about a year or so ago i read paul levy's book series wetiko series, something which resonated with me very much and continues to do so although i have many questions to ask him. the other day while scanning the net i discovered he had written an eloquent explanation of wetiko and i feel it's timely to share it with people. please read and think about this:

What is Wetiko

by

Paul Levy

A contagious psycho-spiritual disease of the soul is currently being acted out en masse on the world stage via an insidious collective psychosis of titanic proportions. This mind-virus—which Native Americans have called “wetiko”—covertly operates through the unconscious blind spots in the human psyche, rendering people oblivious to their own madness and compelling them to act against their own best interests. Wetiko is a psychosis in the true sense of the word, “a sickness of the spirit.” Wetiko covertly influences our perceptions so as to act itself out through us while simultaneously hiding itself from being seen.

Wetiko bewitches our consciousness so that we become blind to the underlying, assumed viewpoint through which we perceive, conjure up, and give meaning to our experience of both the world and ourselves. This psychic virus can be thought of as the “bug” in “the system” that informs and animates the madness that is playing out in our lives, both individually and collectively, on the world stage.

Before being able to treat this sickness that has infected us all, we have to snap out of our denial, see the disease, acknowledge it, name it, and try to understand how it operates so as to ascertain how to deal with it—this is what my book Wetiko is all about.

The Normalization of Wetiko

A few years ago I ran into a friend whom I hadn’t seen for a while. He asked me what I had been up to. I answered that I was writing about the collective psychosis that our species had fallen into. His response was telling. He asked me what made me think there was a collective psychosis going on. His question left me speechless; I literally didn’t know how to respond. What made him think there wasn’ta collective psychosis going on, I wondered. Could he give me one piece of evidence? Our collective madness had become so normalized that most people—my friend was extremely bright, by the way—didn’t even notice.

Many of us have become conditioned to thinking that if we were in a middle of a collective psychosis it would mean that people would be doing all sorts of “crazy” things such as running around naked and screaming, for instance. This ingrained idea, however, gets in the way of recognizing the very real collective insanity in which all of us are—both passively and actively—participating. If we want to envision what a collective psychosis could actually look like, it might be a real eye-opener to realize it would look exactly like what is happening right now in our world.

What Is Wetiko Really?

Wetiko is a cannibalizing force driven by insatiable greed, appetite without satisfaction, consumption as an end in itself, and war for its own sake, against other tribes, species, and nature, and even against the individual’s own humanity. It is a disease of the soul, and being a disease of the soul, we all potentially have wetiko, as it pervades and “in-forms” the underlying field of consciousness. Any one of us at any moment can fall into our unconscious and unwittingly become an instrument for the evil of wetiko to act itself out through us and incarnate in our world. If we see someone who seems to be taken over by wetiko and we think they have the disease and we don’t, in seeing them as separate we have fallen under the spell of the virus ourselves.

Wetiko induces in us a proclivity to see the source of our own pathology outside of ourselves—existing in “the other.” Wetiko feeds off of polarization and fear—and terror—of “the other.” Seeing the world through a wetiko-inspired lens of separation/otherness enlivens what Jung calls “the God of Terror who dwells in the human soul,” and simultaneously plays itself out both within our soul and in the world at large. Wetiko subversively turns our “genius” for reality-creation against us in such a way that we become bewitched by the projective tendencies of our own mind.

Falling under wetiko’s spell, we become entranced by our own intrinsic gifts and talents for dreaming up our world in a way that not only doesn’t serve us, but rather is put at the service of wetiko (whose agenda is contrary to our own). Our creativity then boomerangs against us such that we hypnotize ourselves with our creative genius, which cripples our evolutionary potential. To the extent we are unconsciously possessed by the spirit of wetiko, it is as if a psychic tapeworm or parasite has taken over our brain and tricked us, its host, into thinking we are feeding and empowering ourselves while we are actually nourishing the parasite (a process which will ultimately kill its host—us).

In wetiko disease, something that is not us surreptitiously, beneath our conscious awareness, takes the place of and plays the role of who we actually are. Shape-shifting so as to cloak itself in our form, this mercurial predator gets under our skin and “puts us on” as a disguise. Miming ourselves, we become a copy, a false duplicate of our true selves. We are then truly playing out a real version of the imposter syndrome.

The Sickness of Exploitation

Wetiko is powerless to control our true nature, but it can control and manipulate this false identity that it sets up within us. When we fall under the sway of wetiko’s illusion, we simultaneously identify with who we are not, while dissociating from and forgetting who we actually are—giving away our power, not to mention ourselves, in the process.

Disconnecting from our own intrinsic agency, we open ourselves to be used, manipulated, and exploited by outside forces. Indigenous author Jack Forbes, who wrote the classic book about wetiko entitled Columbus and Other Cannibals, refers to wetiko as “the sickness of exploitation.” Wetiko can be conceived of as being an evil, cannibalistic, vampiric spirit that inspires people under its sway to take and consume another’s resources and life-force energy solely for their own profit, without giving anything of value back from their own lives. Wetiko thus violates the sacred law of reciprocity in both human affairs and the natural world as a whole.

The main channel of wetiko’s transmission is relational. It exists through our relationships with ourselves, each other, and the world at large. Like a vampire that can’t stand the light of day, the wetiko virus can’t stand to be illumined. However, in seeing how it covertly operates through our own consciousness, we take away its seeming independence, autonomy, and power over us, while at the same time empowering ourselves. The way the vampiric wetiko covertly operates within the human psyche is mirrored by the way it works in the outside world.

Jung never tired of warning us that the greatest danger threatening humanity today is the possibility that millions—even billions— of us can fall into our unconscious together in a collective psychosis, reinforcing each other’s madness in such a way that we become unwittingly complicit in creating our own destruction. When this occurs, humanity finds itself in a situation where we are confronted with—and battered by—the primal, primordial, and elemental forces of our own psyche.

The Internal Origins of Wetiko

The most depraved part of falling under the thrall of wetiko is that, ultimately speaking, it involves the assent of our own free will; no one other than ourselves is ultimately responsible for our situation. There is no objective entity called wetiko that exists outside of ourselves that can steal our soul—the dreamed-up phenomenon of wetiko tricks us into giving it away ourselves.

People under the sway of wetiko are implicated in and willingly subscribe to their own enslavement. They do this to the point that when offered the way out of the comfort of their prison they oftentimes react violently. They symbolically—and sometimes literally—try to kill the messenger who is showing them the path to freedom. Ultimately speaking, in wetiko disease we are not being infected by a physical, objectively existing virus outside of ourselves. Rather, the origin and genesis of the wetiko psychosis is endogenous; its roots are to be found within the human psyche. The fact that wetiko is the expression of something inside of us means that the cure for wetiko is likewise within us.

If we don’t understand that our current world crisis has its roots within and is an expression of the human psyche, we are doomed to unconsciously repeat and continually recreate endless suffering and destruction in increasingly amplified forms, as if we are having a recurring nightmare. In my language, the inner situation within ourselves is getting “dreamed up” into materialized form in, through, and as the world.

