Thursday, December 23, 2010

introducing nina to nina


Nina this is written with you pictured in mind and soul.

The clouds have somehow outwitted the wind - and its relentless removal of the potentiality of itself.  They are thick, billowing over the all-encompassing mountains and adding some dimension to what has been a flat blue sky, endless day landscape.  Suddenly there is less visibility, everything takes on a mysterious tone, rolling, flowing, and dissolving.

In the car with me is the entire family.   Very rare for us to journey out so far and exceptionally rare for us to all be together.    We usually  take it in turns, pairing up differently for different excursions.  Like a mainly hardware trip would be for Sage and Tao and a fruit shop would be for Pieter and Iona would always do libraries and markets.  But today we are all together in this car.  Gliding smoothly through the well-known landscape.  And yet still absolutely bowled over with the beauty that is everywhere. It never diminishes.

My eldest child, the daughter who got off the hamster wheel and found herself being violently flung off the hamster wheel and  living a sustainable life on a farm wrote the other day on a page -  I am so happy and so grateful.  How profound is that.  It touched me so deeply, deeper than any accolade or award offered to her could have done.  Within herself, living in utter simplicity, she now tastes life in its fullness.  Away from the carrot she follows her own wishes, which is basically for a lifestyle that encompasses children, requires simplicity and takes nothing too seriously.  Oh yes and the ability to roll with the punches in fluid motions – except when you don’t of course.
Pia was one of those visitors that sat with me on the journey yesterday.  Then you, Nina appeared.  Looking at the parched landscape, I felt you under water, wet, sore, tired.  Breathing you in, sending you love and warmth.  So we were together some of the journey.
And just as we were about to go to the outskirts of the town I find myself asking my partner, Pieter, the driver to stop at the pet store.  He sort of goes oh ho.  But not once has he ever denied me custody of any creature.  I really take my hat off to him for that.  He says what with a fat smile on his face.
And I mention the stop will facilitate the liberation of  guinea pigs.  You buy them for R10 which is about 2 dollars. Mostly they are taken to empty children’s bedrooms where they live out their lives in small cages.  Upon hearing the word liberation he steers us to the shop.  You just got to know how to dress it up.  Such is covert rescue work J



On the way to the store, down the oak lined lanes with Victorian homes, my heart becomes noticeable,  it is moving differently somehow,  or I am just more aware of it.  My anticipation grows – it feels so absolutely right.  There had been no prior thought about this.  A spontaneous arising - and then we arrived.  And once inside this shop – we know exactly where  to go , which cage on the cement floor is most likely to start the founding members of a new tribe.  We open the lid – and voila - by the most amazing subatomic physics, in front of us are these beings………..
We do what we need to do, with Sage holding the Jamaican and Iona holding the Nord.
Decide to add to the journey by taking a road unknown,   A gravel road which would entail dropping our speed to a crawl due to gravel and loose surfaces.  And yet because the sun is absent and we are not baking, we agree.  A change is as good as a holiday.   Cian suddenly asks us to stop.  On the side of the road are clusters of lucerne.  He stops and picks some.  The freshness of the plucking permeates the car.    I wish I could relay to you the perfection of light on this day.  The way it magnified the might of the mountains, the way it perfectly framed a blade of grass against a pole. The way it sung the landscape into a passion play.
Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.  Iona and Sage have fallen asleep in the back.  The Jamaican and the Nord are in their box with the lucerne.  Krishna Das is playing over the speakers.  Something I have loved dearly  but unfortunately listened to death.  Tao, Cian and I playfully told Pieter we would have to kill him if he did not change the music.  God, how did that make us laugh?  How can we be such cheap dates?  How can so little be so entertaining.   I start talking to Pieter about what else I have discovered about ayahausca.  Ask him if he would read the piece on it that Ravi posted.  He agrees.  Cian and Tao tune in.  Cian says wow – for your 50th birthday you take acid and for your 51st you take ayahausca.   I say yes funny how it all arises.  We talk about the plant and its origins, what they understand and what they want to know. There is an openness that I never ever stop valuing and savouring.

It is known from the moment I saw her that the nord would be called Nina.  The kids looked at me as if to say – not very unusual.  And then I tell them about you.  And they remember our link and are in complete agreement.  The black guy well at first glance Russian sprang to mind – but slowly a Jamaican revealed himself.  But by them the meme for a soviet name had already sprung – so the patriarch of the possible tribe is Vladimir Eli.

Today the sun broke ever so slightly through the clouds, the wind was absent and I find myself sitting on the couch with Nina and Vlad.  They are resting on my belly.  And you know that is the beauty of winny gigs is their ability to just be still.  They don’t have the usual rodent tendency to shy away or move suddenly.  How you put them is how they stay. 
So I place them close together, and gently stroke them.  They have not been held.  They are wild but not wild like in able to survive on their own, just wild as in unloved by humans.
The sun shines on them ever so gently.  I feel what it must be like for them.  God knows if they have ever felt this before.  The birds call.  The wit oojie is in the budhlia right above me,  some distance away a pigeons croons,  in between the fiscal shrike calls ‘kwerty, kwerty, kwerty.  I don’t know when last they heard this particular music.  They calm down.  I stroke Nina along the back, she chubbles in delight on each downstroke.  Slowly they are unfolding to something known in their genes.   A way of being.  They are absorbing these subtle nuances.  I introduce them to plants just picked.  They are unsure; they have only eaten dried pellets their whole lives.  So in 24 hours they have tasted sunshine, a lap, a gentle caress, basil, thyme, freshly picked coz lettuce.   Just after the solstice, this new tribe begins.
The year has gone by rapidly but the days have all been long.  Rich, varied, with me of course always choosing the path of least effort.   A yoga teacher who has just recovered from a bypass and I sat together this afternoon in the dappled light.  He asked what I was enjoying reading at the moment and I mentioned how reading seemed to have fallen away.  More and more time was spent in solitude.  Sitting in a chair with light shining in gently, birds outside calling, breathing happening and very little else.  An embrace with silence.
He told me how lucky I was for this to happen.  I said it came with a price.  It came with being labelled and self-labelling as lazy, inept and not very ambitious.   It is just the love of idling that enables these labels to be taken on without much ado.  No way am I going to become an active do-er – just so far away from this nature and programming.



Images that come of this past year all show a lot of attention being placed on children and creatures.  Diligence, watchfulness and yet also allowing freedom despite the price  come into the equation.  In every article one reads one reads about the dastardly rats.  The venomous vipers, the corpulent rabbits.   And they attach this language to particular acts of humanity that are so not part of the rodential reality.  Rodents don’t do to each other what people do.   Snakes have an inherent wisdom and potential for transformation – not the blind danger that we ascribe to them.  So here, in this little corner of the world, the year has been spent being hugely entertained, embraced and loved by this kingdom of rodents and honouring their beauty.

 (the rats water bowl with a sprinkling of fresh herbs).












(meet nina - vlad is still too shy to take an image of)

And beloved Nina it occurred to me today, when sitting down to write this blog that a huge acknowledgment goes to you for this expression which gives me such delight and pleasure.
From my very first heart stopping posting on smoking mirrors, to gradually expressing myself on line – with you holding out a hand, a reassurance, a seeing.  Thank you beloved for that – and thank you to all others who experience this…..






Peace………and goodwill to all………………

 let the playfulness amidst the simplicity continue...

