Return to the Dream

Mysterious Totemic Creatures Traverse Realities

The dream had been so intriguing that I resolved to re-enter it once again the very next night. Although the scenery had been vaguely familiar during the astral transport, the events had occurred in a place that was difficult to pinpoint. There is always away to return to a place if you can recall a single detail of the landscape with sufficient clarity, for the universe is a hologram and all of spacetime is interlinked in a unified whole – even if that wholiness can never be entirely seamless, as all apparent reiteration is fractal in nature.

The extraordinarily large black snake was entirely jet black; it wasn’t a red- or yellow-bellied black snake, but a very different creature indeed. It was around seven feet long, thick as a slender human’s arm, thoroughly black and preternaturally aware. I’d been forewarned of the serpent’s presence by a darkly tanned woman with auburn hair who lived in the general vicinity, and hadn’t given the matter much thought until I encountered the massive snake in dappled shadows beneath a sparsely treed canopy.

As I live in a forest without fences, the sight of walled enclosures and fenced-off ‘private’ land is an unusual sight, but nowhere near as strange as the snake which darted back and forth like a playful dog engaged in a game of fetch, daring me to fear its impressive size and unusual shape each time it slithered toward me at a pace that would have been impossible to outrun even had I so wished. So I stood ‘my’ ground while it snaked hither and yon within the fenced-off enclosure, approaching to within inches of my unshod feet. The fine hairs on my arms and on the back of my neck rose like the hackles of a cornered cat, but the frisson of fear soon subsided.

I’d been seeking another route to a cleft in a mountain that had figured so prominently in many recent dreams, but all thought of that highland coign of vantage was dispelled as I watched the huge black snake slow its ongoing approaches and finally accept my presence. Unlike the sidewise stare worn by others of its ilk, this snake’s huge head regarded me front-on, staring into my eyes with both of its own.

Recalling it was springtime, I wondered if the creature was a female guarding its young with all those vociferous wardings, as such snakes are wont to do. Poisonous black snakes usually rear up to an impressive height when they do so, displaying their raging red or yellow underbelly colours to their intended victim, but this snake behaved differently; most of its underside never left the ground and its expressive features seemed to portent silent laughter and playful glee.

When it paused in its dance I continued walking through the enclosed strip of recovering forest, skirting the small clearing where it eyed me from tufts of tall grasses. Then, as I circled its position, the snake reared at last – yet it turned away from me, balancing upright on the last section of its muscular tail, and I watched a stranger scene unfold. It vibrated in place while a surprisingly large baby snake slowly dropped from its cloaca, birthed into the daylit realm of this strangely familiar new world.

Though all are reptiles, some snakes don’t lay eggs but rather give birth to live young and often protect them while they’re small; this was one such snake, and the fact that it allowed me to see the birth process seemed an honour indeed. When the youngster dropped to the ground the mother circled its baby and stared right into me without hint of threatening territorial or maternal angst.

After a time I continued onward toward the spiralling cleft in the mountain.

When I returned to the waking world, aspects of the dream lingered longer than usual in the bright sunny morning and fragments continued returning through the rest of the day - while I travelled a couple of hundred klicks to a relatively nearby village and back, updating the New Illuminati at an internet access point en route (In a particularly pleasant hippified town full of cool, diverse and tolerant people - unlike the closest village which is filled with redneck bumpkins, lowlife crims, resentful laid-off timber workers and conservative retirees; I avoid it whenever possible, preferring to donate my money to more deserving shopkeepers in the more distant township. Besides, my two youngest children live in the vicinity with their respective mothers and I’m there twice a week to fetch and return one or both boys, depending on the whims and exigencies of fate, weather and motherhood).

Every few minutes a different aspect of the intriguing dream would return to overlay the ‘real’ world. It slowly dawned on me that the poison from my last black snake bite had only recently left my body, and my leg and hip joints had only just relaxed from being tightly contracted into their sockets. * A dark line had slowly travelled outward, travelling from the quick of both big toenails after I was bitten a year ago, and these crescent ridges had only recently reached the end of the nails, quietly and neatly breaking away. The internal bleeding has finally ceased.

I’m in no rush to be bitten again soon, and took the dream to be a warning of potentially potent springtime encounters, among other, more spiritually inclined (or self-aggrandising shamanic) interpretations. Black snake bites are more potently poisonous in spring and sting like a horde of hornets for weeks, if you’re lucky enough to survive.