In waking life we are continually dreaming right beneath the threshold of consciousness, especially when we are under the influence of our unconscious complexes. In other words, when we are “under the influence” of our activated unconscious, we will unknowingly recreate our very inner landscape via the medium of the outside world. What can be more dreamlike than that?

What is happening in the world today is reflecting—and both literally and symbolically revealing to us—something unknown within our own psyche. At the same time, in a nonlinear acausal feedback loop that happens both atemporally (outside of time) and over (linear) time, events in our world are informed and shaped by the very inner psychological process they are reflecting. The inner and outer are simultaneously co-arising and reciprocally co-evoking each other. This is to say that what is happening within us and what is arising in our world have a mysterious interconnection; the inner and the outer are ultimately not separate nor separable.

Recognizing the correlation between the inner and the outer, between the micro and the macro, is the doorway into being able to see wetiko and wake up to the dreamlike nature that wetiko is simultaneously hiding and revealing depending on our point of view and level of awareness. Recognizing the connection between what is happening out in the world with what is taking place within our minds becomes a channel or secret doorway that leads beyond our merely personal psychological issues, empowering us to deal with the essential problem of our time.

Dreaming Wetiko

The wetiko psychosis is a dreamed-up phenomenon, which is to say that we are all potentially participating in and actively cocreating the wetiko epidemic in each and every moment. Like a collective dream, the wetiko epidemic is the manifestation of something in our shared collective unconscious taking on material form. Wetiko is literally demanding that we pay attention to the fundamental role that the psyche (the source of our dreams) plays in creating our experience of ourselves and of the world.

Forgetting the crucial role that the psyche plays in creating our experience, we marginalize our own intrinsic authority, tragically dreaming up both internal and external authoritarian forces to limit our freedom and mold our experience for us. Never before in all of human history has our species been forced to confront the numinous, world-transforming powers of the psyche on so vast a scale. Even with the ongoing multiple catastrophes that are converging in our world, it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that the darkness that is emerging today might become the soil out of which a regenerative age and nobler culture arise.

Although the source of humanity’s inhumanity to itself, wetiko is at the same time a potential catalyst for our evolution as a species. Recognizing the dreamed-up nature of the wetiko epidemic can become the impetus for us to awaken to the dreamlike nature of the universe itself.

In a circular process without beginning or end, we are being dreamed up by the universe while dreaming up the universe at one and the same time. To see this not only demands that we have an expansion of consciousness, it is the very expansion itself. The less wetiko is recognized, however, the more seemingly powerful and dangerous it becomes. Wetiko can only be seen when we begin to realize the dreamlike nature of our universe, step out of the illusory viewpoint of the separate self, and recognize the deeper underlying field of which we are all expressions, in which we are all contained, and through which we are all interconnected.

These are interrelated insights of the same multifaceted realization. The energetic expression of this realization, and the wetiko dissolver par excellence, is compassion. Connecting with the compassion that is our nature we find ourselves in very good company. Being the unmediated expression of recognizing the dreamlike nature, compassion reciprocally co-arises with lucidity. In other words, if we’re genuinely awakening to the dreamlike nature of reality, both lucidity and compassion will be inseparably united components of our experience.

As if an instrument of a higher intelligence, wetiko literally invites—make that demands—that we become conscious of and step into our intrinsic creative power and agency, or suffer the consequences. Instead of mutating so as to become resistant to our attempts to heal it, the wetiko virus forces us to mutate—to evolve— relative to it. Wetiko is a quantum phenomenon, in that it contains within itself the potential to be either the deadliest poison or the most healing medicine. Will wetiko destroy us? Or will it catalyze our evolution and wake us up?

driving into the moon, the road is crystal clear, an envelope of magical light surrounds the freeway as i cruise along north bound, into the deepest parts of lunar projection. that massive bright satellite fills my network, messages from other places transmitted long ago received finally after static interference from humanity, it only takes solidarity and solitude. 
i turn off the freeway and follow the path home, as i take a right turn there she is up there directly ahead, that strange biscuit shaped circle, a super-moon about to eclipse. it's a wonderful thing to behold.

fathers day, i can't help but think about my dad, so many things he just didn't understand about me. it makes me sad that there was this chasm of misunderstanding, he just never understood me. i guess that was that generational thing, that gap people speak of from the 50's to the 60's only i was not even part of the hippie movement, i was alone and belonged to no movement, belonging to no one thing. a satellite like the moon. a super-moon.

anyways my father is always there, everyday, a ghost in memory form, a vast part of the past i always attempt to project into the present. light takes time. it has it's own speed. 

i speak to my mother, she's scared and alone. she lives in fear, it's frustrating the hell out of me but i have no influence and when i attempt to communicate to those that do i'm literally snubbed. i've given up attempting to even communicate now. that connection has been cut, my efforts to fix them have been pointless.

for the next two days it rains, heavy misery but i'm hibernating indoors, getting through some stuff i need to do like the bathroom spring clean, some mopping and polishing. still far to much clutter i need to get rid off but slowly i'm actually getting somewhere. i'm also developing a sore throat so it's plenty of lemon and honey tea, lots of sleep and recuperation from battlefield work.

at terrible, crack of dawn the sun is out and the skies are blue, it's simply a wonderful spring day filled with potential and could go anywhere. i'm sitting down head into my james blish book, and my skin feels the sunlight, that wonderful burst of energy as my bones drink it in and heat pulsates through me, vitamin d straight from the source. i see my friends heading towards me, and we chat and swap stories, particularly my friend danni who gives me a lesson in artificial intelligence, she's a very smart lady who is also very funny and always manages to make me laugh. she's actually very smart and is a bit of a business woman so i'm grateful for her help, she offers to come around and train me. we look at the world passing us by, it's amazing what a sunny morning can do but through the corner of my eye i see the southern horizon fill with heavy rainclouds and the dark underbelly cast a shadow as it grows and expands. the temperature drops rapidly, the energy changes fast and i make my excuses and head home. as i drive big droplets of rain fall on my windscreen. 

by the time i am home the clouds have burst open and i have to run through the house to get to the clothes line where my washing is hanging, grabbing everything and hauling it indoors. the temperature has dropped significantly and it's colder than usual. spring in sydney.

i sit down for a moment to gather my thoughts, uncertain what i really need to do, at some point in time i need a hair cut and beard trim, whenever i cast my reflection i feel that what looks back is an older version of me, shabby, unkept and wild, and although it really doesn't bother me to much it would be true to say, i'm  overdue for a trim.

for me it's like being in medieval times, surrounded by accusers and conspiracy people who have gone so far down the rabbit hole they cannot actually think outside it. while i cannot disprove their nonsense, it's all based upon ignorance, even if i could the facts won't change their minds. i cannot blame them, they are just confused by irrational fear, almost hysteria. 

so, the skylight is being finished and it's a messy job, as i type there are two tradies australians call gyp rockers who in english are plasterers and they are finishing off the work on my roof. this is a big change in the interior, light will flood the dining table and thus the energy will change. i'm specifically thinking about full moons.

at the beach the surf breaks perfectly and there are a handful of people without wetsuits swimming, friends tell me the water is warm, however i may give it a few extra weeks as the cold immobilises me, but the call of the ocean is strong, it's really is.

