Im still chewing on the “history” topic. The fact that The Past, History is critical, important, of great value.
I said before that most folks live their lives attempting to be More or Less than they really are.
I am thinking of two dear friends. Each had been sexually assaulted when very young. He had been raped by a family member. She had been raped by a trusted member for the extended church-family. Both kept “their secret” until they were older. Both suffered silently until they found a way to bury their history. They both lived many years incomplete, refusing, shying away from “that chapter” of their past.
Then each, noting they are close friends and we have discussed their experiences in-depth, found a way “out” of the metal and emotional prisons. Age was a factor with each. Becoming old enough, mature enough to start the process of “looking back”. Another commonality here was a spiritual need to be complete. A desire to cease being “broken”.
I shall refrain from psychoanalysing each of my friends, and choose to focus on the process of a) admitting and accepting the historical situation, and b) accepting a healing process whereby the historical event(s) are no longer as important, as negative, as secretive, as hidden as they had been. More of that “Skeletons in The Closet” stuff…
Each of my friends spent many years building their lives. As we all do, indeed, but for some of us who have been lost to ourselves, it is a long process. Perhaps never completed.
A common “thing” in the process is HONESTY. It is very, very difficult to be honest with yourself. We are notorious liars. Its a mammalian trait. And we lie more to ourselves than anyone else…
So, after many years, much anxiety and disruption and confusion, my friends each found a path toward healing themselves, making themselves complete, whole, unbroken. My buddy once said to me, “you never get over it, you just learn to come to terms with it”.
Each of my friends’ pasts’ are littered with broken relationships, sad endings, unhappy beginnings.The “IT” I speak of is a big thing, a huge factor in life, recognised or unrecognised.
“IT”, of course, is a devastating, long lasting energetic injury. IT damages, cripples, makes certain aspects of life all but impossible. There is always a topic that is off limits. Verboten. The book-of-self is placed high up on a dusty shelf, for fear of opening that unwanted chapter.
As I said, I shan’t go into psychoanalysing any of this. I’m just a story teller.
And I do speak from personal experience. I have spent much of my life “blowing. myself up”, intimating I was more than I really was. Smarter, stronger, faster, better, more complete, than I really, really was.
It was the process of “recapitulation”, as taught by the disciples of Don Juan and CarlosC, that took me into and through myself, my past, my energetic being.
Up until Carlos died his foundation, “Clear Green”, was a big part of my life. But thats another story.
Perhaps it has been my journey into and through myself that allows me to open up and talk candidly with others. I claim I have come to terms with myself. I am comfortable with my past. Nothing is verboten. Any more.
And this is good.
And I smile.
Have more to say about all this but I have work to do. It is a glorious day. I slept like a rock.
I have been thinking about my “critical history”. About the idea that we all have, own, a history that is unique. Defining.
Of course we all have “a past”, a history, but I am coming to understand that there are points in my past that are critical, defining, unshakable, and ofttimes negative.
Some are positive. It’s great if defining points in one’s life are positive. But we all know that there is always a ying/yang effect in life, and the negative aspects of life can very much loom larger than the positives.
If you let them…
I guess a large part of where I am coming from has its foundation in meditation. I am a child of the 60s and have been imbued with, influenced by many divergent schools of Eastern thought. A large part of where I am coming from is based in the teachings of The Dojo, the Martial Arts. The way of The Warrior. As well, I have been very much influenced by “The Teachings of Don Juan”.
Perhaps most importantly to my thoughts today is a technique I learned in the 70s and 80s. Taught by Don Juan as “Recapitulation”…
I found this on line…
The recapitulation practice happens to be one of the most effective forms of active meditations invented to date. Unlike various forms of oriental meditation techniques with questionable results, such as the western version of mindfulness meditation and others, recapitulation has the potential to bring one up to speed with his/her own subconscious. In other words, once you become proficient in recalling past events without the intervention of the surface mind, the ability to focus and be self-aware become second nature in day to day circumstances, where the body-mind is able to assess and make decisions effectively and with confidence through “knowing.”… Castaneda might have been a creative story teller and you can question the authenticity of some of his stories but the concepts of impeccability along with the practice of recapitulation are the “holy grail” in my opinion.
And I agree, Carlos C. was indeed a creative story teller.
So, “critical history”, for me evolves around events in my past that energetically effect me in the long term. You might call it “karmic baggage”, but thats not 100% correct. It’s more definitive. More enduring.
I firmly believe that we are the sum total of our experiences. Most folks walk this earth being either more, or less, than they really are.
The old “Be here Now” theory is OK, but its not complete.
One cannot negate their past. One cannot be whole without their past.
Why am I chewing on this topic? For what purpose? For what end… of course a huge part is my personal journey. My energetic, cognisant, aware existence. Another part is the fact that I meet so many damaged people, so many walking wounded.
So many folks that are unaware of their critical history. Know not why they are wounded, injured, incomplete.
Some remain unaware by choice. Some are unaware because they are incapable of honestly looking into themselves. Too scared to be honest with themselves.
I have written about memory, how I practice remembering. How I exercise my memory. Basically, my practice of recapitulation.
I think knowing my past is important to me as I move into my future. I think that being aware of and coming to terms with my critical history is the same as “airing the skeletons in one’s closet”, so to speak. But much more.
I guess its one of the main reasons I write. I write to unload, to share, divest and understand. A good writer writes about what he knows. What he experiences. What he understands.
I go to bed early because I normally wake early. I like a good long sleep. I can easily snooze for 8-10 hours uninterrupted. Unless I gotta pee.
Last night, to bed as usual. Read a bit. Go to sleep. Weather is warm so the house is open. Sliding doors and sash window all open wide.
About 2am I woke as a frigid Sou-easterly made a racket. It made the old farm house howl and moan. The curtains flapped like a flag in the wind.
It was cold. Too cold. So I close the house a bit, as much as a drowsy old dude does at 2am. Go back to bed, and regret that I’d put my big winter’s blanket away. My lighter granny-blanket, and sheets didnt cut it. But I’m sleepy and lazy so I layer the pillows around me and curl up in the blankets I have, and listen to the howling night.
I didnt sleep as well as I normally do. I laid there in a semi-dream state both listening to the night and wandering the avenues of my mind. I love hitchhiking the roads of my memory. Wandering the avenues of life and fantasy.