I picked up Beamish Boy and took him back home to the forest for the weekend. On the way back a kangaroo paced the van, eyeing us off as it hopped parallel to our course. When we arrived I insisted we pick (and eat) crisp fresh apples from the trees we planted years ago, and we tasted the sweet wild raspberries, strawberries, kumquats and mouthwatering mulberries. We explored rivulets plashing though the recovering rainforest, enjoying the planet while the world remained perfectly still and the sky deep and clear; as deep a shade of blue as the vault of heaven displayed when I was a child in the Emerald City, seemingly a long time ago – and, on the other hand, no time at all. The sky is usually a far more pallid and unimpressive shade in most other places these days, like a watercolour left out in the Sun; filled with the bright blinding glare and noxious hot air smog spewed on us all by industrious blowhard busynestmen and self-serving politicians.

It’s hard to realise how much has been lost in humankind’s mad rush toward self-impoverishment in the name of progress, but unlike younger (or more forgetful) people I at least know what the sky ought to look like – and out here in paradise it’s still often a deep vasty blue.

When recurrently recalling aspects of the portentous dream, I assumed (at first) that the scene must have been located on the other side of the world; after all, it had taken place in full daylight and half the world is awake while the other, sleeping half oft lives through the lives of their waking cousins in the far-flung lands of antipodean Earth. Yet the locale didn’t seem to have been North or South America, and certainly wasn’t in Europe. Much of Asia is shrouded in darkness at the same time as Oz, where we live; maybe it was in Africa, I ruminated. Then I recalled the particular species of plants in the dream, and realised the place of the snake must have been far more local than that.

When the day was done I decided to return to the same dream.

It isn’t that hard to return to a place if you can recall it with enough clarity. This is as true of successive incarnations as it is of each night or day in the microcosm of the present life time. Each night we disappear, go away, dissolve and drift into nether realms in a true representation of death – and each morn we return, whole and complete, no matter how far we’ve travelled; a true petit mort that provides a perpetual clue to the nature of our immortality.

Loosing the bonds to body and ego I fixed on the scenery I recalled most clearly, and unerringly returned to the world of the black snake.

The totemic creature seemed to be awaiting my return. When I looked around to get my bearings it soon became obvious its home was on the outskirts of a slowly expanding coastal settlement of dreamy sea changers, all awaiting a soporific death in colourful new little boxes, lulled into somnolence by the hypnotic anaesthesia of the endless rolling waves. The Pacific can sometimes be peaceful. The black snake, on the other hand, was utterly alert and responded to my return with a renewed flurry of darting motions, repeatedly dashing toward my bare feet, only to retreat before racing back again like the nearby salty waves.

I stood motionless, smiling and talking to the wondrous beastie and the mother snake soon tired of her funny little game. She rose and spoke into my mind, and while we communed I realised her head was far too spatulate, diamond-shaped and wide for a normal black snake of any description; far more like a pythonic constrictor than a poisonous adder. Both black eyes – bulging but not beady – remained focused on the centre of my mind.

The dream continued, but I shan’t bore you with further details.

A couple of days later, when Beamish had been delivered to the new old stilt-walking house his mother had decided to rent (with a friend of mine who’d been lately her lover and is now her cohabitant), perched on its high poles smack dab in the middle of the flood zone, I visited the Diamond Miner. The perceptive reprobate lives in the same salubrious little town, just across the recently rebuilt bridge that has flooded an unprecedented six times this year, having been rebuilt no higher than the stupid old bridge that had finally succumbed to endless assaults by the raging river. Today’s idiots build all the river crossings no higher than before, even when their level has proven inadequate to cope with the floods of yesteryear – let alone those to arrive in the oncoming greenhouse era.

One of the first things the Diamond Miner mentioned when I arrived at his home was the unusually huge black snake he’d seen at the land of a mutual acquaintance (hi, Brewster!). It had been big, jet black, and surprisingly unperturbed by human beings. “Was its head far too large for a black snake?” I asked. “How did you know that?” he replied. “Shaped like the head of a python?” I inquired. “Funny you should mention that,” he confirmed. “All black?” I asked. His suspicious stare was adequate confirmation.