the james blish novel, 'black easter' is a bit strange, there's so much description of magical rituals and paraphernalia, magick appears as complex as engineering or a well disciplined science and the plot is kinda insane, a black magician is consulted by a very rich arms dealer to eliminate the governor of california, and then a scientist. this being a trail test for the arms dealers true desire, to unleash the gates off hell upon the world, just to see what happens. obviously the magician he has chosen to do this is very powerful and possibly the most interesting character in the novel. he's almost bored by the tasks but testing his powers. the big twist in the story being the retreat of god, therefore the demons cannot return to hell. 

i'm enjoying reading it except for the magick which is far to ritualistic and medieval for me, however, the point is made well. 

this morning i venture down to the ocean but i miscalculate, it's angry and windy, it has a ferocity that is dangerous so i retreat to my coffee shop and then head home. my fish, only one left is swimming in a freshly cleaned pond, the outside area looks very good, landscaped and clear of debris. soon i will erect my hammock and enjoy a spring afternoon lazing in the sunshine overlooking the front garden. mission control slowly taking shape, slowly getting there.
with a new roof i'm immune from leaking, new skylight the sunshine will illuminate my indoor palms and the whole interior will morph into something spectacular. mission control my little sanctuary, a genuine eden with my stereo cranked up playing some space tune from kilbey and kennedy, ambient poetry, 'ignorance is bliss, thus you are eurporic,' you gotta love that hey?

i'm still recovering from some weird sin, it's left me tired and sleepy, somewhat in need of a warm tropical island and some coconuts. not much i can do about that. just have to grin and wear it. work does my brain in, the endless ridiculous double standards, the lack of mature communication, the slow death of my clients as they are dumbed down into control by an unconscious authority, ah well, onwards and forwards.

these days i just love being home, alone. pottering around, reading and pondering like a galactic watcher of worlds, waiting for the mothership or some sort of intervention. waiting for a sun god or solar flare, waiting for the angels of principalities, waiting for the barbarians, waiting for the magic bus and the visions of charlotte, waiting for the english civil war, california sinking into the ocean, waiting for the postman, and to bump into nick cave, waiting for the pain to cease, war to end, the clouds to part and waiting on a friend. 

p.s. i'm reading james blish, 'after such knowledge' a collection of novels based around the tension between magick and science. 

the last few days i've had some sort of weird virus like flu, it's okay as the rain keeps me inside anyway but generally i'm not sleeping much due to some weird condition, i'm tired but sleep just refuses to defend upon me, instead i read and listen to podcasts which is probably not the correct method of sleep induction. i probably should read a very boring book. i once read a book called 'an arabian nightmare'' that was a novel set in cairo, it was about dreaming and dreams within dreams, it was also about cats which feature strongly in the dreams of the main character and the city in which he found himself succumbing to this strange malaise. i recall every time i picked it up and read a few lines i myself would fall asleep as if this book had some weird spell casting mechanism upon me. i've never experienced anything like that before.

so last night we took a trip into the past, and ended up after very civilised drinks at the opera house bar, watching the city light up at dusk. expresso martinis, the rain had ceased, the neon skyline was magnificently illustrated in it's rich blues and striking reds, the toaster famous for it's celebrity overdose, yes you, sprawled out as a million tourists took the opportunity of a break in the downpour and enjoyed a night at the opera.

then we headed to kings cross for the sole purpose of govinda's where we watched a magnificent film called 'road to patagonia.' before a lovely vegan meal upstairs in the resteruant.

the film was about a young man from melbourne whom goes on a surfing trip to an indonesian island where the natives are animists and he ends up staying with them for 4 years, learning their ways and understanding their connection to the land. when he returns to australia and begins working in IT he has a breakdown, anxiety and depression. he escapes and decides to follow his desire to travel from alaska riding his motorbike and surfing at all the breaks he passes until he gets to patagonia.'

however around the canadian coastline he meets a young girl who is a farmer and very into nature and the environmental impact she makes upon the world, she's adopted an alternative way of living and they spend months together, swapping skills among other things i guess. when they depart the young man is quite emotional but he is determined to finish his quest and travels down to california, catching waves and meeting friends. and with a beautiful leap of faith she joins him and travels south on bikes. all sort of calamities befall the couple and although the journey is about the environment, indigenous relationships to land, the natural order it's also a journey of love as these two remarkable people transcend all obstacles and are committed to the end point. eventually they decide that to lessen their own impact they will trade the bikes for horses and they travel the rest of the journey on horseback, again challenged by emotional spiritual and physical obstacles. at one point they have to sell the horses and after travelling with them for so long, connecting with them it's painful and for the young girl she's loosing her sense of self as she merges  closer into him. she goes back and he continues. he gets there. and then he realises it was nothing without her. she was the key and he flies back to canada and turns up at her door and the next thing we see are them sitting at a farm in victoria having dinner outside with friends and their children. let me say it is a great story, i loved it. the shamanistic bits were toned down, everything alluded to ayahuscia but never quite explained, the journey involved stripping away of everything, even identity until there was nothing and in nothing they both understood all that mattered was their love for one another. beautiful. low budget, filmed on mobile phones, surfing and spirituality, all leading to la deeper love.

we all ate this beautiful food and debriefed about our fave bits in the movie, and then we walked around the cross looking at all the places i used to go, places that are iconic for me, 'barons' now long gone, 'pimlico cafe' now some sort of trendy bar, it's all very gentrified, everything was quiet and there were only a few people wandering around. saturday at midnight, the cross was dead. we couldn't even get a coffee.

our memories of the cross were a vital vibrant place filled with chaos, traffic blocked as people were walking on the road, half undressed, out-of- it people, dramas unfolding, over crowded bars and clubs, hawkers selling flesh, sex everywhere, it was glorious in its heyday but now, it's lost it's spirit, it's nice, clean and just another piece of real estate with big burger restaurants everywhere.

my hash cake has worn off, i'm tired and feeling weird, my nose is leaking, i'm older now. all that drama from my past is long gone, but there was something wild about it i miss.  a weird nostalgia.

on the peripheries lies fantasy, a genre i rarely delve into, a genre i usually avoid but joe abercrombie always seem to pop up when i investigate good books to read, he always seems on the selves in bookshops with asimov and aldis and many times i avoid him and delve into hard science fiction but these days fantasy is everywhere, it overwhelms science fiction and the sf genre is polluted by politically correct and feminst marxist philosophies that are badly written and lack any kind off interesting take. do i sound harsh here? all the female science fiction writers bar maybe le guin, shelley, mary doria russell and a handful of others have nothing new to say that is not based around politically correct tropes and happy endings. girl gets the girl. i dunno, i need more, i need to have my mind blown and i need challenge and a good story, not feel like i've just read the opinion piece from the guardian or sydney morning bullshit. 

the only fantasy books ever enjoyed are mervyn peake, tolkien, pullman and that george rr martin series, 'game of thrones.'

the rest are just far to dull and kinda based around tolkiens themes, the heroes journey, so you feel like you are reading the same story and then one day just as an experiment i picked up 'the devils' abocrombie's new book and gave it a go.

absolutely brilliant, i completely understand the adoration he receives from his readers and i enjoyed reading the novel so much i want everyone to read it. i'm not going to tell you anything about it here, just trust me, read it.