The morning was clean and fresh. Still chilly and breezy, but the air was crisp and sweet. My morning chores led to a run up the range to buy a couple bales of hay. I brought coffee back for Gracie, then played farmer for a few hours. Needed another run into town, a little bit of mowing, a couple one-man jobs… Plenty to-do every day if you’re a farmer. And its all good.
By about 1pm I’m pretty ready for a break. I admit to the fact that I’m getting old. I’m not as strong nor as stupid as I once was. I don’t eat during “the day”, and haven’t really drank much more than a glass a water and a cup of coffee. I’m an old camel, and dont need much in my belly to function. But once I eat or drink anything I tend to get tired and lazy. So I’m OK with “quitting-early”. For a guy my age, maybe 5 hours of nonstop work/ activity is enough? My pedometer tells me I walked 5ks/ 3miles.
As I putter about, my thoughts are chewing on something… ruminating upon, the idea that the general public is eating the horse-shit being fed to them and agreeing with The Masters that they are eating caviar… “It’s Not Inflation”… “CRT is not being taught in our schools”… “The economy is doing fine”… “Coal is nasty”… “Green is Green”…
There is so much that is patently false that is agreed upon as deTruth… Black kids stand 90% higher chance of death by-cop than white kids. Guns are the cause for all our urban woes. Police are all white supremacy-dudes and all are bad. Defund the Police!
And folks know that its not all right but they nod and agree and say “ain’t that nice” as they join the herd…
I was talking to my buddy, Big-G., a while back. We were discussing the lack of Critical Thought… the lack of Honesty… the lack of Leadership…
And insanity rules… stupidity is the norm… Illegal Immigrants get offered big bucks for the damages and ills they have experienced at the hands of the USofA. While Veterans of Foreign Wars, the brave souls who served and protected, go totally unrecognised. As daily, law breakers crossing our borders, are treated with respect and courtesy. While local constabulary are defiled, reviled and exiled.
I know, I know… my words dont count. I’m a self-made, privileged, fat-cat, capitalist-pig. Oik, Oik!
There I beat some of you to it.
And I smile.
It’s a beautiful day. And the world around is regressing, getting dumber as I type.
Over the last couple days I have been inundated by failing, old, no longer serviceable battery powered hand tools. In my farm’s tool shop I have three lead cell batteries that have decided to no longer “take a charge”. I have a drawer in the kitchen full of various, unsorted batteries varying in size from “D”, to “AAA”. My family tends to drop the used batteries in the drawer when they go get a new one, thus there is little ability to tell usable from rooted battery-in-the-drawer. I have a high lumens rechargeable light in my office, on my desk. It’s three years old, is branded as “EverLast”, cost a bomb, and does not hold a charge at all. My beloved Segway needs to go in and get new batteries and a charging unit. As I speak I have no less than twelve motor vehicles (mostly vintage/ collectable cars and bikes) plugged into a charger. There are no less than twelve batteries on charge for my “power tools”. I have a couple old phones hanging around, that still work, but have zero battery life. On charge, in my house rights now, we have two lap tops, two pads, three phones, and Gracie’s headphones, all on charge.
I believe that this is the Green Tech we have been hearing about. The idea that we can live a better life without nasty coal or diesel fired power plants.
I am beginning to see “charging stations” pop up in my vicinity. At the supermarket, at roadside service centres, In front of my favourite fishmonger… I didn’t take note and parked in the charging spot and got frowned at by a rather modern looking mother.
I am doing some research about disposing of my said dead, toxic sources of green energy.
Noting that I have not gone too deeply into this, I find that:
“Batteries are hazardous items which should be disposed of appropriately at a major Waste Facility or participating battery recycling retailer. To prevent fire and safety hazards, never place batteries in wheelie bins or with mixed household waste. Fires have been started by batteries inside bin collection trucks.”
So, I’ll see if Kmart will take my old batteries, and if Tools Direct will come get my old power tools. I am of the mind to pull the lead out of my bigger batteries. Simply because lead is cool to melt.
So, in this new Green world, when I go into Tools Direct and replace my dead Bosch drill-driver and its two batteries and charger, I’ll ask for something Greener. Something that maybe lasts 5 years before failing.
I hear the noise…. Your batter powered tools will last more than 5 years… you bet, sure thing, IF, that is, you dont use them much. I use mine a lot, and very hard. A number of drills, drivers, impact tools, grinders, saws, et al, hang in my tool room. And I use them all hard. Very hard.
My charging station here on the farm
I failed to list the rechargeable backpack sprayer, and a 72v rechargeable ride on mower I recently bought.
I feel good about “goin green”. And I’m not talking about the Packers…
But what about the waste?
I have 15kva of solar on the roof in Pwoods. I have a Tesla battery that allows me to claim that I produce 75% of my own domestic power needs. Which is cool. But at what cost?
A quick check and we get this in regards to Tesla car batteries… “Any battery that is no longer meeting a customer’s needs can be serviced by Tesla at one of our service centers around the world. None of our scrapped lithium-ion batteries go to landfilling, and 100% are recycled.”
The blurb on recycling is good, but why am I a doubting Thomas? Maybe because I have heard this line before? Maybe because I doubt the words I read. Maybe because I have been involved in recycling batteries before.
I feel good when I read that numerous battery recycling centres across the land will accept you batteries free from charge. Word is they “recycle” the batteries but…. BUT! In a land where transport and manpower is so costly. In a land where regulations are constantly subverted or ignored.
Well, call me a doubting Thomas on this topic.
Here in QLD life is good. Weather is good. The little bastard calf I saved from certain death smiles at me when I walk near him. His mamma shakes her head a snorts me a warning. She remembers the tug of war we had.
“Animal husbandry is the branch of agriculture concerned with animals that are raised for meat, fibre, milk, or other products. It includes day-to-day care, selective breeding and the raising of livestock. … Modern animal husbandry relies on production systems adapted to the type of land available.”
I have been ruminating on this above topic. I watch the world spin and am perplexed that many people either have no real idea of what Animal Husbandry entails, or ignores what they know for that which they hear purveyed about… for instance: It is cruel to keep animals penned up. It is cruel and inhumane to seperate offspring from sires and dames. It is cruel to neuter some animals, and equally cruel to produce some animals solely for breeding. Even dumber is the idea that an appreciable amount of food-for-humans is being fed to animals for meat, milk, etc.
