Ching warned me decades ago that you need a guide when wandering in an unfamiliar landscape but it also told me - to paraphrase here - that God loves a holy fool ..... and that ‘perseverance furthers.’

My teachers aren’t many in reality. It’s the same pure well of water that refreshes all life and that we are all able to drink from.

I come home from work, sometimes have a stiff drink and  write, publish and ‘be damned.’

‘I don’t know’ is a beautiful mantra.


 

...... and through the valley we go ....

 

“Now where did I put my initiations?”

“Oh that’s right  .... I didn’t get any.”

“Yes you did! ..... what about losing faith in the reality of Santa Claus?”

“Yes .... o.k. .... everybody lied to me. I suppose reaching that early understanding could be called an initiation. But - that left me confused which surely isn’t the purpose of initiation.”

“What about the child molester?”

“Right .... nobody prepared me for that possibility but it’s not an initiation except in deceit and corruption.”

“What about our culture, civilisation and religion? Didn’t you get an initiation into something positive along the way?”

“Hey - I can’t make a rubber band let alone build a concrete Cathedral so - no - I’m not initiated into the marvels of mechanics.”

“Religion? I loved the Christ of childhood Sunday school and that He appeared to be one of the few adults who were kind .... and ... nice. I was horrified to hear some priest say that without the resurrection Jesus would have just been a good man. To my child’s mind what mattered was his message. I never met Christ in that blindingly real sense that some will say but I do get that Christ - and the kingdom of heaven - lie within and do so whether you’re a Christian or not.”

I come home from work and my back is sore. It’s because - in a real sense - I’m standing on the shoulders of those who came before me and, already, I feel the weight of those who stand on my shoulders.

We’re linked whether we like it or not but Western Society fragments us. We’re told we’re individuals as if that were the end of the matter.

We’re told we have ‘rights’ but no-one states our responsibilities.

How long is it since anyone referred to you as a citizen rather than a consumer? It would be humorous if it weren’t so horrific.

I’m not speaking from some lofty height but from a plain of desolation.

“White man speak with forked tongue.” and every tribal society on earth has had to come to terms with the fact that OUR tribal leaders have broken every treaty ever written.

Their initiation is all the more painful because they probably thought - for awhile -  that we were ‘true’...... that we could be trusted.

Whatever God might be surely didn’t just start interacting with mankind with the appearance of Christ or Buddha.

My rose coloured glasses are broken and I mean that literally. I love the colour that they give and wear them while driving regardless of the broken frame. It’s when I forget that I’m wearing them and they fall off that I’m reminded again that things aren’t what they seem.

“Now - let’s see - how many realities co-exist?”

“More than one if initiation is to have any greater meaning than cold comfort.”

 

... and the beat goes on ...

 

The way in which tribal people, from lands so far apart, so naturally move into dance - communal and unselfconscious rhythmic expression - has always resonated with this white boy from culture far removed from tribal.

Born into a time where British ‘Twilight of Empire’ and English “Jolly good show.” were coupled with a repressed sense of awkward dance .....  these were legacies of a ‘Great Britain’ which I never accepted through those formative years primarily spent in Wales and then England.

Stamp the feet and connect with the earth is the tribal expression.

Quietly, the Aboriginal communities of Australia go about their creative  business and - times change - but they do so slowly.

Beset by problems where the last few generations have literally been wasted, the ghetto mentality and hopelessness inherent within an ongoing  cultural shock which is still resonating through Aboriginal Australia is still here in both reality and caricature.

Yet the resilience which got them through so many tens of thousands of years hasn’t been diluted by a few hundred years of ‘Yet to be proved - Civilisation.’

Our collective ‘Civilisation’ is under such threats from so many directions that ..... I wish I could segue into a good joke but the only one that comes to mind is the Irish “Knock Knock” joke.

You ready?

O.K. ...... “You start.”

It’s sweltering hot..... fair enough ... it’s the middle of summer in Australia and those who aren’t close to a beach find refuge where they can.

In the garden, the Canna lilies and the Agapanthus are as tough as old boots and reflect the sun back through their spears of bold and vivid colour. 

Musically - not much is happening by which I mean that the ‘hours a day’ enthusiasm of a few months back is temporarily gone. Climb a hill, reach a plateau and keep walking is the musical ‘mantra’ but I’ve stopped - as many of us do - to smell the flowers and just do other things.

“You could write a song about climate change.” says Matti who has already filmed ‘two planes’ and is working on ‘White men have no Dreaming.’

‘What about the criminal obscenity of Central Banking?’ say I.

But the truth is that I’ve never sat down with the intention of writing a song unless ‘the impulse’ comes. I understand that this is a woefully inadequate method of becoming a songwriter but that was never a concrete intention. It’s all about that ‘muse’ thing ....... and having something to say in song that’s perhaps worth the saying.   

Slow going on the road to Damascus and the beat goes on.

 

...... crazy as a cut snake ....

 

Slightly mad or all too sane.

I don’t know.... somewhere in between but not generally - sitting on a fence.

I visit websites where the voices are interesting, the focus is inspiring and the clarity of expression -  ‘thought provoking’  - whatever that means.

Leaders die and are equally  lauded as a hero and derided as a monster. All depends upon point of view.

The grief on the face of the Israeli man is real. Sharon is dead.

Sharon is a monster to much of the world. His deeds are known.

While the idea of Palestine remains, the sad, little, fragmented puddles of land left in which to create such a country aren’t viable and are diminishing by the day as ‘settlers’ reclaim their ‘Greater Israel.’

And the U.S. sends emissaries to travel and pontificate and to huff and puff about non-existent Peace Talks.

Sixty years of Peace Talks ..... what’s the sticking point?

No common ground on which to stand .... literally ..... Israel wants it all and therefore none of the ground is common in any sense of the word.

That’s where I don’t understand mental illness. Trauma - I know. I understand how life experience can cripple and distort free and natural expression. That’s not mental illness as I mean it here.