now here's something, i loved this book so much i'm going to work my way through his back catalogue. 

im never comfortable in cold climates, they make me nervous and cause a contraction in my mind. i don't like rain either, these attributes confound most people i know who seem to be quite comfortable with these conditions. they think there's something quite peculiar with my distaste for these elements. 

anyway's i'm better in the heat, the sun, the blue in the sky and the comfort of tee shirts and shorts, sunglasses and maybe a hat. i have lived in many cold climates, berlin, canada, the uk all places that leave me, well feeling cold. and that snow, yuk!

last night and this morning was very cold, despite the early morning sunshine. down on the beach the onshore wind cut through my old bones like a nazi scientist. it made me very uncomfortable. then joined by my friends i began to warm up. as usual our conversations went from the vast indian migration to sydney, the rise of south america, two tier kier in the uk, and the wonders of govinda's hari krishna food in the 80's and 90's and perhaps a saturday trip for a feast and movie. well i'm up for that. i'll bring the cookies. 

anyway's the whole morning was productive as i got my technology fixed, although i still can't operate blu tooth in my car. 

also ever since i named my fish carpe and diem, diem has been suffering from some sort of weird affliction. i'm not sure he will make it.

some friends in the uk send me a version of a song i wrote, it's made by fake intelligence and it sounds incredible. i do love what can be done, but there are some tweaks i will suggest. listening to it actually floored me, it really is amazing what fake intelligence can do and somewhat frightening.

occasionally i get things right, sometimes in a blue moon this old druid feels the impulse of the universe conspire in his brain, some wild psycadelic download installed, it's not like i even give permission. 
recall those old films about the greeks and their gods playing games, pulling strings, as though humans were chess pieces and they were just bored players making stupid moves. 'oh lets see what mission does if we make him face a gorgon.' 
'we are out of gorgan's in these modern times we only have the far more deadly 'ideologies' however i don't recommend releasing them, you know what happens when we do.'
'yes, death destruction and chaos, but that is part of the drama is it not. part of our entertainment?'

'i don't know anymore, i'm bored with these games, just do whatever you want.'

and this is why the greek gods are dead, they ran out of games to play, humans are tenacious and creative. they find ways to win, to survive and thrive. 

the newer gods born from philosophy were much more deadly, they are proxies of the mind, thought forms with a life of their own, contaminating everything they touch. billions dead, the earth is littered with corpses and bones, the body deceased but the ideology lives. dead ideologies come back from the dead.

there are a number of gods associated with the mind, with mental health but these all seem to be dead as well, and i think like all gods their creations kill them. 

killed by their own ideology like frankenstein, then free to wander the planet and contaminate others. this is the way of the world we live in, a war of ideologies, with us as the battlefield. they is no escape, it all seems relentless, no escape from it, no rest, just onwards and onwards, until you take a side.

cosmic war

one day i found myself on the island of zanzibar with two very lovely french ladies marian and flora. we were just living in a hut on the indian ocean, eating coconuts and fresh fish with rice. there were some rasta folk around so weed was always present and reggae was always somewhere. most of the time it was just sleeping, swimming and relaxing, nothing much else drove us. we enjoyed chatting about our lives and books and i found myself as close to paradise as possible. there were no other tourists around but occasionally strangers would turn up for an afternoon, usually to visit the owner of the place a finish lady who was always stoned. the girls had heard rumours about a bar in the north, it was on the beach and would take about a days hike to reach if we followed the coastline. 

i dunno, the idea of a big trek to a bar didn't really motivate me but the girls had persuasive ways, and obviously i capitulated.

so after a breakfast of fresh ginger coffee with cardamon we set off, cameras, money and sarongs. 

you know walking along beaches in the tropics, warm clear turquoise water lapping at our feet, the pleasure in the air radiating like a soft sensual dream, it was all perfect. i would tell the girls stories and they would talk about their lives back in europa, we all loved reading so books featured heavily and occasionally when we came to a nice little bay and private beach we would just stop and have a lay down.

there were no other people in sight at all, just the occasional fishing boat would float by.

we would have to swim around each little inlet to get to the next beach but the water was at low tide so it was easy, but gradually after about six hours the tide began to rise, and quickly. now this surprised me, i'd seen tides come in but never this fast, one moment we were up to our waists, the next shoulders and we had to move with our hands raised to carry all our stuff.

at one point i took the cameras, passports money and spare clothing from the girls wrapped them up in my sarong and raised my hands wading along while they swam, hoping the next beach would lay around the corner of the black forbidding volcanic rock. i was wearing a wide brimmed hat which floated away as the water rose, and eventually i had to store the stuff inside a little  up high in the rock wall, and soon we were all swimming.

at first we were laughing, but as time progressed fear took hold and the girls began to show signs of anxiety and stress, tears and outright sobbing. i on the other hand was formulating the inevitable, we would all die here together. but what a perfect death for me, washed up on some weird tropical island with two beautiful french girls. there was no less a perfect way to die and thus i smiled. in retrospect i probably felt quite please with my choice of death and company, it was perfect. but as always the moment you accept the inevitable, circumstances change.

at some point a boat came around the corner from up ahead, it was a long black canoe with a tall black native holding a huge long pole, he stood upright looking at us seriously. i waved, hoping he would pull us aboard but instead he raised his free hand, the other held the pole and he pointed ahead. 

onwards we swam, the silent sentinel watching us as he drifted passed us, i almost read his mind, 'stupid tourists.'

as we rounded the rock face we could see a small inlet, a perfect white sanded beach and i yelled to the openly sobbing girls to make their way in. i reached the beach and pulled them out of the water, we all collapsed and lay down in the hot sand. breathing, absorbing the sunlight,  silently overcoming trauma. then we laughed. may hat had floated in. 

we decided to stay put until the tide went out again, and in this remote landscape of eden the simplest of pleasures were embraced because lust is life, that prehistoric impulse, the basic coding of dna. 

as we lay exhausted on the beach and somewhat dehydrated, stupidly we had forgotten to bring water, from out of the sand i noticed something disturbing as though a very tiny earthquake was making the sand move, but looking closer there appeared thousands of translucent crabs surfacing and heading towards the water. and we were in-between to exhausted to move. they seemed to part and millions of them just circumnavigated our bodies and disappeared into the ocean.

if i'm honest this frightened me more than drowning, i'm not great with anything insect like and this was a horde that would never be deterred by three bipedal creatures with soft flesh.

after the crabs had left we continued our trek, the tide receding and although more cuatious and aware of the environmental dangers by dusk we reached the bar.

it was at the northern point of the island, at the end of a very long stretch of beach. large candles illuminated the area and sofas and comfy chairs seemed randomly placed near the bar, but there was also many hammocks attached to palm trees and posts, and that's where i headed while the girls sat at the bar flirting with a small group of people gathered drinking cocktails. a. ghetto blaster was blasting, bob marly and in the pastel drenched pinks, light blues and greens, the sunset over the horizon, and we all were in awe of it's beauty and simplicity. 