If we just became vegivores, all of us, everyone of us, world wide… if we simply turned away from meat, milk, eggs, cheese… of all kinds… no wild duck or deer, no bacon and eggs, no turkey for thanksgiving, no cheese melt on your imitation meat burger…
The best discussion on this topic comes from my old compadre, W.E. I copy it here, without expressed permission, but I think W.E. will be ok with it all:
I am considering this topic for a couple reasons: 1) I came close to losing a new born calf these past few days. It was touch n go, but I think I managed to win the battle with only minor damage. 2) There is a continuing vocal movement in this land that would have us believe farmers, the practitioners of animal husbandry, are bad people. On a par with old-day slave owners…
There are “activists” that tamper with, fuck with farmers and their livestock. Its considered noble, for the cause, to release animals, open gates, upset the animal husbandry code of ethics. Its always the animals that end up injured or dead. The saintly activists don’t see the damage they do.
As a farmer, as a practitioner of the Animal Husbandry Code of Ethics, I care for my animals. Its my job to care for them. To understand them, to watch and listen and protect. I don’t like branding, I don’t use shock-prods. I foolishly talk to my animals, all of them. The four dogs, the two chickens and the small herd of 20 cattle. And I learn stuff all the time.
For instance, my herd would rather be shown than to be driven. If I get behind them and try to push them in a direction they rebel. If I walk in front, and open the gates ahead, and talk and sing to them, they follow quite cooperatively. Ive been asked how I get them to cooperate so well and my answer is simply, “say please and thank you”.
I consider all my animals to be sentient beings. Of course not all animals are created equal, and my chickens are kinda dumb. They cant be trusted much. They lie a lot. But then all birds lie. My cattle are my friends. We interact and talk and play together. The big arsed bull, Hank, is gentle giant that enjoys making me nervous. He can walk up behind me and nudge me, make me jump, which makes him smile. A couple of the cows are favourites. A couple are untrustworthy trouble makers. Of course, my dogs are my overall favourites. I have exceptional dogs…
This morning I saved the couple-day-old calf.
A nice little bone-red bull-calf. His mamma is good but getting old and her teats is quite large. The little bugger couldn’t a suck going. Couldn’t figure it out. So one day, two days, onto three… mamma’s udder is swollen. Full of milk, and getting sore. Every time the little-guy tries she kicks. He is going to die if he cant get a drink.
So last eve I pushed mamma into the stock-crush. I tried to get the calf to suckle but failed. I got kicked for my effort. Damn near broke my arm. Was lucky really.
So I left mamma and baby in the crush last eve. This morn, armed with a decent rope and extra determination, I really don’t get more than this shot. If I cant get him suckling he will expire. So its either get him on the teat, or put him down…
I know it don’t look like much but my forearm above the wrist is beaten and swollen. My hand really hurts. I have rope burns across my fingers where I lost the tug of war.
What I ended up doing was getting a rope on mama’s leg and hold is up, so she couldn’t kick, and the lil-bugger could get a feed…
In the process of getting the calf to suck, I was kicked and abused by mamma, I got splattered head to toe with shit.
And I feel pretty darn good.
Being a farmer, a practitioner of the noble art of Animals Husbandry….
Summer is coming. You can feel it. The heat. The humidity. The flies…
My cattle are not too bad, yet, but the flies are coming on. We last “treated” the herd for pests and parasites last May. It’s been a very good, long run. This past “winter” has been very, very copacetic.
But the rainy season is here. The storm season is here. We’ve had over 75mm/ 3inches of rain in the past couple weeks. Nothing big and harsh, but lots of nice rainy, grey, drizzlie soakers. And a few fierce squalls.
My herd is kinda hapi. I decided the other day to sell my calves. What I call “teenagers”. Between 6-8 months old and they start causing trouble. So I did some separating and ended up with 10 I’ll sell. I’ll keep two very young calves and the 16 mamas, and the big arsed bull, Hank.
I am pleased to report that the seasonal “rainy-season” is on schedule.
I smile and think of my ol-pard, W.E., he lived for a decade or more in the Solomons and Fiji. He is a natural observer and a ‘fair dinkum’ climatologist… he claims that in the tropics you get a wet season, and then a wetter season.
Here in Qld we run the full spectrum of pendulum swings regularly. If it’s not in-drought, the floods are killing us.
Welcome to Queensland,
Mate.
Over 25mm/ 1inch of rain in the last 48 hours. Soft gentle enduring rain that fills the cracks, does not erode the surface. It’s a great start to the “wetter-season”.
I’m watching the US Pro-Baseball play offs. I like baseball. Played when young. Enjoyed the idea of one-guy with a bat, facing a full team. It is a game of subtleties, finesse. But not fitness. Some of these guys look like they train n ice cream n marshmallows. But they sure as shit can hit a ball.
Babe Ruth was no Adonis.
So far some good games going on.
I was a catcher in my day. Not a good catcher. Maybe dependable, but we were kids and some kid, usually the big one, the fat one, got into the catchers gear and squared behind Home-Plate. I started kinda young and enjoyed it.
Dodgers just scored. Bottom of the 1st. Short drop to centre field. (Or center field) two outs and man on second…
It’s the 10th month already. Where does time go? Or am I just distracted?
Busy, productive, lovely morn in QLD. This is a great time of the year, here. Today’s temps range from 11c-28c / 48f – 82f. Chilly n cold nights to warm n hot days. Could not be better. Noting that the morns warm up slowly. Its 1018am and the house is still chilly but the sun is warm and bright. Once the sun sets at 6pm, the temps plummet. Perfect sleeping weather.
I have been working on our final application for Australian Citizenship. We have rung all the bells, jumped through numerous hoops, paid huge fees, clocked up the required time, and now qualify for citizenship. It’s been a long road. All up we’ve been at this over 10years. A mountain of paper has been generated. It’s all but done n dusted.
Today I reviewed over 100pages of forms. Filled in some blanks spots, made sure the base info was correct, chased a few missing documents, and now have all in one file, ready to go. I need to get my Policeman-buddy, Smitty, to sign one form, then its all pretty much done.
It makes me consider what I see going on in the world… Diaspora, displacement, dissatisfaction… All leads to mass migration. Organised and disorganised migration.
I think it is timely to think about, ruminate on the circumstances that create an Emigrant… Creates a “refugee”…
Emigrant: A person who leaves their own country in order to settle permanently in another.
Refugee: A person who has been forced to leave their country in order to escape war, persecution, or natural disaster.