Stark raving crazy isn’t what I’m referring to ..... I’m talking about the mental illness where cunning and deceit are the way of life. I don’t understand it - in all the varieties of ‘this’ that I meet in life - because - bear with me - for cunning and deceit to operate then calculated choices are made.

So it’s not always mental illness - it’s often a self centred, selfish entity with no ethical base from which to guide their actions.

That’s got more to do with good and evil - surely?

 

... four blokes and a saucepan ....

 

The dreams of this man are fractured.

Dreams of my sleeping state seldom come to mind. Perhaps I miss a tremendous amount by virtue of my habits.

The last fragment of dream today that I remember was about a very clean mop and it got remembered when I got to work.

I’ve since decided that it’s time to take some long service leave.

Nowadays I like a drink and never used to. My present work requires a human capacity .. a continual giving in which - if I’m open to it - I receive a quiet joy in return.

I often feel a bit drained at the end of a shift and find that I relax into a drink when work is done and somehow I almost feel ‘confessional’ about it..... and I don’t know why ... it’s two in the morning and why should anyone care?

I don’t understand much about mental illness and often want to shout ‘Wake up and just do something constructive.’ .... but I  don’t think it helps much.

At the Group Home in which I’ve worked for a decade or so - but now part time - four intellectually disabled blokes work with me in some karmic dance where it takes me years to realise that when one of our blokes keeps going on about my ‘not so new’ boots or yells out cheerfully and without good reason “Watch your head.”, he’s just ‘communicating.’ and he’s doing it because he really likes me and wants a response .... so I tell him that they’re great boots and that I will ‘mind my head.’ ..... and we do this as an ongoing thing and he’s very pleased to be acknowledged and recognised.

And the funny thing about this is that I ‘know’ that I’m in much the same situation in respect to the guides who put up with and love me.

None of our blokes are ‘mentally disabled’ and, if the truth be known, the staff have far more behavioural problems than the clients.

I work within a bureaucracy where the cunning and the uncaring have found ‘jobs’ and often careers, long ago and in previous times when ‘care’ was a luxury, and in which - you can get away with doing the minimum.

It’s very hard to get rid of the cunning - they know the ropes and are used to deflecting attention away from the issue or just ‘shooting the messenger.’

‘Lip Service’ - for those unfamiliar with English - refers to the process of ‘going through the motions.’ rather than putting your heart and effort into the moment and what the moment requires.

I don’t know what the point of this writing is as yet but I fight an unflinching, quiet war at work with the uncaring who are taking payment for caring.

My builder/hang- gliding friend who recently leapt about the roof of my turret like a veritable banshee has vanished and left me with finishing the fine detail of a project that I started nearly twenty years ago.

Today - before  work - and I find myself spread-eagled over the apex of a corrugated iron roof, too damn high for comfort and well above an unyielding ground, and where I’m clutching a paint pot and brush and require the dexterity of a yoga practitioner in order to stretch to the utmost, trust in God and literally ask for guidance, and then spread some paint.

Then I have to approach the paint coverage of the roof from an extension ladder with a slab of concrete, for stability, at the bottom of the ladder and where I’m two steps above my comfort zone, twenty foot in the air and stretching to the utmost.

I’m alive now because I didn’t slide off the roof and also because I’m writing this but I’ll have to face the same task tomorrow just to finish the job and ‘be done with it.’

That’s the point perhaps. We stretch, endure, be brave and take heart from what’s happening within the requirements of our immediate world, and while the machinations of powerful shape the wider world - if the truth be known - well - you finish the appropriate phrase - but for me, the Divine is IT and manifests everywhere but most definitely within the ranks of the ‘disabled’ and also that, in the long run, machinations dissolve like foam in an ocean.

It’s the long run that I need to be in shape for.... potential demise notwithstanding.

 

.... shining across time ...

 

Listening to an old tape - no instrumentation - ‘Negro prison blues.’

Human spirit shining through .... the tape is beautiful, harmonious and wild ... group singing with just enough room for personal expression.

Call and response ... I hear it here in this room and I hear it with the birds in the garden.

I don’t need to understand every word to sense the feeling and be rejoiced.

There’s an aboriginal singer here who sings in his own language and who is both blind and intensely shy.

His music plays in the waiting room of the doctor’s surgery where I seldom attend. His voice puts my hair on end.

Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu is his name and his soul shines across both culture and time.

Pyramids, ancient ruins, out of place artifacts - the world abounds with mysteries and yet Australia seems somehow removed from such obvious links with distant past and previous cultures.

The visceral sense that I get travelling across ancient plains in central Queensland is that the road I travel was once a shallow sea and that forty foot above my head - a prehistoric sun shone on a placid watery landscape..... and still does.

Make no mistake - Australia isn’t just ‘Crocodile Dundee’ although many of us are very fond of him. Australia is something else. Vast and ancient.

For Aboriginal Australia to have survived and thrived for tens of thousands of years before Moses was a twinkle in his father’s eye gives one perspective when looking into the claims by today’s religions of a venerable veil of antiquity and to ‘long standing’ claims to land long occupied by others.

Good fun though they are - rose coloured glasses aren’t helpful to clarity of vision - I tend to forget that I’m wearing them.

A few years back and listening to a news report of an Aboriginal demonstration and I hear  ........ “White men got no Dreaming.” as the angry and anguished cry from the back of the protesting crowd.

If you’re a black American, reading this,  then you’re almost certainly ‘White men’ in terms of understanding the true meaning of what that Aboriginal man shouted out.

For most .... it went in one ear and straight out the other. For me - it went straight to the heart and to ‘the heart of the matter’ and eventually it prompted a song in me.

Thanks to an  unknown warrior. I pass it on.

 

..... turrets and sandcastles ....

 

The heat of the last few weeks plummets overnight as the temperature
shrugs off twenty five degrees.

Been repairing the turret. Who the hell has a turret?

My life isn’t usually lived around responding to world events. It’s the small, the local and the ‘everyday’ aspects of life which shape my activities while my thought processes are free to wander and wonder.