i don't know how many hours passed but i was awoken by the girls who suggested it was time to head back, it was dark and stars were out in full, the gentle lap of the dark water in lieu of bob marly. the bar was empty save for the rasta barman who waved goodbye as we set off, he had said if we kept moving south we would miss the tide.

at one point we splashed about in the water and noticed the bioluminescence, it was like being surrounded by thousands of fireflies,  mind blowing. very romantic and other worldly. we were all mesmerised by its wonder.

returning back to base we shambled up the beach towards the hut, exhausted and feeling mission accomplished. the whole day was perfect, and we were alive.

as it happens flora said she took a photograph just before the water rose. she sent it to me, and it's off marion wading as the tide began to come in. over the years i thought it was lost and lay in digital heaven but yesterday i found it, although it was an old file extension and required some technical expertise to bring it to life. i am pretty sure there's another one somewhere, one of me before my hat floated away, but it may take a few years to find that one.

apparently 100000 people marched across the harbour bridge to protest israel starving the palestinians after a fake photo was posted across all western media, leading to governments of canada, france and the uk and eventually australia all recognising palestine as a country. i guess because they are left wing governments and have such large muslim populations appeasement is their self serving response.

yet the image of the real starving israeli hostage being forced to dig his own grave was ignored.

the fake picture was on the cover of the new york times and it took four days for them to confess the image was of someone with a degenerative disease. in fact israel facilitated his treatment in a hospital but that was omitted. and in the un-cropped image you can clearly see his siblings are well fed and far from starving. 

whereas the video images of the hostage digging his grave was filmed in the tunnels under gaza and the man was so weak he could barely lift the shovel as he renumerates about his death. surrounded by hamas eating from piles of food.

no one wants war. israelis least of all but the world seems to hate jews there is so much cognitive dissociation calcified in their brains, and they cannot see the woods for the trees. the fog of war is not so thick as murky with double standards, hate and some sort of weird psychosis, the oldest hate. a shape shifting mind virus that seems to only adapt to jews. it's weird but very much part of spiritual warfare, and not political at all.

my premonition has come true, it took four days to come down the line, the transmission of the truth in catholic black funeral blues. the strange feeling i was left with, as the spotlight came to rest, i found myself in it's centre between the dark and brightest light. i thought about my unpublished novel, how it sat there for years, i thought about caroline in her grave, and the irony of the heavy rain outside. flashes of the eastern suburbs, my life as an undercover man, a bag of weed and sack of lobsters. i thought about the offender program, and how he replaced us with his mobsters. that creul mouth and darting eye, i vividly recall being trapped in a room with him, telling him he was intimidating as he attempted to bribe his way into my soul.

all that access to infinite wealth and fame, never quite the holy man the press made him to be. we knew better, the four horsemen of the apocalypse, riding towards our own doom on that high ground. the skool teacher and with his guns and christ, the clinical psychologist with her heart torn asunder, caroline with that big smile. and me with my stupid vengeance. the pen is lighter than the sword but you need patience and a good editor.

i was frozen in those moments when it all sunk in, and my phone began to ring, i was frozen in my own lonely present, not sure if it's for celebrating. it was a heavy moment or was it light, fucking conflicted feelings but he was gone, and we were now free. three. vale caroline, i wish you were around for this moment.

excellent discussion, it's pretty balanced and accurate as far as i can make out. well worth watching if you wish to learn something that the mainstream media will not tell you.

after several hours attempting to link my immi and centrelink and service nsw and service au accounts i had to give up, it's so complex as you need seperate passwords and id numbers and the websites time out after a few minutes so it's all self defeating. what a dumb idea this whole thing is, complex and user unfriendly unless i become a citizen of this stupid country. something i would not do unless there was a government i liked, but these days western governments may as well be brain dead unimaginative fools leading us all into chaos as they obsess over things like green politics, jew hatred and appeasing islamic fundamentalism. the uk is finished, london is dead, if you are white or female fear rules the streets and very few people even go out after dark. knife crime, acid attacks, rape and a useless police force ruled by an ideological mayor who won't even acknowledge the vast grooming gang scandal because he knows labour are implicated. yep, the future looks bleaker now than at any time in my life, it's tragic really. 

having said all that in my cosmic view, what does it matter, humans are beautiful but dumb, we can't do anything other than war and fight as a species, as individuals we can make art and write and play music that moves us but eventually even art becomes politics and is corrupted. 

on another topic i finally managed to get apple intelligence working.  

the usual hysterical anti jew bullshit, genocide starvation and famine, all over the media and it's all a hoax. the images are not even from gaza and the one that has everyone talking is an italian baby with multiple seroisis. then there's all the other images which are from yemin,  eritrea and various other genuine famines across the globe. it's ironic that everyone is silent about those. but it's that old line, no jews, no news. i'm not suggesting there are very real horrors in gaza but this is just what jews call a blood libel, something i now fully understand. it's the idea that jews like to kill babies, absurd but true, a medieval concept that has been used through the ages in the usual jew hater rants. i face with it often, especially when i was younger from dumb people who really believed it, they also thought jews had horns and tails, what can you do? me, i just explained my tail was a hit with girls and my horns were detachable ones. seriously people believed this because the jew hate is a deep profound thing that defies all rationality and reason, it really belongs in the dmv.

as far as israel blocking aid and food from entering gaza, that's never been true, it's hamas and the united nations. and if you really want to pull this whole fabrication apart, why is egypt never mentioned. they share the border and won't touch the palestinians with a bargepole. 

the way i see it such hysterical nonsense is never going to be stopped by the truth, what other army in history in a defensive war feeds it's enemy?

anyways, i laugh at these fanatical leftists who obviously know nothing about what happened in iran and china and russia when they aligned with the islamo fascists. it's where the phrase useful idiots comes from.

and here's a brilliant article from 'spiked' which explains a fundamental issue with the western approach to gaza wars.

spike me 

 the middle east for dummies or at least the western governments

i get home late after gruelling days of insomnia, it's not that i am tired, my energy levels are high but i don't like being at work as much as being home. i like being alone, doing my stuff, pottering around or listening to music loud or reading in peace. usually i have a shower and get to bed, read for a while because it's cold and it's not worth me putting the fire on. but inevitably i get up and start doing things. it's hard to understand why this has happened but my deductions pinpoint one event, the beginning of two medications adapted and methyl bioactive both which have severe side effects linked to insomnia. the issue is i feel great, i don't need long nights of sleep , just four or five solid hours and i'm rearing to go. i guess in summer when it gets lighter and warmer and the temperature of the surf is better at least i can go for an early surf again. at the moment i'm reading joe abercrombie's, 'the devils' my first j.a book and i love it. very well written, dark as hell and very funny.

throwing several anti heroes together, morally ambiguous and fractured 'monsters' they are on a journey to protect a princess and instal her into her kingdom, but is she an imposter or the real thing. these characters are fantastically loveable yet somewhat inhuman, and in this case it's the journey not the destination that makes it interesting for the characters and reader.

the fool has no experience and all experience, they know there is nothing to fear, it's all illusionary and all very real at the same time. the fool steps into the abyss with enthusiasm because the abyss is where it starts, where it ends and where all things reformat themselves like an eternal now. 
the fool is the baby who comes in /out knowing and the dying old man who comes out / in knowing. the secret of the fool is to maintain the fool type qualities through life, that really is living in joy, enthusiasm and celebration because it's all just beyond rationality, logic and reason. 
it's one beautiful experience and the real pleasure is in sharing it even though the fool is alone.