Thursday, December 9, 2010

ayahausca calling



I saw a headline earlier on – Israel fears growing Palestine support.
Perused the article briefly because truth be told I would have thought this would be an obvious.  Not a reason to write an article. 
With the past months worth of news, which we all have shared over the same perspective, the one thing that sits with me right now – out of all the news stories is the fire on Mount Carmel.  There was an image of a huge 747 kind of number dropping water.
Having seen last year how quickly the dams emptied when the firefighting helicopters were water bombing.  I can imagine the size of this one plane’s water load.  And I wondered how many gazallion gallons were dropped.  And where was the water picked up and sourced from.  Canada and Russia were a huge support in lending resources and assistance.  Canada is no surprise – Russia was – silly me once again thinking there is any difference of the psyche of governments.  Apart from South America that is.  Maybe.  Probably not though.  I also wandered how many people that had been so very helpful to israel in her crisis had responded at all to the man induced cholera facing Haiti. 
Well I did not wander that – we all know no-one cares about the Gazans.  No one cares about the Haitians.  No one cares about the torture, the maiming, the fucking imprisonment and torture of Aafia Siddiqui  scientist for two years or the countless other innocents tortured in the name of the war against terror.

Oh and I had thought only one story remained with me.  They all come flooding in simultaneously.  Each lasting a nano second but with each second I can feel this body’s cells dying.
An image of a small child having a body search.  A young boy.  His shirt is off and his father is holding him in place whilst he is searched.
I saw his young body and immediately all my kids came to me.  And I am a lioness when it comes to these children.  If that had been one of them being checked like that – they would probably have had to shoot me then and there. 
Maybe I am just less numb but don’t these people know about the child care abuses.  Don’t they know how prevalent sex attacks against children are?  Have none of them that allow this ever read Aangirfan and his amazing dot to dotting of the plague. Do none of them, those being searched and those doing the searching that they have moved in the exact opposite direction of an evolving mankind. And with this huge question in mind and a rage that there are just so many fucking stupid people on this planet I head into town.
We have been sowing our own seeds at places, needing beautification and purification.   We will wait a while to drive past and see the seeds popping up.  But hey wait a minute – as soon as any of those places see sprouting life – they will pull out the 20 liter container of roundup and prevent any life from attempting the same foolishness for the next 20 years.  But we tried – and it was fun. A lot of fun – a 2 day game.

This morning Tao and I head in again for a mission and a half.  At 9 in the morning it is already 36 celsius.  The exhaust rattles itself into a trance.  Slowly passing the vineyards, and more vineyards and gosh almost swoon someone has planted fruit trees.  Shock horror, this is news.

Crossing over the bridge where the massacre of the bluegums was held a short while ago I see something that brings tears to my eyes.
Tears of gratitude.  They have replaced those trees that they killed.
And planted three times as many trees, indigenous to the region.
They used the remnants of the blue gums for tables and stools for the community to sit by the river.
Shock horror and pure delight this too is news.
Completely new to me.

I head into the post office first – the same building and people that have been handling the business parcels for the past 12 years.  As a gypsy that is pretty dam amazing to have lived in this funny little place for so long.   We chat whilst weighing, computing, processing this order goes, all the while chatting, laughing.  A woman enters with three beautiful bunches of wild roses for the counters.  Colours ablaze.  More laughter, appreciation.

Then to the library.  Where again I have been their largest non paying customer for the same length of time.  With all the kids we have a total of 26 cards.  So whenever we go there it takes a long time.
It takes an even longer time to find all the books in this rambling house before one goes. We always fail to find at least 4.  Sometimes the books are kept for many more moons than they should be and yet not once have I been fined.
The relationship was not always so easy.  In fact in the early days the two head honcho librarians grumpy and tight lip (kids names for them) literally drove this poor submissive creature, a lower librarian to kill herself during a lunch hour.  I had been witnessing their interaction for a few months and thus her death came as no surprise.
But their rudeness eventually wore me down.  And one day when gathering up the freshly stamped books (not computerized yet) – I asked them if they did not feel it would not be appropriate for them to have a suggestion box.  They asked with their standard snarl why they should do this.  What did I want to suggest.  And I said well I would suggest you both get different jobs as neither of you seem to like this one very much.
And from that moment the whole game changed.  Now there are more staff, more colour, more vibrancy,  not many more books and not one dam new one – and yet being in that space I feel a sense of belonging.  There is absolutely no tension anywhere in my being.

Tao has been housesitting a house higher up in the village.  Strange kid that he is he has fixed things that were broken before this tenure and put together some plants together for inside, the verandah and the garden.  One of the things he wants to fix for the owner is a light switch.  We had to attend to three small hardwares and one light centre to find it.  Found it in this ancient trading store on the outskirts of the town. Did 12 stops all in all.   And with each stop the temperature went up a degree.  And with the dangling exhaust still dangling we head home again, past the recreational river, the vineyards, the vineyards and the newly planted peach trees.

With the move to schooling the one unschooled - ah can you catch the whiff of irony.  So Cian was very into the idea.  To such an extent that he stopped ganga immediately. 
And a need to digress arises. Some really ambitious pharmacists want to come into our business.  Without producing capital just the promise of research and marketing.  I say no way.  I am quite happy being an idler and occasionally attending to the business, I don’t want anyone having rights to it or my time and energy.  Pieter has 60 percent and I have 40.  It is his intellectual and intuitive wisdom behind the product range.  I refuse.  They put pressure on him, he puts pressure on me.  They want 50 percent of the business. I speak to two people in the village that were on the hamster wheel of commerce before they slumbered into McGregor.
They both said no way.  Don’t give in.  So then Pieter is seeing this as a way to having more income and less stress, but I can see very clearly this is not the case.  Those rose coloured glasses make me sneeze as soon as I lift them into position.
So he tries various angles and eventually says oh shit well Cian won’t be able to go to the Waldorf school in Stellenbosch.
And immediately my heart somersaults because I see how much this means to him.  And before I can stop myself I tell Pieter I will take responsibility for the school fees and board and lodging.
Of course the business just ticks over and provides for a simple way of life.  I am constantly at home or at work and am the holding context for this seemingly vast ship, but I don’t get paid.
And here I have committed to undertaking this monthly expense.
Then the school says they are full and I beg and plead and get put on the top of the short list.  Hey, Nina I am already in the fall out zone of the reality of the unschooling.  And yet it can’t be any other way. Cian approaches his wealthy American grandfather who of course says he can’t help in any way.   He then approaches my mother who has just been conned out of almost everything – and she says she will see what she can do….

I don’t know how someone like Terrence Mckenna escaped me for so long.  My last blog I was taken up with Jed Mckenna.  And in the moon phase since that was written, Terrence barged his way into consciousness with a bang. Shamanism has never tapped me on the shoulder before. The intelligence of plants had been pondered but not exploded into potentiality. And suddenly this box was finding tones for the pineal gland, articles, forums, podcasts of dmt and in particular ayahausca.  Called to this experience very deeply.  To such an extent that for my 51st birthday, I am hoping to attend an ayausca ceremony.
Almost every account I have read of people who have partaken in this experience talk of how the plant tells you what you need to know.  Shows you what you need to see.  That whilst lsd and other hallucinogenics  can show you an intensified version of this reality ayahausca shows you a different reality completely. It apparently pulls the veil off from over the eyes.  The illusion is exposed for what it is.  What else is there to desire on a personal level.  Understanding this dream in its entirety is the only way this fragile sanity will endure.

Find myself again on a night mission – this time dressed in black.  My heart feels 16 again.
I have in my hands a fat black permanent marker and a ruler.
My purpose – well there is a new estate agent in town who seems to be selling all these empty plots of land around here to wealthy speculators.
And of course there is naught that can be done about this but this urge arises in me to change the S  in the For Sale and Sold signs to $.