The bush fire season is far from over and the awareness of extreme weather - as a ‘new normal’ - pushes me to finish building activities.

I’m not that skilled at building but I’m great at cleaning up and quite capable of standing at the foot of an extension ladder shouting encouragement.

Years ago, my sister turned fifty and casually mentioned that she’d like a dolls house. ...... long story short and I investigate what’s available only to find that most dolls houses are a bit unfinished inasmuch as windows and doors at the back or side of the house aren’t there - even in the more expensive versions.

With a typical Aries enthusiasm and a complete disregard for my lack of ability to carry this through,  I built a two story dolls house where the walls can be adjusted and where the staircase could be lifted right out through a hinged roof, be turned ninety degrees, and be replaced to give another configuration to the hallway.

All lit up and it’s a great hit with sister and following generations.

Over a long winter, here in the mountains, I made about twenty or so freestanding staircases as I tinkered with dimensions. I then made turrets with stained glass windows  to surround some of the staircases and they look quite beautiful, particularly when lit up at night.

None of the turrets have a roof - the staircases rise to open sky.

I also have a real turret which leads from a kitchen up to a deck. While it has a roof, important detail such as eaves never got finished but now they are.

‘A man’s got to have an interest.’ makes more sense the older you get.

In the delightful way in which the Universe can operate, a gentle  rain starts falling just as the roof and eaves are finished.

‘Two planes.’ - I watched with great surprise as the views on youtube ticked over at speed and then slowed to a trickle.

It’s out there and - like the turret - it’s finished and can be left to the weather and its own devices.


 

.. it's true - he trumpeted ... and maybe it is ...

 

Something remarkable is happening.

Not many humans come here ... it’s mostly google bots, spiders and their kin.

So it’s been heart warming, over the years, to see the odd country - Slovenia, Russia and China- as examples - who come here for something other than saucepans and ‘kitchen ware for the fabulous.’

I don’t know what it means so I choose to take it as ‘heart warming.’

A film maker who doubles as a Group Home Worker- much like myself - likes my songs - or some of them - enough to ‘have a go’ at filming a narrative to go with my song ‘Two planes.’

He’s done it ‘gratis’.

His first reaction was that this was a ‘difficult and dangerous subject’ and he didn’t want to touch it with a ten foot pole. Moreover - he accepted the ‘official story.’

Mysterious is the Universe and he decides to ‘be true to my narrative’ and - an unbeliever though he is - he produces a film, puts it up on youtube, I send a few emails to Les Visible and Zen Gardner whose sites are an inspiration and - because the song is somehow ‘ true’, it has authenticity and a few thousand views appear within days.

I don’t want to get ahead of myself and thus I’m still washing bottoms as part of my work duties and whilst it’s a minor distasteful chore, I mention it not because I’m a wonderful person - I’m not - but because I know you probably do a physical, emotional or spiritual version of what I’m doing as an ‘ordinary but splendid entity.’

In other slivers of reality, I’m trying to pay bills, put energy into extended family and ‘get by as best I can.’ ..... before Mr Apocalypse beats me over the head or gives me a kiss.


I hope to greet him warmly whatever the outcome.

Half the world is experiencing wild weather in more ways than one while the other half awaits its turn. There are some things we can prepare for but much remains a question mark regarding the immediate future  .....we have  the knowns, the unknowns, the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns - just paraphrasing a war criminal’s words.

Love to all - as best we can manage.

'Recognition of the child '( fall of an Empire.) is the clumsy title to the song now playing if you were to hit the play button.

 

..... in the country of the blind ...

 

..... an all seeing eye might be useful ... but then again, no-one would see it.

It was Christmas Eve here in Oz where we’re a bit ahead of time.

‘Carols by Candlelight’ is a fixture here, each year, on our T.V.’s as perhaps it is in other countries. A mixture of smulch and fluffy substance, it brings joy, or something close to it to millions each year.

I work in a Group Home where simple pleasures are the order of the day and so three out of four were watching this event on their individual T.V.’s.

They loved it but to me - not only was it very little to do with Carols in their traditional sense but became utterly offensive when Disney joined the Parade on stage, complete with cartoon characters, and - fuck it ! - I don’t believe blasphemy is possible when dealing with ‘Whatever God Is’  BUT to take the word ‘Hallelujah’ and transpose it into ‘Halleloonjah’ - reference Donald Duck  plus Looney Tunes and to use the musical Hallelujah chorus itself was enough to swivel my head upon its neck and I’d have cut down the clown who passed that through for public consumption.

‘Peace, Love and Mungbeans.’ and someone knew exactly what they were doing when they wrote the script.

The whole show is sugar coated with a few ‘Silent Nights’ and then completely confused by ‘Santa Claus is coming to town.’ .... and there’s not much mention of Christ but most of the audience appear to go home blissed out and satisfied.

That’s actually real and I bow to the sincerity - desperate or otherwise - of those mothers singing along while holding their ‘babes in arms.’

It was a remarkable Christmas Eve during which I’ve sung Leonard Cohen’s  ‘Hallelujah’ to nuns and then gone to work and much later sung the same song to the only one of the four clients who wasn’t captivated by the T.V. show.

New Years Eve brings ever more elaborate fireworks displays and the Sydney Harbour Bridge is illuminated with the ‘All Seeing Eye.’

It barely raises an eyebrow.

9/11 continues to raise eyebrows.

The song ‘two planes’ now has a video added and ..... for some reason I can't add it here but it's in the links section.

 

... still singing Hallelujah ...

 

In a world where everything is connected it gives me ‘more than pause’ to see a careful disconnect between the powerful entities who shape events within this world.

9/11 and the Federal Reserve, Israel and the Rothschilds, endless wars for muddy purposes and who it is who finances both sides.

Mainstream media and the belittling of real news in favour of distractions and ‘How do you feel?’ stories.

It’s only made possible by a privately owned financial system devoted to maximising profit and minimising questions.

I don’t have the resources needed to run a world but understanding that money doesn’t stave off boredom, it would be a fair bet that you’d turn your mind to shaping events - for fun and profit.