since october 7th i have had a fair amount of death threats, more than usual, mostly from strangers and mostly over the internet, i've been called all sorts of things by all sorts of people, but some are quite nasty and violent. i don't mind, the more people hate me the better i feel, it's like an inverse form of kryptonite, and it makes me stronger although i have to keep my head down, and now avoid being in crosshairs. a moving target, a human doing. 

as for my enemies, well they have never really changed, just the language and the personalised attacks, out of the shadows they came, en masse. everyone seems to know me, everyone seems to comprehend my cultural background or identity much better than myself, and it's interesting as most of these people are really ignorant. these are the zombies, the already dead, the virtue signallers, the ideologists and the idiots who think it's progressive. ha! you have to laugh, and i wonder if many people walked into the gas chambers laughing. i get it now, i understand what my dad was going on about, i wish he were here so we could talk about it but i'm glad he isn't.

'on democracies and death cults' should be compulsory reading by everyone who claims to care about anything. 

the biggest insult is the moronic people who conflate there is a difference between jews and israel, it just indicates a huge level of ignorance in comprehension, it's exactly this type of excuse I see everywhere on social media and society perpetrated by the idiotic 'edukated elegies' who learn everything from the abc bbc or the guardian because it's considered trendy and progressive. you couldn't ask for more dumb media if you asked, except 'the project' which has come to an end.

anyways israel is not beyond criticism, a lot of jews criticise it but usually these jews are socialists marxists and communists, they put their political identity first before their spiritual one, so immediately one must question motives. also within israel there is a massive range of diversity, more than any other nation on earth and a free press. so free it allows 'haaretz' isreal's version of socialist workers weekly to constantly spew out anti israel items, but within israel it has a readership of about 70000 people, significantly less than it's competition and mostly international media who love to promote israeli opinion,  as if it's the majority. 

anyways none of this makes a difference, people still hate jews and use israel as their excuse, and i don't care because it shows me exactly who i am dealing with. zombies.

not sure where, never sure why, i only know what. the ominous presence upon my heels, meddling with the redshift, in phase or out, it's pulling, pushing at the same time and keeps me inert.
i need to endure the stalemate, until it passes. i push the darkness away, as it engulfs and spreads through the battlefield. designed to extinguish light, the army of nightmares and the black sun think they have won. the empires of old reborn into the eternal conflict, i cast out while it pulls me in. the only way to combat this type of tension is to relax and not fight, ignorance is suffocating and spreading, it's enflaming the idiot horde of zombies, but somewhere sometime those that hold the line will find a voice, and the stars quo will fracture. things may move towards entropy but i move towards beauty.

 

the ice age has returned, i hunker down at mission control light the fire and sit as close to it as possible reading my book, the tainted cup, by robert jackson bennett, a fantasy novel which i am really enjoying, it's a murder investigation with a sherlock holmes and watson type protagonists investigating a series of murders where trees grow out of the victims. the world in which they inhabit is ucderseaige from leviathan beasts and divided into concentric barriers to protect them, sort of like vast sea walls that keep the monsters out. it's actually quite a good book, and i'm enjoying the whole idea of a science fiction nerd exploring fantasy. occasionally i do this but when it comes to fantasy i am particular, it cannot be the normal type and cannot be the usual fantasy type characters, i like it inventive and original. 

anyways the day races away somewhere else while i stay in front of the burning flames keeping warm and reading, the fire occasionally roaring and cackling away and all i have to do is feed it and occasionally blow strategically. maybe at some point in time i will cook on it or boil a kettle, just to get that authentic fantasy type vibe.

behind it all (the planck scale) lay the seraphim field, and as i penetrate the veils with a new technique using no force and theta / delta surfing i discover new structures. ironically the human brains architecture is limited in it's perception to see it as thing really are, thus the seraphim appear as light friends, almost angels and quite possibly could be, i just need more engagement to define that use of the word. certainly it's all intelligence but what kind?

yesterday afternoon i plunge myself into the garden, re-landscaping the fish area, clearing out a virulent fern that seems to reproduce itself quicker than i can act. it's a nice fern but jesus it's taking over, and it's roots are very weird. each plant has pods / boubles buried deep like a chain. they are not difficult to pull out but there are so many of them.

later in the light the fire, mission control is freezing until the big logs catch. strangely i'm asleep early at 1900.

 

apparently the moon is cancer, the nurturing mother energy. this explains why i wanna bake cakes and feed people i guess. it may explain why my friends is in hospital with cancer as well. she's my moon, the brightest star in my night on that lonely journey home, years of travelling up the m1, falling into micro-sleeps and exhausted from work, stressed out and frustrated, my lifeline on the end of the line as i follow the moon hanging above the road, the brightest moon in the sky always reminding me to phone the brightest star in my world as she would be awake, and happy to chat, to listen to my ramblings and nonsense, my stories of work wars, my girlfriend dramas. we would just talk and she would always wait until I made it home safe and sound. 

then there's another friend from my avalon years, she has been going through a massive crisis and i can't even get to see her or attend a funeral i really should make an appearance at. two agents, both going through their own stuff and i am helpless. 

it takes a lot to be an agent, someone who has gone beyond the limit of friendship and normal expectations, someone who was there for me and without question helped me face overwhelming odds. to be an agent required something special, a quality long missing from this world, it required proof. a leap of faith. i love all the agents in my life. all two of them.

alternative paradigm man 

it's true, i'm having a weird life, bad news comes in a catastrophic avalanche and suddenly i'm buried under its rubble, coughing and spitting out dust and fucking tragidy. 

my car is off road for a month while they fly in some part from japan, my friends are dying in unspeakable ways , work is on hold while i sort out my life, everyones ill or sick and i seem to be in the crosshairs of it all, kidneys fucked, liver on the way out, teeth fallen out and never repaired and my heart damaged but beating onwards, i wonder how much time i have left. all i wanna do is read the ever increasing piles of books that tower above me, shadows cast in all directions as the weird light filters from all angles into mission control.  i have appointments galore none of which i can make, i have to walk to the shops which is okay but caring shopping bags back is challenging. all i have going for me is my mind. fuelled by psychedelic mushrooms and weed i turn everything inside out with my alternative paradigm zap gun. 

meanwhile a couple of friends offer me a ride down to terrible beach where i can at least watch the surf, drink a coffee and chat. often we walk around the cliffs, getting a look at the different vantage points, the geology and feel the deep time. it's natural, it's life affirming and real, it's my new paradigm, i dive into it and yet i am pulled out. it's a strange pull and push, waves going backwards, wind blowing everywhere, cold bites the skin, and the skien. life seems trapped in the see saw of extremes and polarities. conversations swing from sex parties to blue ringed octopi and i just go with the flow.

sometimes the sunshine activates me, i feel it upon my exposed skin, the backs of my hands, the exposed neck that sticks out my furry jacket. it's good. solar energy is what powers me in the day time. i drink it in.