When I arrived back home in the forest I was greeted by the shack’s resident python (which politely moved away from the cupboard door when I asked it to, only to return to the same guardian position when I finished stocking the small larder). I was particularly pleased to see that the peahen had returned from a long sojourn next door. A monstrous Wedge-tailed eagle was catching pink eyed mullet in the eternal pool out in front of the cabin and a family of surprisingly large skinks – communal land mullets – had moved into a gap beneath the small veranda.

It’s gratifying to find a place you’ve seen in your dreams. But then, as Omar Khayyam insisted – “All that we can see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”

You don’t think I’d bother to make this stuff up, do you? Time appears to flow onward…

- R.A.

* See God, Judge or Architect?

Images – author’s

“I always wondered whether god really existed and if he did is he everything or did he create everything?”

- Wonder Boy at the Age of 8

For further enlightenment see –

The Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com

The New Illuminati

(These sites have been locked by Today.com and this author no longer has access to his own blogs - Enlightenment Today

Imagine Nation – Artwork & Images )

The Prince of Centraxis

This material is published under Creative Commons Copyright – reproduction for non-profit use is permitted & encouraged, if you give attribution to the work & author - and please include a (preferably active) link to the original along with this notice. Feel free to make non-commercial hard (printed) or software copies or mirror sites - you never know how long something will stay glued to the web – but remember attribution! If you like what you see, please send a tiny donation or leave a comment – and thanks for reading this far…

From The Rainforest Home of the Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com

Wild Life

Springs Eternal

Bray’s Beach

Illusory Freedom

Reclaiming Liberty

All modern societies on planet Earth follow patterns laid down long before the time of the Roman Empire. These top-down authoritarian pyramid structures were originally based on the ancient necessity for a vast horde of people working continually, to provide food and goods for the idle few who dwelt at society’s narrow summit.

The world is still a collection of feudal tribes, nations and empires. Only the accoutrements, costumes, technologies and furnishings have changed since ancient times; our lives are still constrained within the same old basic structures as the peoples of Sumer and Babylon. No matter how democratic or outwardly free, even the most liberal of nations is still fundamentally rigid and hidebound, following the ubiquitous hierarchical template of the pyramid builders.

Freedoms exist at the surfaces of things, different colours, fashions and veneers applied to cultures that provide no real choice to their constituents. Censorship and control of mass media are commonplace everywhere, and most freedom of information legislation is a beurocratic nightmare and a deliberate joke on every fair minded or idealistic citizen.

Everyone is expected to follow the same route, paying their way with the lifeblood of their precious time to provide imaginary numbers that flicker across ever-shifting screens. Feudal societies and racist dynasties have masked their ongoing existence with an updated shadow play of newly flavoured bread and freshly painted electronic circuses, grafting their power-mongering nonsense onto the age-old primate pack strategies of dominance and submission.

Rigid post-matriarchal societies can only exist if everyone ignores simple codes of ethics and ‘golden rules’ - the only legalisms any society really needs to survive and thrive – and follows arbitrary statutes and slave-making laws instead. Beurocratic institutions are all based on the superannuated fantasies of clerical dogmatists and most still ensure that true freedom is curtailed via the creation of myriad regulations and victimless criminals, whose punishments serve as warnings to any who would take a step out of line or reach for a tasty morsel of summarily forbidden fruit.

Through the lens of contemporary and recent events, it’s easy to see how modern humans have been bred to maintain servile stances, mirthlessly trudging along daily treadmills beneath the watchful stares of unimaginative overseers. At the top of all social pyramids murderous predators lurk, controlling all that occurs within the idiosyncratic tribalistic communities and states they arrogantly assume that they own, lock, stock and barrel.

Racism - whipping up fear of those outside one’s immediate bloodline - has always lain at the roots of all caste structures, class systems, the regional lies of religions, eternal vengeful feuding and endless bloody wars. The basis of racism is the natural urge to love one’s family more than everyone else’s. This innate survival trait is easily exploited by those to whom any arbitrary difference from their own narrow range of ‘norms’ means life or death for the unwary.

Keeping the populace ignorant and stupid was always easy in the days of near-universal illiteracy; age-old methods have always sufficed to ensure that individualistic non-compliers, outright superior mutants and tall poppies are bred out of the domesticated primate stock.