Usury is an odd word. Vaguely understood if you understand both simple and compound interest, it’s not an oft used word for good reason.

It’s forbidden to practice usury within both Christianity and Islam yet the financial world is based on it.

It’s forbidden because it’s parasitic and the spiritual giants of this world recognised this danger to mankind.

Not only parasitic but eventually drawing everyone into ‘playing the game.’ and losing one’s integrity.

The silliest things stick in my mind but illustrate something which strikes me as profoundly important.

On a current affairs program  more noted for humour than deep thought a discussion was taking place.

Woolworths and Coles are the two giant supermarket chains in Australia. Both of them promote themselves as family friendly yet they both own large holdings in the poker machine industry. This fact was causing concern with the public and the panel were discussing the contradiction. This was actually big news here because gambling on the pokies is a scourge.

A very smooth and charming young man from the advertising and marketing world broke into the growing sense within the audience of “This aint right!” with the following comment.

‘You’ve got to remember that both Woolies and Coles are public companies and your superannuation fund has shares in these companies .... you may have shares in them yourself ..... and it’s the duty of these companies to invest wisely and maximise profits.’

The mood within both audience and panel did a complete turn and the mood become “ Oh ..... well .... that’s alright then.”

...... and ..... end of story and ‘let’s move on shall we?’

It’s not the end of the story and illustrates the compromises made in the ‘making of money’ and damn the consequences as opposed to the making of something real and of benefit.

‘It’s the system, man, you can’t fight the system.’

Probably true but for that to be true you have to at least know what the system is.

There are alternatives.

 

 

.... and there's no news like old news ...

 

What the daylight is hiding ... the stars for one thing.

We think of daylight as exposing what lies hidden in darkness but it’s the reverse of this when applied to the wider universe, the bigger picture.

The radio announcer stumbles over his words and says “That was hard to say.”

The U.S. government is thinking of tapering the quantitative easing.

In other words ...... the Federal Reserve ( a privately owned entity ) is thinking about slowing the printing of fake money.

It’s fake money because there is nothing to back its value.

Just look at the phrase if you doubt the slippery bullshit masquerading as policy ..... ‘tapering the quantitative easing.’

Black and white basic economics and no wonder that the radio announcer stumbles over this nonsense.

When those in power feel ‘safe’ they get careless.

If you’re here for the first time my voice may appear extreme particularly when I compare Israel to Nazi Germany. Appearances are always deceptive inasmuch as they don’t show the whole ... this being the nature of appearance.

Moderate is how I’d see myself but moderate isn’t possible when dealing with rampant evil. You shut your mouth or speak up.

Trolls abound on the net and I know this because I visit sites devoted to 9/11 and I’m not shy about adding my comment. What happens is that ANY intelligent comment gets followed, almost immediately, by shrill, angry comments - usually attacking the messenger - and which knock the intelligent comment off the page.

Behave like a troll and perhaps you seed your own future. Whether karma makes that true or not, being a troll is hardly a worthwhile exercise or occupation for a human being.

You can’t avoid making enemies if you speak the truth and I suppose that receiving a thinly veiled death threat means that I offend sensibilities.

Shrug and ‘so what.’ is my response. You can’t 'really and truly' frighten someone with death when this is our common end.

We all get carried out at some point and Spike Milligan’s inspired quote appearing at his grave and upon his headstone gives me great comfort and a gigantic chuckle.

“ I told you I was sick.”

Joy to you at Christmas and to those who question Christ’s existence,


.... look to his message..... and if you really want a thoughful chuckle and you know your bible then try watching 'The Life of Brian.'

To me it's profound yet to others it's profane.

 

...... back to the word ....

 

How to be a chosen people?

A blessing for all mankind if you become an living example of what Chinese culture might call - having the ‘character of a superior man’. Without a whacking big dose of humility - in light of such a huge responsibility - you fail.

Just listening to an audio link, provided by Gilad Atzmon, quoting Israeli leaders ..... and it’s a hideous spewing forth of vitriol against all who aren’t Jewish.

I am, at best, a beast on two legs and only here to serve the chosen.

Utter nonsense and a pathological condition when found in individual human beings.

Judeo/Christian wasn’t a term used when I was growing up in a small Welsh village. There is no Judeo/Christian reality ... it’s a rubbery phrase ..... smarmy and slippery. If you’re Jewish then Christ was a fraud and the Jewish scriptures deride him as such.

Why wouldn’t you deride a monstrous fraud? And the followers of such a fraud ... what to make of them?

When you see your tribe as surrounded by enemies ‘Turn the other cheek.’ is an alien concept. ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’ is definitely an injunction which needs careful consideration and plenty of amendments if it’s going to work in the real world .... or this world anyway.

As for ‘Love your enemy.’ ...... you are joking aren’t you?   

No. Christ wasn’t joking - not in my limited understanding. It’s all a natural outgrowth of an understanding that - whatever we conceive God to be - love governs all at a cosmic and local level.

It makes it inclusive not exclusive.

Mandela dies and most of us - not that I know ‘most of us’ - would see him as ..... a good example, a decent human being ..... a light in a dark world.

And articles sprout accusing or just stating that he was a Marxist, a terrorist and .... whatever.

It doesn’t matter what ‘isms’ he followed and perhaps discarded. It’s his ‘awe inspiring’ forgiveness of  his captors and his forgiveness of the apartheid state of mind which resonates within ‘most of us.’

He achieved on a world stage that which most of us have trouble achieving within the confines of our families and co-workers.

That sort of broad vision is exceptional wherever it’s found.

‘Love your enemy.’

There’s a challenge for us.

Wild weather here and the tiger lilies - glorious orange and green - appear to leap and crouch in small groups within the garden beds. Tree-ferns crowned with fronds of emerald green stand tall above the play. Some were burnt by too hot early summer sun and will take months to bounce back

Christmas became Xmas, without any explanation, somewhere in my late childhood. It’s funny that the desperate attempts to commercialise Christmas - for most of my extended family - have resulted in less and less gift giving but more time spent with each other.