 

six months later i drive jakob to the airport, he's returning after buying his mum a house and staying with me. it's been fantastic, really great. jake is not just intelligent and self made, he's a great guy to live with, i can't imagine getting on better with anyone else. it's surprised me as i am used to being alone, my way is quite autistic, things in their place, an order within my chaos but jake just follows my flow, he cleans up after himself, he sits and reads and we both watch the same shows on tv. meals are enjoyable, i like to cook and we often have a wine with dinner and converse. 

each morning i go out to the beach and do my climb and meet locals for a chat and coffee while he does his massive jog along the whole beach, and then to the gym. on the way home we usually stop for vegetables and then at home i get ready for work while he does his stuff. we both retire early if possible. he flies into the depths of decaying civilization while i'm left in some kinda rain bomb.

then. calamity after calamity, each day beings it's own calamity, superimposed over the previous like some weird little 3d image, i attempt to make out the picture but it's something abstractly dark. if there is any meaning it's a comparison chart of disasters, shuffle them up and then rearrange them in severity and then things for me don't seem so bad with perspective. the problem is one of empathy, it's impossible to be unaffected by some of the situations friends find themselves in. if i am, it's an eternal sadness, far to deep for tears and words. 

                                      

 the adoration of pan by franciscus johannes gijsbertus van den berg

 

i watched the seals frolicking at the beach, pelicans circle the haven, a cold winters morning as whales swim by. yesterday dolphins swam into the bay, there's an edge to the wind but a warmth in the abundance of natural life that envelopes me. i clamber up to the headland, it's quite a climb but worth for the panoramic view, occasionally i meet someone i know and we chat for a while but mostly it's just exercise and focus upon movement.

afterwards my fave cafe for turmeric lattes and if i am lucky a coco bannana muffin made by the swedish / english lady who will occasionally come out and say hello, she is quite something. it's nice sitting around in the sun with my dawn friends.

in the afternoon i go for a drive with jake, usually somewhere new, nora head, long jetty, the entrance, somewhere i would never usually go, today i took him to bamboo buddha which he seemed to like. soon he will return to london, and the life i have come to love will change again. it's been nice having him around.

each morning i climb up the 'skillion' at terrible beach, run up the steps and then at the top i watch the whales swim by. it's quite stunning up there, sometimes whales breach often they spout huge jets of water from their blowholes, it's a spectacular privilege to witness them. when i get my breath back i head down for my coffee and pass the massive construction they are creating, some sort of two story pavilion type place. the beach is changing.

i'm reading an interesting book on dreaming, astral projection and scrying. i read a sentence that strikes me as profound, 'consciousness is the object of awareness. awareness is the subject of consciousness.'

the writer also states there are three positions consciousness can be in, waking, asleep and paradoxical which is known as REM.

i've kept a dream journal for several years and apparently i have been doing it wrong, adjustments need to be made. as far as lucid dreaming goes i am on the cusp of mastering it, but there are a few simple exercises i must condition myself with. it's quite challenging and i'm glad i found the answers to the whole thing here in this book. most literature on lucid dreaming is incorrect and misleading, something i did not really consider but then most occult literature has been misrepresented and repackaged to reflect inaccurate information.

onwards i must go, getting there, staying here. 

it's ice cold, must be snowing in the mountains but although dawn at terrible is drenched in winter sunlight the ice wind cuts through. i enjoy sitting in the sun, warming bones and drinking in fresh air. later i train hard with some weights and resistance, start to warm up. 

i've discovered that my car actually has a very impressive function, heated seating. this is amazingly surprising, it's warmer than mission control, i love it. there's a whole row of buttons i discovered and i have no idea what they do so i have to look it up in the handbook. 

at home i just work on the garden, replant some cacti and collect kindling, i get the fire raging so the evening is toasty, perfect to kick back and enjoy shriekback.

my friend kevin in the uk sends me some songs from the first maldives gig. he's a genius audio guy and put the songs together from various peoples recordings. it was really nice of him to think of me. i'm looking forwards to cranking them up and playing them.

not much else to report, a chat with my mum, a long therapeutic bath and an early night.

sunday morning i get down the street and meet up with my magic mushroom dealer, i bump into and spark up an interesting conversation with a young girl, she's slightly autistic, and kinda sexy dressed as a real nerdy looking type, chatting about practicalities like always caring a bag for fruit and veg. we discuss apples, i recommend the bravo variety as she has never tried them, she recommends the hybrid pear apple that looks small and tastes big. she shows me pictures of her two dogs, scrolling through her mobile at thousands of images of animals. there's something about her that is very attractive, her feminine energy and feeling of safety kinda washes over me and makes me peaceful. obviously i wanna chase her down, get a number, grab a coffee but she has to run off to her mother who has texted her and we pledge to catch up next time we are out and about at this little market. later as i amble along i see some representative from the new york bagel company,  it's his last day at work and launches into a story about his career. I tell him about my love for a bagel and how the only way i can eat them is if they are fresh and filled with lox. he makes me one. it's amazing. it's an indulgence but in all honesty i usually have one two times a year as they are elusive and never quite made to my reqiuirements. it has to be dark rye.

back home for domestics and gardening, my garden is out of control and requires a full week of work, however in the short window left to me there's a certain satisfaction as i prune and dispose of waste matter and debris. three massive palm fronds fall from above in the gusts of wind, they all nearly hit me. it's like a war zone and then peace. as they hit the ground they make a 'whopft' sound.

at mid day i stop and play the new shreikback album monument. fuck, it's brilliant. a barry anderson solo one but it really sounds like classic shrieks and at the moment is my fave cd from all their releases. 

lyrically it is so rich as usual but also interesting, the opening track is a stunner but it dosn't really let up. i love barry's songwriting, he uses words most dictionarries omit.   this is their 17th or 18th album and it's just barry without his bandmates who were pursuing solo careers. it's classic shriek however and really stands up tall. get a copy and thank me later. please pay for it as these guys are already on the breadline. i play it non stop from noon to 1740, gotta get the fire started ad make some food. also i have a series to watch, halfway through an adaptation of blake crouch's dark matter, a book i read a few years ago and liked. it has jennifer colleney and joel egerton in lead roles and it's a pretty straightforwards adaptation about two people lost in a box that creates superposition as they search for their version of reality amongst some pretty alternative ones. it's good and i'm half way through.

saturday morning in the morning glow at terrible beach, the water looks amazing, warm currents and blue skies, it's cold in the air but the beach is packed. i wander around the market, it's not that good but it sells very good jalapeño bread with cheese. yum. i make some calls, talk to a few people, drink a turmeric latte and soak up the sunshine.

my mission is to make people laugh, it's a good way for me to navigate the world. no one gets away from my humour. if i fail i just try until i get a laugh. it's a mission. actually it's a tactic to complete my mission which is to stay alive. anyways, it makes me feel good and changes my persective. no negative vibrations penetrate me, even the usual nasty dumb zombies fall down laughing. yes, it's the weirdest life i've ever had. 

many years ago i used to tell people i channelled a 30, 000 year old comedian. he / she used to spontaniously take over my mind, mid conversation or sometimes when i am alone, and come out with a routine. sometimes the routine would last a few hours, i'd even do different accents but now the comedian inside is much more three dimensional and in my power and control. 