The kids ask me where I am heading dressed like that.   I tell them.  They think it is great.  So I set off but tonight the moon is completely absented herself (I personally think she was casting some magic in the yellow sea) – so I can barely see where these signs are.  Find one only to discover that it is on corrugated cardboard and thus the line will only be as thick as the groove.
Ah foiled.
Fortunately I have all the time in the world to play as I will - the external world crumbles and I do nothing to stop it.
And at this ripe old age I find an old x-ray.  I purchase some gold paint and a blade.   I not only cut out a $ sign I cut out a Euro sign as well to cover the E’s.  And the graffiti artist is born.
What is it that watches the unfolding?

Three times this week I have had the same dream.   I am floating down a river.  Gliding on water.   The scene fades further out and I am floating slowly down a wide, clear river.
I am not going anywhere other than along the river – when suddenly a woman jumps into the waters with me.  She is known to me and if I had to use one word to describe her it would be energy.
She glides towards me and says she just wanted to float down with me.  She can’t stay long.  I am not aware of the river banks or the sky I am just with the water slightly pouring over me.  Rough enough to bump me but not strong enough to displace me.  We stop.  She has seen an owl nest hanging over the river and feels it is too low.  If the waters rose there would be trouble.  The nest which contained a mother owl and her babe.  The nest is hanging from nothing; it just dangles downwards from empty space.  .  This woman reaches up out of the water and raises the unsupported nest higher.    I then too stand up on the water to make it higher still.  The owls just watching.
By some act of fate not based on merit or worthiness, I get to experience a simplicity, a belonging, a joyful and most importantly a peaceful existence.  When I am not looking outwards that is.  It came to me as I stepped into my office to escape the heat – that suddenly the world’s movie was on my screen again.  And with that the anger, the frustration and the rage.
And that is perfect.  Nothing needs to change.
I don’t need to accept the carnage, I don’t need to beat myself up for not being able to turn the other cheek.  It is okay to look outwards and see what comes to this seeing and feel what comes to this feeling.  And it’s also okay to say okay I have tried fasting, done the meditation, done the acceptance, done the I am god thing and now willing to lose the limitations of this minds construct and programming.
Breathing in, breathing out - smiling in the midst of it. Raging in the midst of it.  Dancing in the midst of it.  And I guess slowly dying in the midst of the living.  And on that note with the fading light and my spray paint and x ray, the village beckons.






























Friday, November 5, 2010

The self and coconuts......

A while back at Nina's we were looping tangents in the comments section.
Coconuts arose.
I spoke of a coconut experience I had whilst in a swimming pool area in Mumbai.
Of the amazing strength and power of a coconut as it falls from skyscraper height and meets something solid.
Splash, Splatter and goo spread around.
So Osama is going to India and I am not even going to go anyway near the much commented on writings about the financial costs of this trip.
I don't think most vile leaders would have got away with this kind of
gross ostentation to keep a dying ego from dying. And sure you get leaders with egos that are so precarious that they assume massive proportions. Really no well balanced human needs to behave in this manner. To slap unearned wealth in the face of one’s people and because of this and a handful of other actions he has perfomed t require so much security because in essence it is obvious that people would want to kill him.
Someone eventually stands up to the classroom bully - or the other bullies take this one out. There is nothing that can keep you safe for ever. We spend most of our lives seeking that unattainable safety.


Ask me a mother about the perpetual quest for safety. Very early on in this role a wise man offered me some wisdom. He said never tell a child to be careful. If she is at the top of a very tall tree, she will be fully aware of what she is doing. Then you call up to her, be careful my love and suddenly she is no longer one with the tree, she is down on the ground with you and that warning - instead of protecting you actually harm. It is being fully present in the moment that allows extreme sport. Presence is your protection.
It made perfect sense to me and I really did try hard not to warn - but there is a fear of injury and when I saw components for potato launches I was okay but when I saw components for perhaps more damaging pyrotechnics I put out warnings - accompanied by threats. Different to being on top of a tree granted, but still a warning. And then there are the warning for the emergence of skills such as the functional origanmi below - which I warn against and yet those declarations are shaded by a subtle hidden appreciation of the art form.

It seems that it is a natural part of parenting to want to keep a child safe. Actually to kep everything safe. Living in a small village where everyone is known and children walk freely, one does not give much thought to stranger abduction etc. Iona and I go for a walk and she is so free and open with her world. And I want it to remain this way forever but I also don't want a coconut to fall and land on our heads. Having older brothers she is not naive. She has heard the message not to go near a car, even with a woman driving (at first she could not understand that) and otherwise I encourage her to take a dog wherever she goes and I put light around. Kind of like putting light around light.



All the stories you hear of death are so very alarming. 8 year old girl chokes to death on a butterfly, boy gets swallowed by an escalator. There are few ways to be born but my god there are an infinitely expanding amount of ways to die. Inhalation of volcanic ash, corexit, aspartamene, honour killings - oh god for evry unusual death each one of us can recount recalling, another 5 are happening whilst we recount.

And likewise injuries. When did the world become such a dangerous place. How on earth do we reach safety? Emotional and physical. Is it possible?

Obama and his handlers have thought of every conceivable danger of this trip.
Bullshit, but they are spending an awful lot of time telling us how much is being done to ensure this man's safety. Why on earth would they do that? He is a fucking disaster to us and everyone can see that. But to others he might be regarded as a total success. One man’s shrimp and all that. This is all about leading him to the slaughter.
The elaborate safety declarations and 'intellectual exercise’ surrounding this trip is to reassure an increasingly insecure, paranoid president on the brink of an egoic meltdown that he is safe.
But of course he knows what 'his' handlers are about. He, himself knows what an assassination of a US president by a Pakistini national could achieve. It seems very tacky and tardy and visibly obvious but hey what about the ink cartridges on the non existent UPS flight. And he has to play along with it. Lose or lose.
Once the winner - now the extreme experiencer of losing. What flashed through his mind when he received the piece prize - how could he possibly believe it? How unwired would your brain need to be to actually play this game for so long.
So many things could go wrong on this trip - but thankfully there is no urge for me to warn him, to protect him - let those coconuts fall. Time to meet Kali…… destroy this dream. This particularly repugnant dream.

The Taj Mahal hotel in Colaba - Mumbai.
The time I spent in this city was definitely the most alive time in my life. The colour, the sound, the radiance, the visuals, the poignancy and the absolute Life was beyond words.

I recall gong one day to elephant islands across the bay of Mumbai to see what lay there.
It is a huge bay and very industrialized. Oil refineries on the other side.
The entire time I was there I never saw the sun, so deeply buried beneath the smog.
Who cares - it was magnificent.
So on a perfect day I made my way to the harbor and climbed on a ferry.
Very much like in Africa, no lifejackets, no radio, no nothing.
About 20 minutes into the journey, the engine cut out.
So the captain climbed to the engine and started hammering. The hammer rules in India. He tapped for a good half an hour or so. Nothing. Tapped some more. Nothing. I am sitting on an orange plastic chair watching those on the ferry with me.
A beautiful Indian woman is feeding her baby coyly, her husband shines on. A friend I am with looks at her with a complete appreciation of her beauty. She responds with a wider smile.
Looking at some of the bigger boats around us and marveling at this thing called life.
Ah then the transformative tap was tapped and the engine sort of gulped into life.
And we were moving.. I was one with my world.

Arriving at the island I moved up the stairs past the hawkers and the monkeys and the stalls and the rubbish. I imagined that when the British were there this would have been rather beautifully kept- parasols and coverings and cleanliness. Despite anything else about those times, things were upheld and beautified. The carvings here were degrading and uncared for. And in that moment that judgment arose, mind launched out, lashing against it all. Quick it says, get the next ferry out. Otherwise you will be forced to take the last one out which was the one you came in on. The one that broke down. So the second time here was really just a mind fuck and i found myself racing down the stairs, past the hawkers and monkeys and onto the second last ferry of the day.