As for Israel .... Nazis and master race couples up nicely with Zionism and chosen people. Same behaviour - show me the difference? Ask a Palestinian if a slow holocaust is different to a speedy version?

It’s an ongoing disaster for all of humanity to believe that one tribe is inherently better than the next .... particularly so when there isn’t the slightest evidence to support this delusion.

On a happier note, I’ve ‘got’ most of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah to where the written lyrics aren’t needed. This makes me a bit ‘slow’ on the uptake but I’ve always been that way and expression takes time to percolate.

No need perhaps for a disclaimer but Leonard Cohen’s religious persuasion doesn’t matter to me. My Jewish neighbour is no different to any other good neighbour I’ve known.

If either - in their faith - want to wait for a messiah who is yet to come then who am I to stand in the way.

Just as Christian fundamentalists don’t represent Christianity as a whole so the ‘chosen’ aspect of Judaism and the more sinister applications of such belief don’t necessarily have impact in the life of my Jewish neighbour.

Mandela left the world a better place than when he found it.

Doesn’t that cut across any boundaries set by race or creed.

 

....... life's a song ....

 

Price rigging happens and happens on a global basis. No- one could disagree with this yet - conspiracy remains a dirty word.

Seemingly intelligent and well educated people acknowledge that conspiracies abound throughout history yet have trouble accepting that they continue today.

At the turn of the21st century, corporations win a landmark legal decision which gives them the same rights as a human being. Few notice or wonder why this may be important.

Bank robberies now mean that the bank robs the customer and explain it in their fine print which states that you haven’t actually deposited some money in your account but have agreed to lend your money to the bank and thus become an unsecured creditor and you take your place in the line should life become tough for the bank.

As I don’t have any money this isn’t much of a concern personally.

As I live in this world and care about its past, present and future, money and how the system works matter a great deal.

It doesn’t take much investigation to see that the monetary system is both rigged and privately owned. The fact that few in the political life of any country publically question these facts indicates how completely compromised our societies have become.

I have a credit card. I don’t really - I have a card which allows me to get into debt....... so why is it called a credit card except to confuse the poor sod who happily accepts it.

Almost everybody I know is poor and hanging by a thread.

It’s a brave new world a dawning on our doorstep and war is waged upon humanity and the very earth itself.

Meanwhile life goes on and I bump into the local solicitor who formalised my last will and testament and who also plays some pretty cool swamp rock.

“Playing music?” he says.

“Learning Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah.” say I.

He told me that there were an extraordinary number of verses to the song and I googled it when I got home and found that eighty verses is agreed as a probable number.

I’ve got five in ‘my’ version.

The power of one word - used or omitted - was expressed by a commentator at the site in which I got the information about the verses.

There’s a line which often reads as:

‘Well maybe there’s a God above but all I’ve ever learnt from love is how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.’

...... it’s a beautiful image but doesn’t quite make sense. How can you shoot someone who outdrew you ( unless they miss ) ?

The commentator says that the ‘proper’ line reads ..... how to shoot at somebody who outdrew you.

I don’t know why this matters enough for me to note it. Perhaps it’s because words have meaning and we live in a world where language is debased.

‘It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.’ ...... now that’s a glorious image to play with.

It’s a beautiful Spring day in the mountains. Bushfires have been drenched by rain upon rain. The storms we’ve been experiencing here are of an intensity which has had me flinching .... and I enjoy storms.

Tiger lilies now dominate the garden. Another week or so and there’ll be a burst of bright orange blooms on waist - high canes of dark green leaves. Most of the Tree-ferns now have crowns of emerald green fronds and growth is everywhere.

So is change.

 

.... coming home ....

 

Went elsewhere for a week.... less the two days of travelling.

It’s a ten hour drive to get there and it was on the fourth day that we found the Blue and the Green pools.

It’s only a fifteen minute drive from our very temporary holiday home of which - I can only paint a suggestion - picture a gated community where the grass is manicured but the place is ‘sold’ as pet friendly..... take a plastic bag when out walking the ancient dogs or suffer baleful looks.

It was strange and unexpected holiday house - found over the net - but it basically suited the purpose so ... no complaint.

It’s possible to go anywhere in Australia and find great natural beauty. These Green and Blue pools lie a stones throw from the beach and are separated themselves by not much more than a stones throw from either each other or the beach. They’re freshwater pools with ample size in which to swim or to dive - if brave enough - from high rock platforms.

Coastal trees with a fruit which look like pineapples and with strong aerial roots - so beautifully large and suited for walking that I can’t help but call them Ents and give them a touch lightly when passing - live in the spaces between the sea and the cliff.

I left behind Bushfires and Group Homes, Fukushima and Financial Duplicity to happily take a river cruise and other delights and just be a tourist -  taking a brief break.

I don’t think I’ll have much to say here  that I haven’t already said after this communication.

We need changes in our consciousness - or I do.

Before I left, I played at the Portland Spring Fair - just west of the major Blue Mountains bushfires which centred on Lithgow to the west and Springwood to the east.. I loved playing there. I loved the way in which we were able to play in the Grandstand of a small country town’s showground area. I loved the stalls and the vintage truck display and the fact that the whole enterprise brings people together.

Got back last night and played this afternoon at the local Blackheath Rhododendron Festival. It was great fun ... I think it’s ‘fun’ .... perhaps because I come close to being ‘alive and in the moment’ when playing.... and it’s not too different to jumping out of an aeroplane - which I only had the impetuous courage to do once - and that was in my early twenties.

What can I say?

9/11 - Israel ‘done it’

Don’t believe me? I should hope not. Do your own research....... whoo hoooo and sideways into .... “I would if I could and although I should I don’t. Why is that? It’s because although I will it because I know it to be true, I don’t feel that I’m able or capable to do it and therefore choose not to fulfill my obligation.”

All wars and revolutions? Both sides financed by the same privately owned tribe. Who are they?