But, in my mind, refugees are emigrants, tho not all emigrants are refugees…
I am a serial offender when It comes to emigration. I left the land of my birth and emigrated to the Solomon Islands. It was a conscience move. I built a life, a home, a family in the Solomons.
10 years ago I made the decision to “retire” to Australia. My life and time in the Solomons was ending. My needs were changing. A life of adventure and risk was less attractive as my knees and spine aged. Revolutions, civil strife, political instability were less attractive compared to quiet neighbourhoods, a positive policy force, magnificent medical care.
Aus is a very good place. There are pros and Cons but, at my age, at my station and time in life, Aus offers what I need.
One may ask why I chose Aus over the US… immediate answer is that its close to the Solomons. Retirement always included the Solomons. We have family there, we still luv deIslands. Bouncing back and forth between Aus and deIslands was dePlan…
Covid kinda messed that plan up…
Covid has messed a lot up…
So sad…
I consider the depth and breadth of the changes, the new-world order, that covid has created for us all… what aspect of our modern lives has NOT been effected? Of course my retirement plans evolved around travel. I purposely bought a home an hour from the International airport. Gracie and I previously spent about half our time “on the go”. It was a great gig, while it lasted. I do not see it all returning, any time soon.
And thats OK. I am content where I am. Of course I’d love to be able to visit my ageing mother. I’d really, really enjoying seeing our latest grandchild, Brimstone. I miss my regular visits to London. The bucket list of global “to-dos” shall go undone. And thats OK.
I say often these days, that I am glad I am an olFart. Glad I got to travel the planet for as long as I did.
And glad I get to settle in Aus. I like the idea of being an “Aussie”. A Queenslander.
Busy day, busy times. A friend recently commented how much I suck at being retired.
Through my busy day I have been thinking about global affairs, various national situations, and the price of eggs.
Yes, the price of eggs… my aforementioned friend is a chicken farmer. He works hard. Has a few-hundred layers and processes at least 200eggs a day. I know he’s doing it tough. Works very hard.
As I think of Australia, I think of it as a “Nanny State”. A very good place to be. Quite enlightened in many ways. A 49.9% tax rate for the higher earners says a lot.
I think of the USofA and what it is morphing into…
A Socialist State is very different to a Nanny State.
I don’t think many people understand this simple fact.
An overcast day. A damp chill in the air. I need to put a hoodie on… there, thats much better…
I’m thinking of a couple topics today: 1) is how damn fast the year is passing by, and 2) how much damage this covid-crisis has caused.
Its funny that my immediate life and life style has been little altered or effected by the crisis. Here in SE QLD we have to wear masks when we go into stores or such. There is a gov’t app we use to sign into the places we enter.
And thats about it.
But there are places that people are being kept locked-down by force. Police and military control the streets. They will stop and ask you about your business and if not happy, slap a big fine on you.
Pretty soon they will be issuing VAX-passports.
Its all very sad and more than a little bit scary.
Of course, the lack of travel is a big-thing in my family. We’re spread across the globe, unable to see each other, unable to share. My 94 yrold mother in Iowa, my multitudes of siblings and their offspring, our grown children and their children in the Solomons. All I can say is thank goodness for social media. I’d hate to be paying for the daily phone calls we make.
Where I am its spring, what little winter we had is gone, and now we can look forward to some rain. We need rain.
I talk like a farmer… and olfart farmer…
One of the covid-crisis-confusions I perceive is this: * People get ill, get tested and are positive, only to get sent home to isolate. * While in isolation they are not given any treatment (that I know of) that may alleviate symptoms, severity, etc. * Only after respiratory distress sets in are the ill moved to a hospital and if required, ventilated.
I find this difficult to accept. There must be- MUST BE -something that will assist in suppressing or alleviating the symptoms, and the severity of the virus. I have a lot of experience, over 40 years worth, dealing with Malaria. Both Vivax and Falsiparum. Make no joke about malaria, it will kill, does kill, is the second leading cause of death globally…
“The estimated number of malaria deaths stood at 409 000 in 2019. Children aged under 5 years are the most vulnerable group affected by malaria; in 2019, they accounted for 67% (274 000) of all malaria deaths worldwide. The WHO African Region carries a disproportionately high share of the global malaria burden.1 Apr 2021″ Malaria – WHO | World Health Organization
As far a covid goes, as far as I can discern, there is no standard protocol for treating a patient with covid. Its like the dark ages and the plague… you die, or you don’t. That simple.
I came across this recently and find it rather interesting…
Tuesday afternoon here. Quite warm out, almost hot. Almost too hot. Feels like it should rain. The cloud cover is thick. Humidity at a pleasant 50%. If this is winter, I’ll take it all day long…
My olFart life style offers a lot of time to “think about things”. To ruminate… Ruminate upon today, yesterday, and tomorrow. I’m an anal planner and task-master. Admitting though, I have much less to manage than days of yore. Yet my note taking and list making continues unchecked.
I am ruminating upon past teachings and philosophies. I am thinking of “The Teaching of don Juan”. My generation was enthralled by C. Castdaneda’s body of “anthropological” works, first published in 1968.
I’m not here to discuss the veracity of C.C.’s work, rather to ruminate upon salient points of of “The Teachings” that I still use in my life, consider to be personal truths in a way…
Recently I have been thinking about, dealing with what I call a “Petty Tyrant” situation.
I like what I find on this site… explains it very well… “A petty tyrant is a tormentor. Someone who either holds the power of life and death over warriors or simply annoys them to distraction.” ~Carlos Castaneda – The Fire from Within~
I remember the concept (as purveyed in the books) that we as modern mature individuals are challenged and tested by these Tyrants around us. It comes down to self-importance. How seriously we take ourselves and how well we maintain our poise and balance in times of trial… or such is how I see it.
I always liked this thought… “My benefactor used to say that a warrior who stumbles on a petty tyrant is a lucky one.” ~Don Juan~
It’s something quite simple, yet difficult to articulate… “A petty tyrant is a person who causes distress by imposing his/her will on others using psychological pressure rather than physical force. The petty tyrant feels he may impose his will because he believes that he is a superior being and because he wants to operate from a position of authority.”