Found a seat, Mind smugly satisfied to have me in its power once again. Found a seat. Looked around. Immediate tally - 2 Hollanders, 12 Indian college students as a group, the 'captain' and myself. We chugged out. And then the light manifested in a way that took my breath away. Would not even be able to describe it apart from pure magic. A quality I have not witnessed again. Enchanted and pleased with myself I relaxed into the voyage. And then suddenly day became night and a solid plane of water shot from the sky. The calm waters became roller coaster tracks.
We became a plaything of the elements. No power whatsoever. Having long forgotten prayer, it became a matter of enduring. Nothing else one can do. Holding onto a pole, the captain trying to nudge up to a tanker for shelter, The Dutch guys advising against this. Within seconds of the downpour it went form warm to cold. Shivering, watching it all unfold. Mind saying how profound it was that on my second last day in this city I meet death this way.
A seeming eternity later, we arrive at the Gateway. Everyone alighting from that ferry was experiencing pure euphoria, absolute euphoria. The sheer delight of continuation - that the dream still unfolded. Monsoon over walking through the streets, totally alive despite the monsoon, things covered, life continuing, eyes feasting at life in this city. A few of the college students approach me and ask if we should go for coffee. We are all totally drenched. A madness occurs that we should as this motley mob go for tea at the Tag Mahan hotel.
The beauty of madness being so few question it. So we walk past the doormen who look perplexed but don't stop us. Thought the foyer, where we are a world apart from the opulence before us. With boldness strengthening with each step we weave our way up the grand staircase to the tea lounge.
Frugally order coffee for all of us. And then the waiters which became the memory of this space for me informed us that there were cakes that were going to be turned the next day. Fresh one's were coming in and would we like some. Would we like some - hey i think so. And the cakes came out - sheer beauty, artistry , and my tongue could not pick up any apparent sell by dates.
Survived a storm and then fed riches despite appearance.
A powerful metaphor.

My experience of that space of course is going to be so different to Obama and his minions.
Will he even notice the man serving tea, the receptionist demurely lowering her eyes in humility?
Will he even look out his window and see how the vast majority of humans on this planet live.
Will he even question his reign?
Will he even wonder what he is doing there? Will he begin to ask beyond his name and position who is he?
Will he question anything at all?


For me personally on this shore right now the voyage seems to have hit bumpy waters.
On an internal level something within just says enough – I have had enough – despite searching I have still not found what I am looking for. That essential feeling finds me looking to the mountains and saying come su let us go for a long, long walk into the mountain kingdom and just lie down a while. Just lie down.


Some thing came into the garden one night whilst I was walking the dogs and killed a lot of the tribe - 4 guineas ripped open and dismembered. Chickens mauled. One rabbit and four hens survived. Looked like a ritualistic murder.
Blood on the tracks. The end of the tribe....

Schooling appears to be going ahead for the two eldest - their choice. In a university town called Stellenbosh. Waldorf school. Practical learning but an ultiamte goal of A levels. Sounds amazing - but then schools always have a gift wrap. I do the motions. Fill in the forms. Meet the head teacher who happens to be a friend. Who happens to be a friend who knows the village and knows about Cian's bust. The deal is that Cian is welcome but needs to do a drug test on call.
Makes sense from the schools point of view I can see that. This kid has never had a needle in his body - and now they will be sticking one into his veins to see if he is 'clean or not'.
He is okay with it. I think it is harsh. He is up a tree trying for something else and I am not going to distract him with my own fears and failings and sense of justice. I pile up some soft mulch should he fall and put the light around him. It really is all I can do.

So the dream is changing direction but fortunately I get to stay in this space for a while with the two younger one's and the remaining animals.
We will remain in this space where the greatest excitement is seeing an owl on a night walk. Where the greatest joy is some home made lemon ice cream.
For as long as god wills, the simplicity of this life will remain. And for that I am most grateful. Or am I just deeply stuck in a comfort zone that sometimes appears to hold no comfort?

Outside the rain falls.
I am avoiding kitchen duty and thus find myself transcribing a download that moved me deeply for those who could not watch it.

NUKE YOUR LIFE
(In the background is 'Allelujah' by Leonard Cohen performed by Gary Buckley.
The images are what make it for me but perhaps the words can resonate.

So what is the truth of me?
Who am I? That is the question.
If you want to know - then find out. Think as long and hard as you possibly can.
Dare to be a fool.
Unchain yourself from respectability.
Take an oath - declare war - burn it all - burn, burn everything - this is the answer
to the question you are asking.
That is what all this awakening stuff is about.
That is what real zen is about.
Nuke your life.
What gets destroyed is never yours in the first place.

You have to start by bringing yourself into focus - nothing can happen before that and no-one can do it for you.
The fact is that no matter how you cut it - no matter what you believe all that you have is this moment of being sandwiched between 2 entities of non being.
All you have is this moment of dream state being which can slam shut at any moment. The question is what are you going to do with it?

Once you come to deeply appreciate that question your life goes through a cascade melt down. Everything in your life gets dropped - except your life itself. That is when you get to see what it means to be asleep and that virtually everyone is. That is when you begin to see what it means when it is said that people are all children and insane children at that.
That is when you begin to see that all emotions are energetic attachments and that they all spring from fear.

No one is saying this stuff is easy. Rational progress is never easy - like a slow dying. But fast or slow that is what it is - a dying.
But what does all that amount to? What do you get from all that suffering - disillusion, salvation, liberation, nirvana?
No it just goes back to square one to get you back to the point where you went verbal instead of horizontal, where you burrowed in at the age of 10 or 12. It gets you out of the whole you spent your whole life digging yourself into so that you can finally start your life. We are not even talking about taking a spiritual journey at this point, we’re talking about undoing the unspiritual journey.

We spend out lives burrowing down into our graves - like that is a clever place to hide from death. This is about climbing out of our graves, and living, discovering who we are and what we are a part of. And you can't do that from the bottom of a hole.

It's there to be known, to be seen. There is no mystery. Nothing is hidden, only unseen. But understanding consensual reality in a dream state is unbelievable.
Life is but a dream.
Reality has no basis in reality.
With eyes closed you find it dissatisfying and with eyes open I find it magical, absurd, delightful, intereractive, challenging, mysterious, playful and brief.

You want answers but there are no answers - just beliefs.
And if you want to awaken then you must know that beliefs are not your friends.
They only hold you back. Demanding answers and explanations is an egoic stall tactic.
We don't hear it but there is a clock that is ticking and you don't know how many ticks you have left.
Listen for it the game is over whether you are playing or not.
Jed Mckenna tribute by Ahab's pipe. http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=jed+mckenna&aq=f



So much food has been planted that beds are in short supply.
Planting in pots - wherever the sun reaches.

On that note a patch of sky clears. Time to move outwards.
Thank you for stopping by.


