Where are we now? ... hmm ... essentially in the hands of God - which may or may not result in a personal nasty death which is going to come sometime anyway and doesn’t last forever.... but ... not to fear ... it’s only a curtain drawn on the part we play today but ... it does signify something.... regardless of Shakespeare. There’s a wonderful transcendent beauty in the way in which we give meaning to our brief lives and  - to my mind - it does more than ‘signify nothing.’

Every moment exists both in the now and eternally. I don’t know how I know that but I do.

Belinda plays flute, keyboard and trumpet and happily joins me onstage for these local gigs as does Raine who is a belly dancer and a drummer - which is quite a combination. Peter plays rhythm and either Bruno plays lead or John plays bass.

Put yourself in my shoes. I wrote a few poems and I learned a few chords so it’s quite something to play with musicians who appreciate my small gift.

A great joy, on this holiday, is to receive the chords and lyrics to Leonard Cohen’s exquisite song ‘Hallelujah.’

I offer it here as a parting gift which I’d love to have had the good grace to have written.... I play it in E or in D .... C  being too low for community choral comfort. And please don’t count on the chords being in the ‘right place.’

To make sense of the song, it helps to know that David was a Jewish king who lusted after the wife of one of his bravest soldiers whom David sent to the front lines in order that he be killed and his wife be set ‘free.’

As far as love goes ... on that personal level .... I do relate to this song and wish  - whoever you are - well.

                          HALLELUJAH
C                                           Am
I HEARD THERE WAS A SECRET CHORD
                 C                                        Am
THAT DAVID PLAYED AND IT PLEASED THE LORD
            F                                     G                             C             G
BUT YOU DON’T REALLY CARE FOR MUSIC DO YOU
                    C                                        F                      G
WELL IT GOES LIKE THIS, THE FOURTH, THE FIFTH
            Am                                       F          
THE MINOR FALL AND THE MAJOR LIFT
               G                               Em                        Am                 
 THE BAFFLED KING COMPOSING HALLELUJAH
           F                       Am                      F                        C  G   C
HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH

C                                           Am
WELL YOUR FAITH WAS STRONG BUT YOU NEEDED PROOF
                 C                                        Am
YOU SAW HER BATHING ON THE ROOF
            F                                     G                             C             G
HER BEAUTY AND THE MOONLIGHT OVERTHREW YOU
                    C                                        F                      G
SHE TIED YOU TO HER KITCHEN CHAIR
            Am                                       F          
SHE BROKE YOUR THRONE AND SHE CUT YOUR HAIR
               G                               Em                        Am                  
AND FROM YOUR LIPS SHE DREW THE HALLELUJAH
           F                       Am                      F                        C  G   C
HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH

C                                           Am
BABY I’VE BEEN HERE BEFORE
                 C                                        Am
I’VE SEEN THIS ROOM AND I’VE WALKED THIS FLOOR
            F                                     G                             C             G
I USED TO LIVE ALONE BEFORE I KNEW YOU
                    C                                        F                      G
I’VE SEEN YOUR FLAG ON THE MARBLE ARCH
            Am                                       F          
BUT LOVE IS NOT A VICTORY MARCH
               G                               Em                        Am                  
IT’S A COLD AND IT’S A BROKEN HALLELUJAH
           F                       Am                      F                        C  G   C
HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH

C                                           Am
WELL THERE WAS A TIME WHEN YOU LET ME KNOW
                 C                                        Am
WHAT’S REALLY GOING ON BELOW
            F                                     G                             C             G
BUT NOW YOU NEVER SHOW THAT TO ME DO YOU
                    C                                        F                      G
BUT REMEMBER WHEN I MOVED IN YOU
            Am                                       F          
AND THE HOLY DOVE WAS MOVING TOO
               G                               Em                        Am                 
AND EVERY BREATH WE DREW WAS HALLELUJAH
           F                       Am                      F                        C  G   C
HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH

C                                           Am
WELL MAYBE THERE’S A GOD ABOVE
                 C                                        Am
BUT ALL I’VE EVER LEARNT FROM LOVE
            F                                     G                             C             G
WAS HOW TO SHOOT SOMEBODY WHO OUTDREW YOU
                    C                                        F                      G
IT’S NOT A CRY THAT YOU HEAR AT NIGHT
            Am                                       F          
IT’S NOT SOMEBODY WHO’S SEEN THE LIGHT
               G                               Em                        Am                 
IT’S A COLD AND IT’S A BROKEN HALLELUJAH
           F                       Am                      F                        C  G   C
HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH




 

.... haven't gone fishing yet ....

 

The fire is coming. Cicadas don’t sing at night ... unless it’s only that I’ve never noticed them....... but they literally just started and it’s midnight.... millions of cicadas are singing and it’s hard to miss such a thing if you’re awake.

The fire is huge and it’s a very uneasy ‘Wait and see’ situation for the inhabitants of the towns and villages which lie along the ridges which have allowed for the Great Western Highway - still unfinished - to wind its way through the foothills - the doorstop - of the Blue Mountains which is, in itself, a part of the Great Dividing Range which pushes up - usually within a hundred miles of the Eastern Coast of Australia and runs, like a rumpled blanket of woodland, for thousands of miles.

The cicadas have ceased in these brief few minutes since I started writing.

It’s a state of emergency for N.S.W. and, as I drove home from work at the Group Home tonight - a twenty minute drive, in the opposite direction, from the suburb where two hundred homes have been lost in the last two days - so the fire trucks coming the other way numbered fifteen or so before I lost count.

It’s quite dramatic on the T.V. shots showing fifty foot walls of fire but - at the moment - most of us aren’t on that front line where mass evacuation is called for.

For all the fact that I’ve been ‘sensible’ within the garden and removed fire hazards as best I can, there isn’t much that you can do if a firestorm occurs.

Not only are the fires happening in early Spring rather than late summer, we also have sixty years of growth and unburnt decay lying in the valleys surrounding the ridges, where we all have our dwellings, and it’s just waiting that explosive spark and fierce wind to create a very real firestorm.