For the last few millennia, the more intelligent humans have been regularly rounded up, culled or exterminated. In most times and places, any behaviour other than complete submission to the dominant regime or superstition has been greeted with dismemberment or beheading. Inquisitions, pogroms and witch hunting expeditions have ensured anyone living beyond societal norms has been prevented from contributing to the gene pool.

The ruthless beheading of the Soviet intelligentsia under Stalin is but one obvious example of the deliberate dumbing down of an entire nation. The most totalitarian regimes reduce human potential to the lowest common denominator very swiftly, and ensure that mediocrity soon becomes the norm. Yet the same rapid decline can be found in any society or social grouping based on any exclusivist religion, ideology or dogmatic belief. Every human culture deviates only very slightly from all others in terms of the hierarchical structure which underlies all day to day interactions.

The top-down nature of all these simulacra of truly free civilizations is a clue to their true origins. You know them by their fruits. Everyone and everything is numbered and collated and genetic typecasting is still a sure ticket to a fixed place in the caste system, just as it was in ancient India or antediluvian Atlantis.

Warrior castes dominate the roost, and the most egregious of all are oft warlords supreme, living high on the hog at the summit of various satrapies and notional nations. All countries are but imaginary lines in an age-old game of divide and conquer, no more valid or eternal than transitory teams of ball game players. Everyone is deliberately set against everyone else and any differences are ruthlessly exploited in a system that’s fundamentally based on racist prerogatives.

The rulers in the nations of each great racial family consider themselves a race apart, born to rule over all others on Earth – starting with their own extended families.

True freedom is not a matter of ‘freedom to’ or ‘freedom from’, but a state of being uninvolved with habitual attachments. The enlightened see through perpetually recurring emotional cycles that thrive on mundane melodrama and evolve beyond the need for an addiction to ongoing tragedies or the adrenaline rush provided by self-induced fear.

The way out of the system is always inward. Knowing your true self is the only path to liberation. Judging and forgiving yourself is the only way to evolve beyond the currently dominating paradigm. Applying ideas and ideals like ‘justice’ or ‘mercy’ to others is as self-defeating as blindly obeying the whims of this week’s dictator or president. The rulership of all our leaders is illusory and their freedom is non-existent. Your consciousness is the only reality in the universe and their orders and regulations are momentary aberrations that will soon pass away.

We all suffer or rejoice in a world of our own creation. The external world is a malleable template that responds to every deep instinct and feeling we experience and project. Which emotion would you prefer to experience? That’s a far more important question than ‘what do you want to do’, or buy, or be; emotions are the fuel that drives you.

What do you want to feel – and why?

- R.A.

Images - author’s

And See

The New Illuminati

The Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com

The Prince of Centraxis

This material is published under Creative Commons Copyright – reproduction for non-profit use is permitted & encouraged, if you give attribution to the work & author - and please include a (preferably active) link to the original along with this notice. Feel free to make non-commercial hard (printed) or software copies or mirror sites - you never know how long something will stay glued to the web – but remember attribution! If you like what you see, please send a tiny donation or leave a comment – and thanks for reading this far…

From The Rainforest Home of the Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com

Greet the Day

Domestic Magic

Water Wonder

High Time

Life on the top of the bottom

“Don’t you get lonely living way out there all by yourself?” Peace asks as he sharpens the curving scythe blade with a smooth dark whetstone.

“It beats the alternative,” I reply. “Besides, hardly anyone else can handle living with themselves in that neck of the woods. And I’m not really alone,” I admit, nodding at Wonder Boy, who’s examining Peace’s latest attempt at producing a hand-made replacement shaft for his gardening implement. “The kids are out there with me almost every weekend.”

“I suppose that would make a big difference…”

“And someone has to look after all the plants and animals in paradise; it’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it.”

“You’re well placed for it. I remember hiking out that way in the middle of the Killiecrankie blockade; it’s a pretty wild place, fairly remote. But you reckon a logger has moved in next door?”

“He’s doing a decent job with a little portable mill; not too destructive, and he’s pretty careful with habitat. Besides, it has to be possible to take regrowth hardwoods out of the recovering rainforest without destroying everything; in fact, if we want the rainforest to recover we’ll have remove the fire-prone trees and replace them with the original species, which are far more sensitive.”