Friday, October 22, 2010

checking in.....

the worship of light continues.....


less and less to convey

dreams within dreams
dead owls in both the waking and the sleeping states

iona finds this cat outside the police station
in their garden
it is trying to catch a fish
she brings her home
we call her bones
put her on a table with some water
she rests her head on the bowl -
drinks lightly
manage to feed her a tiny bit
when the sun goes down or should i say when the earth tuns and hides from the sun -
she is handed to me



wrapped in a towel, i hold her on my lap
she puts her paws in a prayer position
looks at me
and then vacates that body........
that life that animated that body disappeared in a second
there could be no doubt that death had occurred
- the light had dissipated


this blessed preparation for the inevitability of death.




seedlings planted
mulch cunningly procured
river stones harvested from dry riverbed
and rain clouds holding a promise


kids stretching vigorously
me limbering up, seeking greater flexibility
watching them grab onto to life as teens
immortal, fearless, and more alive than they will ever be again....
and 'me as mother' meeting fear again and again
only to land up laughing.....
at the absurdity of anything not being absolutely perfect
as it is.....
without the stories
without the bringing forward
without the resistance

just this arising - just this that i am....
the witnessing


witnessing the raising of the first chilean miners ascent.


playing at being creative....

a musical muse appears





and on a final note using this space to find a friend work.
meet jaqs - mcgregor volleyball team or sacred order of the round orb.
he has done 1 year apprentice blacksmithing.
it is his dream to continue this craft and yet there is no one for him to apprentice to here in this country that we could find.
he has sponsorship and would be able to fund himself for a flight and basic accommodation for a year in order to learn more.

he is a joy, inspired and i 'fear' if he remains here dormant, he is going to lose his vitality. can you think of anyone?

A mirage contains no water, just as a 'seeker' contains no substance.

Can you hear silence? Can you touch nothing-ness?
Can you grasp consciousness? Can you see yourself?
Can you stop thinking? Can you stop seeing? Can you stop hearing?
Can you be something that you are not? Can you become something other than
what you are? Can you do anything at all? Can you, as a believed in separate 'thing' ever find wholeness?

Awareness is the activity of knowing.


http://seeing-knowing.com/books-cd/



such clarity

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Ratatattat

Big Pharma wins out in the EU. Herbs and herbalists are to become extinct.
I rest my case. This little news flash was the one that made me finally throw my arms in the air, scream a loud scream and say fuck this screening of reality, a new channel is needed. There is only so much ongoing stupidity one can witness and this witness bows out of her role with not even a backward glance. Looking forward now, where is that asteroid? Surely she has heard my invitation, with compassion she must be zooming in.
Anih – elation has a certain appeal.



And some of you are aware that authority and I had our hands held together for a while. A little too tightly for my liking. None of that tenderness that I equate with getting intimate. Well the outcome of that is still in the offing, despite me pointing out to the chief that they searched a minor without a guardian present which is itself a big no-no.
Someone suggested going to legal wise that they would love to take this on. But then I would just be holding hands with lawyers. Umm think I will skip that one out. So we are still hanging and a good friend of mine I discovered yesterday has been spreading small town stories that Cian was found with Meth on him. Like it is not perversely satisfying enough that he was bus – but then to make it awful and damaging – I just don’t get that..
I am afraid I cut his balls off verbally – I don’t know if he will ever recover – and like all the other drowning wallowers in excrement around me – I don’t care. I just don’t care.




So then with the case for possession somewhere in the sidelines, I am asked by Tao and Cian if I will take them to Earth Dance on the weekend. They need a break from the smallness of our village and they have never partied and please will I…….. and for a moment or two a discussion between the ‘mature’ susan and well su as you know her takes place and guess who won?
So on Friday five of us set off, Alice through the looking glass again.
Now picture a scene of a traffic jam at the entrance to a huge camping site and bear in mind that I don’t know the last time I sat in traffic. Alien to me. Like you have to crawl forward really slowly, constantly focusing on what is front of you instead of the scenery around. Already the energy was pumping.

Set up tents about 100 meters apart. Within an hour there were umpteen tents separating us. Less and less personal space. Fortunately we were close to the banks of the river (well fortunate apart from the coldness) and so there was some space beyond which was like an oxygen mask to me. And on the other side was the peace tent – more on that later. And still the crowds came in. People with serious intention to get wasted to dismiss their limited selves and merge with the greater. I unfolded my very fucked up camping chair and proceed to feed my inner voyeur – oh what beauty suddenly I have thousands of people to watch. And watch I did with awe and wonder at the diversity and beauty that prevailed. And mostly there were extremely well prepared campers. My mouth hung open at how organized people could be. Wow. How easily we as humans make the space we sleep a home, how quickly we enmesh ourselves in the environ.

The peace tent or the hippie tent was the drink/drug/smoke free section which was the chill place and also the space where kids hung out. There was always a fire going and the best music was played there. And yet when the sun went down, or when the earth spun into darkness the rap stage started and I fell into hell. I had just signed a petition to legalize marijuana when the guy in charge of it handed over some Blueberry in a really cute tiny zip seal bag. Only used to homegrown I was intriqued to say the least. Hot footed it back to the tent, rolled up and three hits later found myself in hell. A friend of mine calls that stuff wheelchair weed and it is a pretty apt expression. It is 8 in the evening – any dormant paranoia is rising to the surface and my body and soul are being met with sound so vile and magnified that I fear psychosis. The brain is frantically trying to place it somewhere in some file, but it is unknown. I lie down and the earth is pushing up this sound into the body. And there is nothing I can do but lie there and breathe and just be with it. The temperature drops to 4 degrees and I am shivering despite having three layers of clothing on. And still the mother fucking goes on with cheering to accompany it.

For some strange reason I had taken my ipod with me. David Carse was playing. I listened to his description of falling asleep. He spoke to me through the billowing energies that we are never present to falling asleep. We become absent the moment we fall asleep, so we can only reappear from sleep but we can’t experience falling into it. He goes on further to say how death works the same way. The path to death can be uncomfortable, painful, profound, anything and yet death itself can never be experienced because that which would experience it is no longer there.
And then by some grace the peace tent starts drumming. I can hear 8 drums, such a rushing sound, how they follow each other, percussion rain. I strain to let that sound dominate. A waterfall of vibration.
As soon as it is heard, this center reappears. There is an acceptance, I can cope with it.
And on and off through the night my consciousness meets both sounds, the power of one and the healing of the other.

And as one does in such confined situations one gets to meet one’s neighbour. Mine was a father who had bought his daughter and her two friends .along. We shared a cup of coffee and said never again. The kids collectively would visit and then disappear.
Ever changing by the experience unfolding.



And then I walked around and got more into it. Everyone seemingly in ecstasy, aliveness prevailing.
It was quite interesting to see this mind working. It really is like a puppy without a leash for the first time in a park. First my mouth hung open at how organized it was and then it clamped shut when I saw the booze tent. Sure do drugs or do booze, but both together in a group size left a certain tension. Only created in this mind of course.
Then I wandered past stalls with some pretty impressive clothing, and pipes and all sorts. And there was this wonder of creativity and then mind said oh but this is just more fucking stuff. Can we not go away for three days and not purchase anything. Do you really need a t shirt – no matter how incandescent. And when I saw a van with an ATM in it – I thought oh of course - money, money, money. Now the purpose of this festival was peace and it was held in several places worldwide and at a certain time, there would be a link and a prayer for peace. Sweet idea. Spend spend and god will send seemed to be the motto. Bouncing concepts between the neurons, none of it with any validity, hey but puppies need to run and hence opinions are held.

Went back to the tent and borrowed my neighbours book on poetry and from those words dancing on the page I found myself transported – to a place of such feeling and realness, that I spent most of the day by the river, under a tree, whilst the music blared out, now with the second sound stage on. Pure trance. And because it was day and the lasers were not on, the Blue gum trees by their thousands added their own shimmering light to the festival. Powered by the sun, they glistened all day.


Now I realize that if I had to do it again, first choice would be to do what everyone else did straight away and head for the mind altering chemicals. But for some reason I was to be alienably straight amongst abandon. Tried to dance, but there was nothing this body could pick up on, the watcher was too involved. And still my eyes feasted on the happenings, on the glorious unfolding of a whole lot of people having a blast.