In modern times we would refer to these Tyrants as being “toxic”… “Petty tyrants are the button-pushers, the individuals that have the ability to throw things off-balance for you if you let them. Many petty tyrants are unaware that they are the cause of so much frustration. They are effective teachers because they force the warrior to closely monitor their own reactions and habitual behaviors. The result is mindfulness and the ability to shift the assemblage point, even if ever so slightly, in order to loosen the fixation to the conditioned response that causes the reaction in the first place.”
I dig the idea of benefiting from the toxic situation… “Castaneda believed that by looking at the petty tyrant through a different filter, a person could not only co-exist with a petty tyrant but also benefit from the relationship. This type of relationship would be most common in the workplace, school or other public forum when you have no choice but to be in close proximity to the petty tyrant. The challenge for the warrior is to try to consciously get along with this co-worker without being petty yourself. It’s a “rise above it” opportunity that could challenge one to the core.”
I know, nothing earth shattering. Basic common sense, eh?
Much like the plethora of self-help books that come and go like fads? My day it was the “One Minute Manager”. Common sense in common words which were useful to me “then”, and remain part of my processes… https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_One_Minute_Manager
Sunday morning here. It’s going to be a good day, the sun is out, the air is clear and clean, and a full morning of UFC blood sports is on.
Ive fed my dogs, walked the back fence line to check all is well, the sinister electric fence is ticking over nicely. I moved the cattle, and now sit with a coffee, as guys and gals kick the shit outta each other.
What could be better!
Oh, did I forget to mention that we’re under Lock-Down? Over half the population in The Land Of Aus is locked down. Some places more severe than others. Some places are under martial law. Big fines for breaking the rules…
I am kinda curious about it all, that after a year of on and off lock downs and restrictions and penalties, the powers that-be, are still trying to figure stuff out. A smallish population of 25mil or so, on an island, after a solid 16+ months, are still at risk and are still being controlled.
Yesterday there was to be an “anti-lock-down” rally in Sydney. The second of its kind in a few weeks… The authorities were out in force and prohibited the rally from occurring. Yet, a year ago, the BLM (burn loot n murder) rallies were going full speed in all major metropolis’s, without issue. Guess you can protest systemic social injustices, only so far, eh?
The cost of the sloppy controls and regs is huge. Everyone somehow thinks the authorities have money to spend. Just heard a news report saying that the $700 a week “assistance” was not enough to survive. Few folks really, really understand that it is the Taxpayer who is footing the bill, and shall foot this bill for a long time to come.
Like a teen who gets a couple credit cards and maxes them out. It may not look like a lot, a couple 1500$ debts, growing at 18.5%? But as the years tick by and teenhood goes into adulthood, the debts hang around like a millstone for a long, long time.
I’m glad I am an old fart. These lockdowns would bother me if I was, say, 10-20 years younger. If I had a life outside of oldfarthood, if I had things “to-do”.
As it is I do feel the inconvenience of it all. Perhaps its more than just an inconvenience?
My mother is 94, lives in Iowa, and is fading. She’s a tough old bird, and may well be around for some time, but being able to visit her during the North American summer would be nice.
My daughter, CK, gave birth to a son a few months back. He’s our 18th grandpup, CK’s first child. They are in The Solomons. Thank goodness for modern social media, but being there would be nice.
A huge portion of our family lives in The Solomons. We have two grandsons, two granddaughters, our son PJ, and his wife here in Aus with us. Which is very good. But the other 14 grand-pups and numerous grown children lead their lives without opportunity of us joining in.
Perhaps, worse of all, my “dream-boat”, DD ICE, sits in Gizo. It may as well be on Mars. There is no possible future window of opportunity where I’ll be onboard, again. A big part of my “retirement-plan”, ICE was to be my oldfart, sea faring adventure. A dream of a life time… Sail the Pacific from West to East. Take a few years, circumnavigate Aus, NZ, head for the equator and explore the islands. Visit many friends along the way. Experience Easter Island from sea. Explore the West Coast of the Americas, from Chile to Alaska.
Yes, I did have grand plans and delusions.
ICE in front of Kolombangara
As predicted over a year ago, the Kung Flu is leading to a very fascist attitude in our modern world. Is it all a “Shamdemic”? The idea that the authorities shall soon require you to “get the jab” is a bit much for me. Here in Aus it is happening as we speak. relaxation of restrictions is now tied to % of population vaxx’d.
I dont think Governments should be making blanket rules that impinge on personal liberties. The lockdowns are of course draconian, and have proven to be of little help, and have caused huge harm. The idea that you MUST get the jab in order to be a member of society is very heavy-handed.
I am not opposed to the Vax. Im not unfamiliar with being vaxed by command… in the old days you had to have a WHO vaccination book to travel to certain places. I still have mine from the 80s.
Shall I get vaxed? Why have I not gotten it yet?
I explained recently that my age and station in life sees me pretty much self isolated without being forced. I have no real desire or need to spend too much time out in public. I have more than enough to occupy my time positively. As I age I find I dislike crowds, being in public. My agoraphobia grows as I age. I probably visit less than six places with any regularity: I buy fuel at one or three places, I buy veggies at the same place weekly, I visit one of 3-4 grocery stores every few days, and buy grog from the same grog-shop all the time. Masks are mandatory in the shops, as is a sign-in through a govt app when you enter a shop.
Face diapers are compulsory in public.
I dont go “out”, eat out, have coffee, visit others at all, any more. Have not been one to “go out” for ages. Sunday lunches at the local pub used to be nice, but not any more.
I have taken to buying a lot of what I need on-line. Just ordered a bunch of plywood and paint to build a couple dog houses. Delivery is only 40bucks. But this is nothing new for me. Ive been ordering on line for as long time. Loading and unloading 10 sheets of construction ply is easy, if someone else does the work.
The Vaxx situation has been terribly mismanaged, mis-messaged. According to what I hear, its is not as easy to get the jab as it should be. But I speak secondhand at best. When the times comes I shant be too disagreeable. And the time shall come.
I am watching the terrible situation in Afghanistan get worse. The entire region is poised, once again, to return to the Middle Ages/ the Dark Ages, as the extremists are given back control. Yes, “given back control”.
More ineptitude and stupidity is hard to find. A couple decades, a few trillion dollars, several thousand wasted lives, for what?
It’s a “been there, done that” T-shirt. I mourn for the people whose lives have been, and shall be ruined. As refugees spill out and put pressure on systems already broken.
Speaking of “broken systems”… I find it sadly humorous that the US0fA is falling further and further down the “rabbit-hole”… I heard that over 1million illegal emigrants have crossed the southern border in this year- to date. Thats almost a quarter of a million people a month. And thats just the Souther border.