around mid afternoon i head home. agent wilde is coming over, may make her some lunch.

old captain mission alone again after jake returns to babylon across the water. it's strange how empty life is now, i enjoyed having him here, we were very compatible when it came to sharing. i really enjoyed cooking for him. he's a hard worker and looks after his health, and therefore mine, that's good compatibility as it motivates me. musically we diverge but that's okay, we are all products of our generation. 

anyway's gotta keep my vibration up, that's the main requirement of my battle against the world and death. we can do it, keep focused upon the good stuff, the beauty, the joy, the natural world and it's wonder. let go of the bullshit politics, ideology, it really is just a circus but nature is awe inspiring. everything that life in society throws at us is a challenge, it eats us and convinces us to eat one another and then we eat ourselves. the only escape is to see it for what it is and grow, evolve yourself. perfect the way you influence others, the way your energy contributes to the whole, i said it's spiritual war and now is the time to shine your light. in the face of darkness, gloom, doom and the inevitable subtraction that we seem to be within. 

i turn myself inside out, darkness to light. blinding everyone who encounters me. dazzled by something they can't comprehend only feel. i'm done with the human condition, i'm embracing the new man condition. 

positive vibrations shine through all creation. 

whatever war is going on, love will conquer all. i don't mean that weak force (romantic) i mean love in the way one could only have for an intelligent creator, a universe that is supreme and knows it's trajectory and destination. it's plan. cosmic war is just growing pains, you have to go through it to get to the other side. and in cosmic war there is no side, just to have absolute transcendency over all that we face in our existence. we come in crying but can go out laughing.

 

my friend jean sent me this, and it did take me a while to actually get around to playing it,  better late than ever, and finally this evening after my hash cookie, i kicked back, got the fire going and pressed play...

jean

i've known you and yer sidekick for many years, and although there was a long gap it certainly came back in the form of a strong friendship so honestly i've no complaints. i love you guys. hearing this was magnificent, it really is beautiful. well done.

in this treatise newman proposes that all magical endeavours from the ancient religious testaments to the magical work of john dee and crowley, and at the heart of all secret societies lay the compound we know as dmt. often referred to as 'red powder' in texts and hailing from acacia which is represented in symbolic codes throughout history this has been the heart and soul of all alchemical evolution and otherwise known as the philosophers stone.

his rigorous and sometimes demanding historical reasearch traces the thread of progression right up to rick strassman often getting in far deeper than i needed to know, this is a remarkable dectective work by the author who offers transcriptions from several wide and varied texts, often misunderstood and misinterpreted by many who came before. he certainly convinced me, although that would have been easy given my experience. dmt is the key to everything.  

this is not a book for dilettantes, more for researchers, historians and practitioners who think it's the ritual that gets you there. dmt is the sacrement that opens the door. 

however due preparation is necessary as this is not a recreational pursuit.

it's interesting how angels, demons and various other occult energies are all part of what could be called the dmt experience, these days we have different terminologies, machine elves, aliens ect, but if you are a purest like me, the label doesn't matter, it's the information they share that counts.

well i have to say that so far this is one of the best science fiction dramas i have seen on television. adapted from issac asimov's books but not following the narrative exactly comes this magnificent production where the sets are striking, the script is par excellence and the characters all interesting and multi dimensional. 

the story takes place over millions of years, and it's non linear with huge jumps to the past and back to the present. it's difficult to follow sometimes and then after the last episodes of a two series binge, i began to understand how my smart tv had played a practical joke upon me and shown me the whole series out of sequence, total random viewing. 

after the show i said to jakob how much i enjoyed it but it was challenging for me as i felt it skipped around all over the place, and i was not sure if i had missed an episode or two. so i went to the web and typed in an episode guide only to find the episode guides were not in the same sequence as what i had seen. 

and then it all fell into place.

so now i am watching the whole of series one and two in order and sequence and loving it even more. it really is something wonderfully made, intelligent both terrifing and beautiful, some of the sets are magnificent designs and the effects are tastefully done. 

it's my kind of tv show. 

although second in a series this can be read as a stand alone and it was the second reading for me, the book i took away and devoured between church gigs on the island. the second reading really was as enjoyable as the first, the characters were so much more interesting and the amazing themes of the fermi paradox answered in the most creative and frightening way. why is there no signs of intelligent space-faring life in such a vast universe, why are there only ruins of alien civilisations with no trace of what happened to them. 

the answers lay within the pages of redemption ark. and it's an excellent story if you like your science fiction hard and filled with astronomy. some of the science went right over my head but I did use my imagination to understand what was going down with the naughty inhibitors as the story reached it's climax.

ar is my fave science fiction writer, he takes space and brings you it's vastness, and then diversity. the alien races are bizarre by human standards, the inhibitors artefacts from eons before earth was formed. the story focuses on the human tribes, demarchists, conjoiners and ultras all racing to a hidden caste of weapons that may be the only defence against the ongoing apocalypse. the characters are amazing, i loved them all especially the captain who is an  aberration. 

redemption is a wonderful name for the story as it shows multitudes of characters all seeking some form of it, no one is perfect. nevil clavain is a old human solider, weary, tragic and filled with nostalgia for his romantic interest, he's switched sides once and now he's about to do it again. 

sydney after the rain seems in recovery as i wander through your town, my town, through the streets of my town... in anticipation of tonights jack frost show steve and the hoffman have put together. it's been a long time since i was in newtown and it looks shabby and run down, worse for wear, the magic gone. king street has lost that vibe, it's shops seem half dead and lacking in energy. i guess we are all dying in a way, as i sip my coffee i ponder this and decide while we are dying my new philosophy is to live and cheat death. i like the idea of challenging death, somewhat ingmar bergman i guess but you know how us soldiers are.

as if to seventh seal the deal a rainbow arcs it's way across the dramatic sky. and i find myself standing almost underneath it as it reached down to touch me outside happy herb highs. later i meet up with people and we all wait around the merch desk, chatting and swapping stories. i'm still surprised jack frost is the name dylan used to produce his albums. it's seems so bizarre considering grant was such a huge dylan fan. 

seeing the jack frost show invigorates me with a passion, not just the music but the lovely people and atmosphere, although the music was excellent it's been an enjoyable evening, those songs are meant to be played live. 

i have to say the go between covers sounded so good as well, songs i am unfamiliar with, but want to hear again. and so afterwards we depart i notice the trains have been cancelled and my next one is 1.5 later and the amazing ryissa steps in and offers to drive me. now i have to mention, ryissa has really done me a huge  service here, as she lives in north sydney and has travelled way beyond her boundaries and yet she is very gracious and great company. so hat's off to ryissa, who has earnt a very special place in olde captain missions friendship circle, which is actually not a large as people think. she didn't want petrol money and refused some cash. a generous and really beautiful act of kindness. respect!

it took me a while to fall asleep anyway, and i was happy to receive a text that she had arrived home safe.

i watched the dawn, had a shower and then went down to the terrible scout hut where a book sale was taking place, i didn't get anything but noticed a copy of redemption arc for $1 a book i had just finished reading for the second time.