The link for peace was at one in the morning, which of course found me slumbering already. A nice gesture but not much validity. Someone told me the next morning that the peace tent had processed to the main stage where the music was turned off for the prayer and immediately the revelers shouted fuck off hippies we don’t want peace we want drugs. I guess it sums up things as they stand. Just get us high, give us stuff, let us forget ourselves and we don’t give a fuck about anything deeper or more human than that.
and…but those that had valiantly tried to carry their message to the masses in the light of morning looked crestfallen beyond belief.
So on the final day I spent my time in the peace tent, being part of what they were trying to create. Good music, good chai, great fires. Kids kidding, laughing, hula hoping.
And still somewhere there was an aspect of su cruising the dance floors waiting for someone to start playing music.

So what did I gain most from the stepping out – well awestruck kids who could not thank me enough, my inner wild woman getting a chance to be unwashed and wild and the following poem which clasped my heart in resonance….



LETTER FROM A CONTRACT WORKER

I wanted to write you a letter
my love,
a letter that would tell
of this desire
to see you
of this fear
of losing you
of this more than benevolence that i feel
of this indefinable ill that pursues me
of this yearning to which i live in total surrender

I wanted to write you a letter
my love,
a letter of intimate secrets
a letter of memories of you
of you
of your lips as red as henna
of your hair as black as mud
of your eyes as sweet as honey
of your breasts as hard as wild orange
of your lynx* gait
and of your caresses
such that i can find no better here
I wanted to write you a letter
my love,
that would recall the days in our haunts
our nights lost in the long grass
that would recall the shade falling on us from the plum
trees
the moon filtering the endless palm trees
that would recall the madness
of our passion
and the bitterness
of our separation...

I wanted to write you a letter
my love,
that you would read without sighing
that you would hide from papa Bombo
that you would withhold from mama Kieza
that you would reread without the coldness
of forgetting
a letter which in all Kilombo
no other would stand comparison...

I wanted to write you a letter
my love,
a letter that would be brought to you by the passing wind
a letter that the cashews and coffee trees
the hyenas and buffaloes
the alligators and grayling*
could understand
so that if the wind should lose it on the way
the beasts and plants
with pity of our sharp suffering
from song to song
lament to lament
gabble to gabble
would bring you pure and hot
the burning words
the sorrowful words of the letter i wanted to write you my love...

I wanted to write you a letter...

but oh my love, I cannot understand
why it is, why it is, why it is, my dear
that you cannot read
and I - oh the hopelessness! -cannot write!

António Jacinto an Angolan poet who was imprisoned for 20 years as a political prisoner. Upon his release he was appointed Minister of Culture and Education.


Footnote:
It seems almost daily that the household is embracing another creature.
Misty and Coz became proud parents to 3 youngsters - buddha, gastro and ripielo.
Before one could say quick separate them Misty was pregnant again and gave birth to 8. So she is on the chastity run with her young one's, and the two adult males have taken to parenting the teens and babes.

Watching these rats brings to light that they can access shangri la - there is harmony, playfulness, intelligence constantly on display with these creatures. Feel so bound to care for them and nourish them. Mostly others don't get this.

And with the births come the deaths. Only one of Abagail's babes survived. Jah. They all had a kind of seizure which lasted several hours and then they died. Quite uncanny how each in turn was landed in my hands to hold them in their death throes. It is not an easy thing to have a living being in the palm of your hand convulsing to death. With each of them I just tucked them into my bra. Skin on fur, heart to heart. Hummed and hummed.





Henny Penny in her brilliance laid her eggs in a large drum. She sat diligently for the 21 days and then her young hatched. Now how to get them out the drum so they can stroll around. That became a required routine - to place them in the drum at night and out into the garden in the morning.



And so life carries on. Have elected to continue sleeping in my tent. Iona and I have taken to the absence of thick solid walls. In the evening you will find us sitting outside in the garden around a fire. We are entertained by everything and then we crawl into this dome and drift off in and out with Rasta the rooster reassuring us of his presence from two in the morning onwards.

The unfolding dream continues.......

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Can we....



amidst vibrancy and alertness
we are called to the dance
of these precarious times
surrounded by the most heinous crimes

can we embrace this moment

just as it is......

Friday, September 3, 2010

A day, a death, wholeness.

This morning she awoke to find that silliness had become her betrothed during the night. A guffaw escaped noisily and unexpectedly before her eyes had even opened. And as the rest of the household awoke, they gathered in the garden, between the blossoms and buds. Right now Jasmine embraces with her scent at every turn. And beginning to mix in with her blend, wisteria starts to unfold, still tentative, still very subtle. and wisteria , her buds turning from gray to purple as they open, as they promise to shower us with her aromatic magnificence. With buddleia promising her magnificence any minute.

The universal perfumer sure got it all right in spring. Aided and abetted by the power of that dormant root energy as it springs into phenomenon above ground.
A sheer unabandoned, uncensored sensory experience. And with this in the air – how could silliness not be present.
She thrives in beauty and safety.

Trees were planted, weeds cleared away where absolutely necessary, beds watered, beds prepared, all these people involved in their own space, with the sun and the smells shining on.
One of the group was digging an eel pond. A smoker was simultaneously being designed. Around the pond will be trellises of raspberry. The being involved in this project thought it could double up as a personal splash pool in the hot summer months. They were all treated to his future projection of how he and his boa would languish in the pool and he would snap of raspberries and Rumple well maybe he could snack on baby eels.

And so the day unfolded, forays into the garden where engagement would happen, laughter in response to a comment and then back to do some work in the office, where out of habit she was pulled away from the joy onto a canvas that held no beauty, just a disgust. One site went to was Aangirfan – she loved going there, reading the amazing research. Opening the tab on an article she was reading and came upon a picture that slapped her so hard she found her breath had stopped.

The image was unexpected. It was of a man being tortured. And this woman her whole life had such an abhorrence of violence and torture and avoided any images of it. Her mind could conjure up enough. And there in front of her for a split second before she looked away was a scene that she knew exactly what it was like to have happen to one. A large pool of blood, his nakedness, his torturers, his scream. But even once she looked away the image remained.

A huge wave was threatening her peace and equanimity. Immediately a voice inside said “it’s only a thought”, and immediately things arose such as: if I this suffering is not experienced then the tortured will be betrayed. If a total wave of revulsion and contraction does not arise and is not nurtured, then his suffering will not be alleviated. – it would be devalued by not paying attention to it. An accident with that much pain and suffering could be integrated but that someone can deliberately inflict that brutality upon another human was just inconceivable to her.

And still her breathing was halted. Her stomach knotted.
And another question arose which was asking her whether all the pain she had felt in her life for those in pain had helped in any way. A critical point – is she going to imagine and feel and thus suffer further or was she somehow going to distract her mind from the bone of pain and suffering.

A call of glee calls her from the garden. Her name is repeatedly called with continued animation- she follows the calls. Her eyes are gifted with the sight of three new born guinea pigs. Again a gathering happens and this new life is savored by all. In that moment there was joy.


And yet entering her office again the image and its programming on her again exerted herself again an inner voice said just pause thought. And upon thought ceasing, the tortured man too disappeared, until thought resumed and he kept appearing in between the never ending stream of thinking.

Lunch was made by one of the members of the household. Again a gathering outside whilst it was eaten. Some freshly picked coriander chopped and sprinkled on top, added to the sensory festival of the day.
Dishes washed, the new transplants watered, the sun birds spectacularly feasting on the wilde dagga that had colonized the garden. The hoopoes preening before their ladies. Everywhere so much happening. Such a simple magnificence.