Many of the folks crossing are from Africa, Asia, Eastern Europe. The offical-word tells us that the folks are from failed South American countries, but that is only half of the story. Half the truth.
The current situation is such that the word “is out”, The Border is open for one and all. So do what you can, be there or be square.
But what about the Cuban refugees that are being sent back? Why the dual standard?
Speaking of dual standards… The DNC led Congress has initiated an investigation into the “insurrection” of January. Refused to let Republicans sit on the committee.
From where I sit, this BS is self-fulling-prophesy. Like the Russian-collusion BS, if you spend enough time and energy and $$ chasing a falsehood, if becomes TruTh.
Speaking of TruTh… there is none.
There used to be many common Truths. Unassailable Truths.
Nothing is unassailable these days.
Nothing is Holy any more.
I was educated by people who taught me about the importance facts. Historical facts, Scientific facts, Numerical facts. Life was based on facts.
Not anymore. And I dont get it.
And thats kinda OK. As stated, I am an olFart. And am hapi being an olFart. I’m kinda good at it. My life is pretty damn good.
A sunny, windy winter’s day here in QLD. The wind dries things out but we have heaps of water so we’ll survive easily.
Not sure how many of the folks out there are familiar with the use of electric fences on farms. They are standard world-wide. I don’t think the basic technology employed has changed over the past many decades. An insulated-from-ground wire or “tape” is electrified either with standard Ac power or with a battery. The electric shock produced is enough to keep a 1000kg bull off the wire. Calves jump and often get a couple good shots before they can get away. The cows are smart, rarely get hit by the shock.
Just the other day, I was “out back” checking fences in my 4x4buggy. Gracie was with me. I have one long run of electrified fence way back. Its a standard unit hooked to an old tractor battery and with a mini solar panel to keep the battery fully charged. I believe the units I use produce upwards to 6000 volts, The current is strong enough to shock but not really injure. The amperage is very low, measured in milliamps. So high volts with minimal amps not really dangerous, but…
I went to check my set up. I can hear that its active. You can hear the pulse of current, is sounds like a metallic “click”. Every 3 seconds or so you hear the unit send a charge of electricity down the line.
I see the earth lead is not where I think it should be. I was out here a while back and moved it, but was on the wrong Side of the fence so did not clamp the earth lead to the steel post holding the solar panel up. Instead I clipped it onto the steel barbed wire line going the other direction. Suitable, but not correct. A good grounding makes it work better so… I unclip the earth and prepare to move it, as the unit goes, click – click – click…
Right hand has the earth lead as my left hand gets close enough to the electric tape for the charge to jump the gap. Current in my left hand, through my chest, and out my right. Didn’t last long but when I managed to drop the lead I was two frankenstien-stiff-steps from where I’d started. I vividly felt the current. Knew intuitively I had to drop the lead but it took some effort, as my body went stiff and my arms rose like I was conducting a symphony.
Of course Gracie laughed her arse off.
I shook my self like a scalded dog. Laughing too, I shivered from head to foot.
Promptly turned the damn unit off, fixed the ground properly, commenting as I did so that “I sure as hell shoulda turned that off in the first place”.
While Gracie laughed all the time. I think she is still laughing.
I’m sitting on the back porch of the old farm house. About330pm on a Thursday afternoon. My Molosser pups lie near by. The air is quiet and warm.
We’re in a valley so, this-time of year, we get sunshine 8am – 5pm. Yesterday we had a winter’s souwesterly blowing that was coooold. Today, no wind, so for now its very pleasant.
Nights recently have been near freezing, but days warm up quite nicely. From where I sit I get blue sky, white clouds, green farmlands and an amazing golden sunshine bathing all in warmth. But the warmth is fleeting. The sun light transient. Once behind the hill, the cold settles in quickly.
From this back-porch, on a little farm in Queensland, I watch the world.
And I am increasingly confused by what I find… the lengths of deception and outright lying this covid adventure has offered is extreme. No doubt that deception and outright lying has been SOP for a long, long time, yet we’re hitting new levels of deception and untruths.
I am a long-term avid reader of sci-fi. ManKind’s psyche, free will, destiny, and more has been thoroughly hashed over by many decades of Sci-Fi. Yet, I ponder, what the fuck is going on? It is stranger than Sci-Fi. I find my self A Stranger in a Strange Land…
I cant choose a single hip topic to have a rant about. There are too many to choose from. And I am not up to the arguments, the discussions. The emotion.
I once commented heavily about what I was reading and hearing and doing. Though I still do research and pay close attention to “the matters of the day”, I am no longer commenting. Much…
Not any more. Being a Farmer offers a lot of distractions but little exciting news. Often one days becomes another. Not like the days of yore when Grace and I would be busting-hump through some airport, almost late, and living by the “carry-on-only” travel mantra. Hotel room to hotel room, taxi to taxi… country to country… those were the days!
I used to call it “time travel”… leaving Brisbane at 8am on a Monday morning and arriving at LAX 6am on a Monday morning…
And those days are gone, victim to the KungFlu. The world has changed, and I am merrily ensconced here in QLD. Where its getting cold…
Farming is a good gig. 16 cows, 10 claves and a big-arsed bull named Hank. Two amazing Maremma guard dogs, and two monster Molosser pups. And 2-egg-laying-hens. Lots to smile about.
It was a grey n moist Thursday morn here. Woke to a dense, foggy dawning. The maremma guard dogs are quieted by fog.
Pretty busy day… Mr. M turned 16 so we had to rush into the local Transport office for him to get his licence. It’s a big thing, turning 16. Who can recall their 16th bday?
After feeding the dogs and managing my chores, I took M and Zai into Palmwoods, did what I had to do, and rode a bike back. I beat the rain.
I am now sittting in the old farm house. I got it to myself for the next few days. Me and the 4 dogs and 27 head of cattle.
It’s nice.
With my daily tasks sorted, back at the farm by myself, for an unknown reason I decided to tune in and see what the various news channels were selling today. It didnt last long… I must admit my tolerance for the bile and bullshit purveyed as “NEWZ” is low, very low.
Any sense of respect – respect of others, and respect for one’s self- is long evaporated. Folks of all walks and predilections say, do, sell, buy what suits them one day, and flip flop and change when beneficial. When the audience applauds. No one has any honour, trust is an old fashioned thing, being truthful is just about illegal.