I’d organised, a few weeks back, for a talented friend to do some work here today and, after a few hours, took the thermometer into the sun where the poor sod was working only to find it reading 110 F. - 45 C.

The temperature - taken in the shade which gives the ambient air temperature - was 26 C.

Anyway - it’s hot.

Since then two days have passed and phone messages of concern greet me when I get home from work at the Group Home - half way down the hill.

I appreciate that a fire storm in Australia is making world news and that it’s a real and immediate concern for me, living here in the Blue Mountains, but I also appreciate that natural disasters happen.

Unnatural disasters are another matter.

Did you know - as I didn’t - that Palestinians are not referred to as Palestinians by those who rule in the temporary state of Israel?

They are called Arabs and it matters because ‘Arabs’ is a generic word - you can find Arabs everywhere in the Middle East.

Palestine sits where Israel wants to be and Israel wants it all thus we cannot have Palestinians because that implies that there is a Palestine.

What a hideous fraud Israel is.

Sorry about that transition into a rant but it’s a Fukushima world and yet I’m moved to tears by the human spirit evident in the way in which ordinary human beings respond in times of disaster.

I don’t know ‘most of us’ but I can’t help but believe that ‘most of us’ mean no harm and are happy to help.

In a time like this, who the fuck needs an elite of bullshit artists masquerading as humans?

The fire is here.

 

...... gone fishing, there's a sign upon my door ...

 

Being Royalty in a fish bowl is a temporary and limited domain, dependent upon forces over which we - as fish - and royal or not, have no control.

Like fish, many of us have limited memory, limited awareness but also enjoy a blissful and slightly uneasy sense that ‘all is probably well.’

Perhaps it is.

Although appearances can be deceptive, it’s hard to see Fukushima as anything but catastrophic for mankind. If it were only these generations who will be devastated perhaps we could treat it as an equivalent of a world war where populations are decimated but mankind rebuilds. With what we know of radiation effects, this luxury isn’t realistic.       

Apart from a few stragglers, the cicadas have fallen silent and life doesn’t miss a beat.

The deep purple Iris have had their day and are replaced by the pale blue Iris which flower upon stems which reach up almost to my chest. The brilliant orange of the Tiger lily will replace the blue Iris.

Ever changing and ever beautiful, the garden shows complete disregard for the concerns of man but it still gets frazzled by the extremes of weather. Heat and strong winds coupled with no rain for awhile have allowed some of the Tree ferns to somehow thrive while others have almost given up the ghost...... but not completely.

I do feel more kinship with Tree Ferns than with fish.

Probably need a holiday.

 

....... while cicadas sing ..........

 

The cicadas have their day in the sun and their individual songs chorus, merge and drown out the birds - drown out all but the noisiest of the Sunday lawnmowers. Relentless, poignant and beautiful come to mind.

Remarkable how seven years of a life cycle is spent underground until the right degree of warmth brings them to the surface and it then becomes hard for us to remember the relative silence which preceded their arrival.

Exceptional is how cicadas might see themselves. Unaware of how brief their time might be but driven by a mating imperative, they sing and sing until they find each other. The only sound which matters is the singing of their brethren.

They’ll be dead very soon.

The word ‘exceptionalism’ isn’t recognised in my spellcheck tool. It’s a word which surfaces and disappears as conditions dictate and allow.

“I’m special - so special” sings a starlet and millions echo that sweet refrain as they seek a mate. Why not - it’s a lovely tune.

America sees itself as exceptional and says so. The state Of Israel, swollen with special, does as it pleases. Nazi Germany spouted the same master race idea.

Special, chosen and exceptional.

Humility doesn’t sit well with such notions.

Saw a program about the Shetland Islands where fishing is a mainstay of life. Conditions are rough off the coast and each year a blessing of the fleet takes place.

“You won’t find a fisherman who doesn’t take this blessing seriously. We’ve lost seventy men over the last few years.”

There’s a disconnect here for me.  A sense that we’ll pray desperately in times of danger and thank God if we get through alive but - ‘Mysterious are the ways of the Lord’ if we die.

Life isn’t forever and many don’t die peacefully in their sleep.

Embracing the reality we experience includes pain and sorrow and no expectation of Divine interference in mankind’s operation of free will.

Embracing death as equally as we embrace life.

It’s an exquisite Spring Sunday morning. The cicadas sing, the garden beckons and I'm just quietly wondering   ....  as you do.

 

.... to dream of Dreaming ......

 

What was that errant thought which flashed across my mind.

‘Love the human, loathe the behaviour’ is as judgmental as it gets when attempting to apply the Golden Rule.

‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’ ... fine .... er ... what?

What? ..... love Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot and all the tyrants who ever ruled before, themselves,  turning to dust?

Well...............it ‘sort of ’ works for me and perhaps it’s because I’ve experienced hate and found it hideous and all pervasive. It’s why I don’t wish to see scapegoats or villains hanging from lamp-posts. I don’t want to be part of a mob baying for evil.

‘Vengeance is mine.’ sayeth the Lord - according to my memory of the Bible. Why the hell would a God of Love say such a thing.

Because  we’re nasty when angry.... we being human.

We’re capable of horrible deeds, hideous actions ..... much better for a God composed of love to take the appropriate actions which redress the balance. It almost certainly isn’t going to be the variety of vengeance - revenge - that humanity sees as ‘Justice.’ but that’s surely where karma kicks in -  if we’re to make any sense of ‘The Words Of Wisdom’ echoing and rippling through the generations.

Probably why ‘As you sow - so shall you reap.’ resonates with me. For this to have meaning - one lifetime is not enough.

I don’t see much common ground between the Abrahamic religions.

If you’re of the Judaic faith then perhaps you’re still waiting for a messiah but, either way, Jesus Christ is seen as a false messiah who, therefore, is not accepted as anything but a fraud and a disappointment - someone who is debased, deluded and probably boiling  - somewhere in hell.
                   
This is not my opinion but accepted Jewish religious thought.