The day ends and she is skyping a friend. Someone comes in and smilingly informs her that there is zero electricity left on the meter. Well as close to zero as you can actually get. And the messenger then smilingly leaves.

Aha – no cash. So she cycles down to the Chinese store at the bottom of the village but the cash machine is down. Returning home she informs the group that there will be no electricity till the next day. A night without power. Everyone groans and resists and protests. Until the same child of the eel and raspberry pond informs her that his snake has just eaten and he needs the heating pad on.

Oh dear a valid argument. So a plan needs to be made. Her car has no petrol so she will have to hitch into town. She has done this many times before, but never at this time of day. Walks briskly down the road towards the end of the village where all the hikers stand. But a mere block from her house she hears a car coming behind her and sticks out her thumb and voila she has a lift to town.

And the driver is a nursing sister she met once whilst participating in a hospice bereavement workshop thing. She often tried to donate blood, but was always told that she needed it more than the blood bank. And once when she had tried to sign up for Life Line she was rousted out before the introductory course. Quite perplexed why she must surely be one of the few volunteers to be denied membership to this human flotilla she asked them why and was told that basically it was a service where one listened and as people expressed themselves to the listener then they would come to their own decisions. Whereas they had immediately ‘diagnosed’ her as one who would say upon hearing about continued abuse to leave the bastard, just leave, now. She was most impressed by their astuteness in reading her character.




So many years later, last year to be exact somehow this bereavement course tumbles at her feet. She finds herself learning the basics of grief and how to handle it.. And at the end of it when she was asked if they could utlise her services and the first case was in her village, she declined. For like the tortured man who haunted her earlier she knew her pathology well enough to know she would never shed the grief of others off – her inner watcher warned her off, and she declined.

So here we suddenly find her in the car with the hospice sister. A broad Afrikaans woman, compassionate, capable, delightful and remarkable in her ability to affect a life. Offering her relief from pain and other medical processes. She shines, she radiates.

They drive past the rows and rows of blossoms, everything green from the recent brief rain. The dusk hanging on for a seeming eternity. They talk around so many things that have happened of late, solar flares, the majesty of Jupiter, the delight of the rain after a year of dryness……. and then the healer's phone rings and her eyes suddenly become concern.

The nurse had asked her to accompany her on a call that she feared making herself. She needed an ally and whilst the traveler thought she was hitching to purchase electricity she was actually hitching to help on someone’s final port of call. As soon as they entered the house there was a wailing and flailing and screaming. An ancient woman came sobbing around the corner, her face a mirror of unprepared grief. Her withered hands stretched out before her as if to place them around a neck.
Karien grabs her and holds her. She is solid like a trunk and takes on this anguish without blinking. She holds and holds.

The hitcher watches, sees the grief of a 72 year old woman upon the death of her 97 year old mother, who had died slowly of cancer. And yet still was not prepared to be without her mom. The hitcher went to the kitchen, washed up a bit, put on the kettle, made tea, fed the cats. Venturing into the courtyard she saw some wilting plants, found a can, watered them. Still the dance of grief continued. The voyeur her eyes saw the periphery of the garden and it was bone dry.
Hosepipe found, attachments secured, the soft spray landing on the dried out soil. The sweet smell of moisture bouncing out immediately.
And in the parlour the hugging embrace of pain being met with love continued.

An eternity later, the ancient woman was asleep.
It was now deep into the darkness.
And the tough love carer refused to let the hitcher hitch home now.
And so together they wove their way back to the sleepy village, with a million
stars above them.

And as she fell into bed the tortured man was with her - he was whole.



Your real nature of pure awareness is not an object. In truth, it is pure being, natural non-conceptual awareness, and deep tranquility or peace. Suffering is created in thoughts and generated by fixation on ideas and concepts in the mind, particularly about being a limited, separate "I". The pure awareness of your natural state has no "I" at all. It is not an "I", because the concept "I" is only a thought. You are not that (or any other) thought. So, how can you be an "I"? Therefore, the suffering is only an appearance. It comes and goes as a product of thought. But awareness is constant and ever free of the mind and its states. Hence, it has no suffering or limitation whatsoever.
http://www.naturalstate.us/pointers.html


Friday, August 13, 2010

Hey fuck, what is up .....



I am often amazed when people visit these pages.
For i am of a simple mind - and not necessarily in the positive state.
It is how come i can dismiss chess as a game with no real purpose.
I never could get more than two moves ahead. Only capable of seeing a slight
variation than what is on the board in front of me. Hence my lack of landscaping skills, i plant by urge rather than design and it is not always 'successful'.
Don't show me plans for a building - just can't see it till it's there.
So simple in that i am incapable of seeing a pattern slip into another pattern and follow its route there.

Hence I have found the internet to be my educator on a game.
Okay so that is how that works and how that looks.
And my powers of observation have strengthened in accord with my increase in powers of cynicism and jadedness.


And in this chess game, it was all harmonious. We discussed the horrors facing us and who was behind them. With rage and empathy prevailing. And we painted images of two separate forces , the one always much stronger than the other'. And i could never make the leaps of understanding that others could, i just sort of took an overview. Made a collage of other people's insights, until i learnt to basically, based on the 'knowledge', accrued enough understanding to come to my own conclusion before any one else confirming it.




Does the killer wake up one morning and say whew I think I am going to kill someone.
Or was it a lifetime of programming. Genetic, social, familial, so many factors contributing to the day that the killing happens.
Who or what was behind, orchestrating with the most perfect timing each single event that led to the unfolding of a particular happening.
Albert Einstein was such....... a very specific tool was needed to bring through what he brought to our understanding.
Did he choose his brilliance, or did he just find it was available to him.

Who is this programmer that with such precision brought this whole thing to play.
Starting off with the perfect materials needed to create planets, and life forms, and mountains and ocean.
That same force that is behind the beating of our hearts and the spinning of the planets.
How can there be two opposing forces?



I am questioning this very deeply because this polarity is a disease that I want to distance myself from.
Where I have so much around me and yet mostly my mind just routinely wonders into satisfactions with what I 'don't have'. And upon noticing this it becomes more and more apparent that this is deep conditioning and yet on the same hand that which is conditioned is witnessing the presence of what is. We have always seen it- but we just never rest on it we always skip off into contraction.


I had read an article whereby someone commented on the fact that all suffering is is the gap between what you have and what you want to have.



I find it hard to reconcile that 2 million humans from Pakistan are homeless. Two million. I can't find any images of suffering faces like one did during the Haiti quakes and the su-nami from a few years back. Just distant shots of these communities suddenly vanished and under water. Two million lives are suddenly hanging over a precipice. How can that not be suffering?

And the blog world is remarkably silent about this flooding - instead people are trying to out user names with accusations.
Who is who -
I guess the one's who speak from the heart.

The one's who are not squalling through the airwaves with hatred and loathing in their hearts, Morbid preachers of hatred through righteousness.

So because my chess board, the blog world became a place of too many inequities, I could live with that...... but when it became slanging and jousting without us having the pleasure of knowing who is actually jousting with who.


I think I am going to opt out of this world and spend more time on the things right in front of me.
An exercise that happened for a day or two was to watch the body very carefully for any contraction.
To become super aware of the energy flow.
The weather was cold, the internet hostile so the kids and i sat around the fire knitting and making bread.
And suddenly a contraction would be noted and then attention would go to the thought that preceded the contraction.
And upon seeing that thought it just dissipates and suddenly there is the magic of being with these people, for the peace, for the harmony, for the warmth, for the home.