The elected leadership of a people tells us a lot about The People. We have seen dismal days before. I despaired when rayGun was elected, then GB#1. I thought Clinton a say-anything southern politician from day-1. He lied so convincingly. Very polished. They called him”slick Willie”. GB#2… WMDs… The Obama era, where a systemically racist culture elects a non-white with an non-anglo name into the highest office of The Land… then The Donald, and now Uncle Joe…. All democraticall elected into office by the same electorate.
Thats a WTF sorta situation…
A combination of “cancelling” and “cultural dogma” has led us to a land where you are only racist if you are white, what once was historically true has been revised. Rewritten. Facts don’t mean much at all, any more.
A divergent opinion, to that of the hoard, is a scary thing. It makes folks run, hide. They dont know how to handle a logical straight forward discussion. Facts are not facts anymore. Facts have to be vetted and approved or they are cancelled out, removed, rewritten. Or they will hurt some one’s feeling. If you disagree you are racist.
Places like Baltimore are failing, have failed because of the systemically racist system that suppresses the residents therein. Suppresses all, of all colours, races and creeds.
At the same time the racist system spends more in Baltimore, per student, than almost anywhere else in The Land. Average federal spending per student per annum is 14,000.00. Baltimore students are worth 17,000.00 per. It costs more to fail, I guess.
Another WTF situation?
The racist systems spends 25% more on the suppressed???
Don’t make sense, do it?
Chicago had in excess of 50 shootings this past week. Newz does not faithfully report, or confirm number of deaths. Some folks scream that its the guns, ban the gunzzz… some claim its the police, defund the police and all will be well…
Detroit has seen 5 children gunned downed in the past week. On top of the normal adult shootings.
Guns? Police? Tell me what the problem is. Gotta know the problem in order to gain a solution.
No one will speak of the social fibres that have eroded and leave us a society that has no respect, honour, trust, fidelity… No one can mention the fatherless homes that are the norm, and the lost and lonely – and violent – progeny produced.
And in Baltimore we pay 17k a student for this result.
So much foolishness. So much waste.
But I do ramble.
Let me speak of positive things like beautiful skies…
Sunday morn here. A chilly Sunday morn. Bright blue skies, golden sunshine and crisp air. It’s a very nice place to “BE”.
I am thinking of a conversation I recently had with an old friend, where we shared personal situations dealing with less than copacetic people and situations. In it we used an old phrase, “Petty Tyrant” to describe people with malevolent intent.
In my situation I have been dealing with a negative-neighbour and a boundary dispute. It’s been ongoing for a year. Lawyers are involved. It’s not a pretty scene, and offers enough negativity to go around.
So I consider and have a look and find this:
The use of the term “petty tyrant” is borrowed from the work of Carlos Castaneda, whose teacher, Don Juan Matus, encouraged him to seek out petty tyrants in order to confront and defeat his self-importance and self-pity:
Self-importance is man’s greatest enemy. What weakens him is feeling offended by the deeds and misdeeds of his fellow men. Self-importance requires that one spend most of one’s life offended by something or someone. Carlos Castaneda, The Wheel of Time
Other teachers, philosophers and psychologists have understood the horror of spending one’s life offended by other people. Petty tyrants, people who seem intent on harming us, are a necessary asset in confronting our victim-hood and its resulting loss of poise.
I find this conversation to be timely and fitting. In a world where everyone is so offended by so much. Where angst and anger are emotions de-jure. Where lashing out senselessly is common and accepted as socially OK.
Just got the news that my old friend and family member, Don Verrips passed away.
I have not seen Don since 2017. It’d been decades since I’d seen him, but we picked up where we’d left up, got caught up, and were “close” again.
I first met Don in 1966/ 67. He was dating my sister. I was 7 and he was 16/17 when we first met. He very much left a firm stamp on my growing up. A small dude, he was fierce, like little dudes are.
The marriage with my sister did not last but his argumentative, aggressive attitude suited me so we were friends all along.
His only offspring, Daughter Tracey, embodies his attitude in a fine style. She is tough, not to be messed with, articulate and vocal. And very short.
Don never weighed 120pounds, with ball bearings in his pocket. Even when we last met he was basically a runt. But not one to be challenged or messed with. The size of the fight in the dog kinda thing.
So here is to Don…
Ive searched for a photo and will keep looking I know I have some.
It is a clear, crisp Saturday here in the little valley. Nights are cold and breezy. We leave the house open so the nights require nice, big, heavy blankets. Makes sleeping easy under all that weight.
Chords, How cold is it in SA? Always hotter or colder in SA. I did a 1000k run into NSW a week ago, and it inspires me to cross more boarders. Might look at a run down your way. Only problem is getting caught on the wrong side of a lock-down. I think SYD just got nailed again. WA is never safe.
Damn this travel restriction BS sux, eh?
Woke this morn, as each morn here on the farm, and dress for going outside. The big dogs, the puppies, the herd, all need attention. I get out of bed and go outside to be a farmer.
Joe has been gone a couple weeks. A few hours a day keeps things on an even keel. I have a lot of projects to undertake but am happy to move slow.
I gave Joe’s house to Gracie. She’s going to turn into in her church… The House Of Grace…
Guess I wont be spending much time there.
Had a calf born early yesterday. It’s the 16th calf born out o f16 cows in 10 months. So the new calving season will start soon. I just sold 7x 10-8month old calves last week. A grand a piece. Better than a poke in the eye.
This new born means I have 8 calves here ranging in age form 6th month old to new born. Will sell these 8 in December or January, depending on market.
Not getting rich but having a good time.
This morn I opened a new, fresh paddock up to the herd. They were keen to get to the fresh green grass. The mamma of the new born went with the herd. Left her baby hidden in the grass somewhere. The mammas will hide their new borns for most of the day as they feed. Then come evetime, with full udders, the calves get a big feed.
So I go look for it. Find it easy enough. I think its dead. Not uncommon how sound these new borns sleep. 30kgs and all legs. Moving many direction. I lay on top of it and get control the the legs. Manage to get a good two armed carry grip and lift the bugger up, kicking and blleeetting. A few steps to the buggy… second step I turn my left ankle.
Fall straight on top of the calf, keep control of it. If I let go now, it’ll be gone quick as a deer. And probably get lost and things will be busy and not bueno at all.