My sense is that the Jewish God is a tribal god. How can it be anything else? ‘IT’ chose them over all other tribes and they then make the mistake of thinking that chosen means automatically special.

Thus - for them - any other religion is ‘wrong’ regardless of a fuzzy commonality that the one god is going to be the same god.

Islam is revered by many as a tolerant, peaceful and merciful religion yet, among its adherents are those who’ll cut your head off because - in their opinion - you’ve insulted the Prophet or God.

Surely neither a God nor a prophet can really be insulted - it’s the followers who take on the insult - and the whole notion of blasphemy is a nonsense dreamt up by those who aren’t actually sure of either their faith or their belief.

I heard a pundit on the radio today suggest that if aliens visited the earth and looked at Aboriginal Australians as being representative of mankind then they’d conclude that we aren’t very developed.

Whoa .... what? Compared to what? White phosphorus raining down?

This view reflects the mentality of many educated and intelligent men who echo the British Imperial world view which my own father shared and is expressed as “Where are their cathedrals, where are their inventions?”

He was quite happy to accept that - somehow - the Aborigines here managed a damn sight more than a few thousand years of continuous and apparently harmonious existence with the land but he then got stuck with his own imbibed sense of official history where our ancestors - the Welsh, the Ancient Britons - did much the same as indigenous peoples everywhere but developed further along a path of progress towards civilisation - as he sees civilisation. Part of that process would involve giving up pagan ways. Giving up that which had nourished, sustained and endured.

Personally, we were brought up in the bosom of a Roman Catholic church which, a few centuries ago, was cheerfully burning people at the stake and reading the Bible in a language only understood by priests.

George Carlin had thoughts about the Ten Commandments and concluded that ‘Ten’ was a marketing tool .... and that the ten could be reduced considerably. Perhaps he’s right.

Assuming you’re not a totally twisted human being, ‘Do unto others as you’d have done to yourself.’ can’t be bettered.

No need for anything else and while the ceremony of religious gatherings may help to set the mood - I’ve never had any problem talking directly to whatever it is that is the engine of everything - good and evil alike.

I’ll call that underlying presence God.

In the mid seventies I had the good fortune to find myself working briefly for the Arts Council of N.S.W.

I worked with two groups of Australian tribal men, from the Northern Territory, over a three or four month period of time. The purpose of those two tours, through outback and regional N.S.W., was to present to school children a ‘show’ which would have elements of song and dance, some language and story telling, then a bit of lighting fires using sticks, some playing of didgerridoo and learning to throw a boomerang.

It was a framework - a show -  through which the perceptions of both whites and blacks about Aborigines and their culture could be changed - hopefully for the better.

This was in a time where Aboriginal identity and tribal life was being ravaged by alcohol and prejudice and life isn’t much improved now.

With no background in tour or company managing, I’d landed that job because - right place, right time.

I stopped writing here for an hour of playing music and an hour of removing Bindii from the garden. I remove them by hand and each year they grow less. It also gets me very much ‘up close and personal’ with everything in the garden.

Aboriginal Australia survived and thrived - as I learnt - in no small measure because their spiritual life is real. A cathedral isn’t needed to enclose whatever the Divine might be if the Divine is everywhere.

The Dreamtime isn’t an area with which I’m knowledgeable  nor is it something that tribal people put in the forefront of relationships with white Australia.  My hesitancy here in speaking of it is not because it isn’t real but because the version of spiritual life in which I was immersed from birth didn’t have any experience to it other than a warm fuzzy glow gained from attending church...... I’d venture that my experience is common and reflects a religion and not a spirituality.

None of this is to denigrate Christianity and certainly not to denigrate Christ - but the tribal elders and keepers of the knowledge, here in Australia, have been doing so for tens of thousands of years prior to Christ, Buddha or Mohammed and this, in itself, is indication that whatever spiritual life is, it must contain real experience, real substance, real duration.

I’m not puzzling over states of consciousness here but recognising a reality which is co-existing with our own commonly accepted reality -  the Dreamtime. Strangely named for something so real.

Perhaps only strange to a non indigenous mind which sees dreams as not substantial although maybe enlightening and which understands the period of time in which we spend sleeping as rest and recuperation.

The Dreamtime exists as a vibrant reality in which our belief or disbelief has no impact nor effect.

Better make it clear here that there’s nothing special that I know of about me. No second sight, no special powers, no otherworldly gifts and certainly no special understanding, wit nor wisdom.

We had a tribal elder on both those tours. The first showed me a glimpse of the fine and the magnificent. That which existed prior to the white man and exists today. The second elder was much diminished by alcohol and showed me ....... the tragedy of that.

You’ll remember a childhood game of ‘Follow the leader.’

The family ties and connections within Aboriginal society make it equally true that if I am your uncle and I say “Now we hunt.”  - that’s precisely what we go and do but if I were to say “Sit down and drink with me.” - it’s a bloody hard thing to refuse. There was no alcohol here before our arrival, a few hundred years ago.

If aliens are visiting the earth, looking for signs of civilisation, they’re not going to just be  looking for a cathedral, a palace or a wheel.

I’ll finish here with this.

Listening to the afternoon radio, a year or two back, and the presenter crosses ‘live’ to a noisy demonstration where whoever has the microphone has stirred response from the crowd.

A voice from the back of the crowd cuts through the din and cries out

‘White men got no Dreaming.’

A momentary pause before the noise resumes. It’s enough time for his collective  two hundred years of anguish, betrayal and disbelief to cut to my heart as I recognised that few, if any, would hear the meaning in his words.

‘White men got no Dreaming.’ applies equally to non indigenous black men so there’s no black versus white difference there.

It’s not a capacity that we - as humans living today - have lost. It hasn’t atrophied. It’s just fallen into disuse because we’ve forgotten about it. Somewhere along the time-line, some part of the teaching ..... ceased to be a profound, immediate and communal experience.

And while - perhaps - we don’t miss what we never knew - ‘never’ is also one of those words which tells an incomplete story.