I recall losing our house in the fire. It was the loss of a lifestyle but only of sentimentality. The first night we were already sheltered, comfortable, consoled, able to make the next step. We lacked for nothing. All we lost was stuff and comfort, we immediately had a home.



And again I go to the floods in Pakistan. How are these people going to survive.
Apparently aid is only trickling in and maybe that is a godsend, maybe there is another way man can exist. How much freer would we be if the basic necessity of shelter no longer mattered. How would if in this dream (my dream i am told again and again) that the shift would actually be that humans have a way of living that does not entail having a structure around you. A fixedness of address. Potentially always at risk of disaster and thus fear.
I don't know why I have such a strong feeling that consciousness is going to be working magic in that space.
That maybe the times are ending for this particular, paradigm we know with its attendant joys and sorrows.
It is probably only just really wishful thinking disguised as possibility.
But these are the time of change - and what better change could there be for us as people to move beyond every law we have so far being taught.
Even down to the basis of eating.




A prayer for the people of Paikstan


My prayer to the people who are in a flood of magnitude beyond belief
is that it is not how much aid money comes in
it is not how much help can be raised

for me it is about you all meeting an infinite compassion
that what animates this universe and beats these hearts
reaches out and transforms your suffering into the birth of a new man.

with your ancient understandings and richness of spirit
that which is
shifts the paradigm and true transformation happens.
that somehow through some shift of atoms, you are no longer
dependent of a physical structure as a home.
that you become fluid and lose the density that keeps you
stuck in this space time
that no longer do you have to weep over flooded or dry fields
but that your sustenance is ever present just by being.
that you no longer have foreign agencies busting into your land
with machines capable of having caused what you are living through.....
that you suddenly can no longer be touched by the hatred
that some foolish speculators are heaping upon you.

I so respect your culture, your customs, your musicians, your spirit.
I pray that you can survive this horror in a way that honors you all.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Trust in God and blow out the candle

it has been ages since i came to these pages.
nothing to say, nothing to show.
and then it happens that i happen upon this piece displayed below.
i have never read anything of higher value or clarity and this
is what finds it way to these pages …...
Breathe deeply and read on.........

"Self,Presence,
What Is, is said to be......"like the sun shining in the blue sky
- clear and bright, unmovable and immutable....illuminating all" - "Tsung, Kao

"One day the sun admitted, i am just a shadow: I wish to show you the infinite incandescence" - Hafiz

There was this light that became brighter and brighter and brighter, the light of a thousand suns...This brilliant light, of which I was the center and also the circumference, expanded through the universe, and.....this light shone so bright, yet it was beautiful, it was bliss, it was ineffable, indescribable." - Robert Adams.

In this case it is understood, seen, known, as all encompassing Presence, experienced as Light, beyond light, clear Brilliance beyond any conceivable light or brilliance, which is every’where’ and fills and suffices all because simply it is All-That-Is, there is nothing that It is not. It is understood and experienced as Presence because it is the ultimate Aliveness of Pure Being, and the ultimate Awareness of pure Consciousness and
it is what is ‘Here’ ,
it is what ‘Here’ is,
it is what is What is Here, What is Present.

And of its nature it is limitless and uncontained.
This ultimate Being and ultimate Consciousness overflows constantly in the Outpouring of its essence, its nature, which is pure absolute love, complete compassion, total truth, ultimate beauty, Outpouring.
This is what is described as ‘bliss’ not some great orgasmic physiological or physical pleasure, but all-encompassing unconditional unrestricted love, compassion, gratitude, Outpouring.

This overwhelming Beauty-Love-Compassion-Bliss is the very nature, the essence, of the Brilliance that is Sat Chit Ananda; and its constant Outpouring is This ; all of this,
what is known as manifestation, the created universe, phenomena.
This ultimate Truth at the end of human wisdom is not something far away, not something ‘beyond’ in the sense of being something other.

“On no account make a distinction between the absolute and the sentient world. Whatever consciousness Is, so also are phenomena” - (Huang Po)

Consciousness, Presence, All That Is, is not static; it is the infinite field of pure potentiality, the possibility of everything; spilling over, pouring itself out in pure Being, the beingness of everything in pure Love, the Love which everything is.

Words fail; one must use words and then extrapolate from them, attempt to use them to transcend themselves. ‘Love’ is a word that stands for an idea, a concept, which in this context is inadequate to the extreme. In the culture by which these mind/bodies are conditioned, love is held up as the highest value. But we seldom examine what we mean by it. Like most of our thoughts and values, it is surrounded, protected by fuzzy thinking to avoid the clarity which leads to self-examination which can lead to awakening, to seeing through the mist of this world which has been pulled over our eyes to blind us to the Truth.

In fact, our ideas of love are much more tainted than we care to admit with concepts and feelings of involvement, special ness, ownership, exclusion, need, caring, guilt. We think of caring as something important, something of the heart. But caring is only involvement, anxiety, attachment to outcome. It is a misperception that we need to care about this illusory existence, this dream, or that things need to matter. This only generates worry, anxiety, confusions and feelings of separation and guilt. It does no good to the person we ‘care’ for, only perpetuates their own involvement in the dream. This is not Love. Our claim to love only limits ourselves and those we try to love.

Love is not a basis for involvement,
Love is neutrality: it is the true absence of judgments, censorships, desires, worry.
It is our True Nature, All That Is, Presence. It is a reminder that nothing matters. When there is awareness of being always the Presence of this Perfect, uninvolved, neutral Love, there is “the peace that passes all understanding”.

Meister Eckhart, the Christian mystic, said that “You may call God love, you may call God goodness; but the best name for God is compassion”.

Even the concept ‘compassion’ can carry meaning of pity, caring.
But the Buddhist tradition has used the word to mean uninvolved, unattached openness to the best for ‘all sentient forms’ without any thought of anything in return.
When there is no experience of separation, love ‘for another’ disappears along with hate ‘for another’. There can be only being-in-love, being inside love, the Beloved.
And when it is understood that All This unfolds as the perfect dream in Consciousness, the Outpouring of Sat Chit Ananda there is no need for anything to be other than it is.
Love then becomes something like the neutral holding of What Is, in Gratitude, in Compassion, in Presence.

The overwhelming sense is that ‘all this’ just is. What we see as the phenomenal manifestation and life as we know it, with all its ups and downs and pleasure and pain and beauty and craziness; the perfect unfolding of the dream of Consciousness, the constant Outpouring of the Brilliance which is Sat Chit Ananda, beauty_Love, Compassion, bliss: it all just is. In love.

You are not that mind/body just as I am not this mind/body. What Is (what You are) is Sat Chit Ananda, Consciousness, in whose dream appear these mind/bodies. When this is seen , there is awakening from identification as one of the mind/body, by the character in the dream. What happens to this mind/body in the dream cannot in any way alter or affect the dreamer, What I Am, Presence, All That Is.

It all just is. All there is, is for life, the dream, to continue to happen while it continues to happen, and for all there to be acceptance of what is, in an attitude of overwhelming, outpouring Gratitude. To be in Compassionate openness in the Sat Chit Ananda, to the Being-Compassion-Outpouring Bliss. To rave with Rumi and Hafiz and Eckart. To be in love, in the Beloved. There is nothing else. What else can there be?

David Carse. Perfect Brilliant Stillness.
http://www.nonduality.com/perfect_brilliant_stillness.htm



This is what vodka looks like under super duper microsopic sightings. The tequilla is beautiful as is the margarita. Such variety in each blend. Everything looks beautiful at this level. Alive and vibrant, pulsing with colour and energy.
It truly is an amazing dream.

The whole secret of existence is to have no fear. Buddha