I get it to the buggy, get to mamma. Mamma is at the gate, head down, not hapi. I talk her into being calm, push the ne born toward her, keep it from bolting away.
All is good but my bloody ankle.
Not swollen, not really injured too bad, but sore. If I turn it again, too soon, it’ll take ages to come back. So I sit, watch dumb old swashbuckling movies and drink lunch.
Life is guud. Gracie appears hapi here on the farm. Of course the amount of walking and movement we do is easily double what a normal suburban life offers, so we are very much healthier here. The animals are fun and mentally stimulating. The cattle are intelligent beings with interesting personalities. Ive learned if you say “please” they cooperate well.
The puppies are a hoot. Eating massive amounts. I am told I need to cook for them so its rice and beans and veggies and loads of meat. I’ll weight them soon but reckon they’ve gained a couple kilos since I brought them home.
The Maremma are cool. Not pets at all. Often quite timid and skittish. But bloody great guards.
Its 342pm, I am in Parkes, NSW. I drove down to pick up my next furry-buddy adventure.
Adventurous puppies
It’s cool that their people sent a pillow they have been raised with.
I am in a dog friendly motel. An older, run down place that suits my needs well. It has an old style water closet and bath room affair. The hand basin is a small room that I can close or open makes a great puppy pen.
It’s not a great pict but they are hugging their pillow, recovering from the travel. I can see different personalities already.
They are a matched pair of bitches. 10weeks old. About 10kgs each. They have been reared by honest dog-people. Knowledgeable dog-people.
Thus they send the pillow.
The dominant sister had created a bond with her dog-person mommy. Mommy named her, “Nia”. Nia is used to being the favourite. She is playing shy and unhappy with me.
The other sister, the little sister had not been named. She is ready to be friendly.
Gracie and I had discussed possible names and my favourite was, “Quel”. Quel in Gracie’s home-language means girl.
So we got Nia and Quel.
And the Adventure Begins…
I have written about dogs in general, some of the dogs I have shared space with, and say each time that I am a dawg-person. Either you are or you are not. Middle ground does exist, but once you live with a good dawg, spend years interacting and coexisting, then bury and grieve, you learn that its all but impossible for a dog-person to NOT have a dawg.
So I bought Two!
I am known for a certain level of excess in my life. If a one-day party is fun, well hell, a two-day party gotta be better? Why adopt and raise one kid when you can adopt and raise a half dozen, and end up claiming something like 18 grandchildren?
I actually think that these two female pups represent a certain amount of constraint on my part.
And I smile.
I think the pups represent my retirement, my next retirement. Retire early and often… These pups should live an easy 10 years, could be 15. They are of a high level of breeding. They are going to be very smart, very trainable. If the trainer is smart.
I am 11 to 12 hours away from home. Traffic, road works and posted or personal detours not included. Grace is holding down the farm while I am travelling. She has the dogs and the cattle there to manage. And a big garden to play in.
My trip tomorrow
Some may ask why I am buying these pups, while I have two maremma on the farm… The answer is in dog-talk: different breed are bred for different things, have different characteristics and abilities. The maremma are guard dogs. Working dogs. They do not make great pets. They bark a lot, a whole lot, that’s their job. They are naturally part wild, they normally bond and live with a herd, or flock as domestic guards. You dont groom maremma. Mine guard my property, are the sentries over the herd and the buildings. Tho trainable, their nature is to be a bit wild. Farmers around here consider a maremma to be half dog, half werewolf.
These pups would probably be called mastiffs. But they aren’t. They they are working dogs bred for size, and intelligence. They can be trained to do just about anything, but excel at domestic protection.
I do like big dogs, and have decided on two females for two main reasons: a) I’m aware that the single dog in a house can be lonely. A dawg needs company of outs own kind. And nothing is better than a good bitch guard-dog, than two good bitch guard-dogs. b) is that I have time to have two big dogs noting my life of world-wide travel and adventure is done. I don’t expect travel to open up and life to go back to “what-it-was”. So I’ll raise and train these two great pups.
They both hug their pillow in the tiny water-closet. Quel wags her tail as I try to call her out. She hears me and responds but is holding back. Nia just looks at me. Not in a bad way, but she is sad. She misses her mommy.
This place could not be better. The stars have alight ed.
I am a bit concerned that the pups will eventually wake up and want attention. I have a long drive to do tomorrow. We will take a break every two hours. It’s going to be a good initiation into the coming adventure.
I was out sorting the truck and a guy was sitting outside his room with his dawg running around. He is obviously a dawg-dude. Has a big truck and a trailer and dresses for work. A contractor away from home, with his dog. He’s reading the paper and having a smoke. His dawg, Holly, is having a good run around.
I like dawg and kid friendly, run down, country town, highway motels.
Last night I got et-up on one leg by bed-bugs…
Last night’s motel
OK, time flies when you are having fun… been dealing with the pups. They are very intelligent, aware, know what is going on. Very slow to become my buddy. Very slow. Like I would expect from a very smart dawg.
I sit in the restaurant of the “Moonraker Motel”. It smells like we have either survived a flood without changing the carpet or there is a permanent rot, decay that has set in.
I like it.
I’m having a 4XGold and the daily special… 300gm Scotch Fillet. You never know. I asked the waitress what to order and how it should be cooked. We’ll see how we go. I am a well travelled veteran and try not to order sea food in Iowa, nor steak in Gizo.
Though I have had fresh shushi in Des Moinse and a great steak in Gizo.
Local colour : This place appears to be run (owned) by a Indian continent male with a big blond Aussie female. Its is family and small. Laughter comes form the kitchen. The male on the phone taking an order is firm but concise. He wants the order to be right even if the customer is not sure. He repeats the order three times before confirming.
It’s only 637pm. Plenty of time for a couple 4Xstubbies.
Personal drama filters out of the kitchen. All kitchens are the centre of gossip. I like it. A single bloke just walked in. He is a “regular” by the look of it. Should I be civil and say G’day?
I am very good at being rude. But I won’t.
It’s all done. Had a good meal and a great conversation. The place was friendly and quite enjoyable.
I spoke to the proprietor, Vas, and am right in my assessment. We both agree it is good to be an emigrant in The land of Aus.
Hunt For Red October is on TV. 859pm. Puppies are bedded down. Plenty of newspaper on the floor. It’s been a good day. Puppies make everything better.
The Native Iowan 
thoughts and opinions