“You need those eucalypts for a primary canopy,” agrees Rob as he sips some tea. A small raptor hovers over his shoulder, wings fluttering in the overheated summery air above the garlic patch. “That’s about all that comes up and survives in full sun, along with wattles and casuarinas…”

“And if we don’t remove the gums from the recovering rainforest that’s coming up under that primary canopy, the place will revert to a pyrophytic regime…”

“ ‘Fire loving’ ” Rob explains.

“…Particularly bad with global heating – and everything will burn until it’s all eventually rocky desert scrubland.” I indicate Peace’s recent plantings, where clusters of shrubs and wee saplings hug the brown-soil banks of a trickling little stream that was once overshadowed by millennial rainforest giants. “You’re lucky to be able to get rainforest to grow in the blazing sun here at the bottom of the valley, but up on the hills it’s different.”

“Drier, you mean?”

“Unless you’re right in the base of the clouds – and nowhere around here is that high, except Killiecrankie. We have to make use of the eucalypt canopy…”

“As the only possible primary canopy,” interjects Rob, “to shade the rainforest as it comes up…”

“…but then we have to thin out the gums so the rainforest species can begin to predominate again,” I conclude.

“That’s what I keep telling the groups I plant trees with,” Rob agrees. “I tell them, ‘We’re engaged in an eight hundred year project to recreate an old growth forest’.”

“And that’s all it will take,” I concur, glancing at Wonder Boy, “or maybe a thousand. Of course, we won’t tell them it’ll take more like ten thousand years to recreate the forest that was here before it was all trashed and burned by the cedar getters and farmers – that could seem discouraging. And if we replant the crucial target species we can speed the whole process up.”

Peace hefts his scythe, checking its balance. “Which species do you mean?”

“For starters, the seeds that were only ever transported by humans.”

“Like Bunya nuts?” Peace suggests.

“Aye,” I concur, “and quandongs, for instance, or burrapines; all the big nuts and seeds that we humans require, any that are otherwise only carried by gravity.”

“Not by wind or birds or animals you mean,” Wonder Boy clarifies.

“That’s right. And catalytic species,” I add, “like nitrogen fixers and bird attractors.”

“What’s a rainforest nitrogen fixer?” Peace considers. “Like a wattle, you mean?”

“Or one of those.” I point toward a nearby hill on the communal land, where the large amenities block is shaded by stands of trees. “Black beans, coral trees, even ice cream beans…”

“Ice cream beans? Are they native?”

“They are, a little further up north.”

Perhaps you, too, are fed up to the gills with living in a civilisation whose simple catchcry is “MORE!”, where teeming billions are encouraged to live unexamined lives in mediocre cultures devoted to yesterday’s heroes and tonight’s microwaved dinner, mesmerised by radiation-spewing plastic prepackaged entertrainment. Perhaps not. Perhaps you view all this rootless basking in luxuriously consumptive waste as enjoying paradise on Earth. Perhaps you think we ought to enjoy it while it’s here – and why not?

We could live lifestyles of identically interesting, rewarding and artistically baroque levels without trashing the planet and sawing off the branch of the tree of life we all depend on. But while every action we take reduces our span on Earth (due to the interlocked facts that we’re using resources at an unsustainable rate and poisoning ourselves and the ecosystem into the bargain) it’s unwise to feed the ravening beast of planetary death with our energies. It’s stupid to keep frittering away the only real chance to live long, happy and healthy lives we’ve had for the last few millennia!

Everything a modern city-dweller eats, drinks, breathes and touches is tainted and toxic. It’s remarkable how resilient humans really are, managing to live until seventy or eighty despite the fact they’ve been thoroughly poisoned and substantially debilitated for decades.

It’s possible for every person on planet Earth to live lifestyles as rich – and far more rewarding than – the wealthier people in the USA, if we only clean up our act. The only reasons the Earth can’t sustain our crazily expansive global civilization are that we waste so much, and our energy czars are addicted to making money from toxic fossil fuels (including, of course, Uranium) that we blithely hurl into our air and water.

There’s more than enough to go around, and more ways to extract clean energy from the myriad energy sources that surround us than are dreamt of by textbook writers (see the free energy links at New Illuminati, for instance). All that’s really required to save the world is a change of viewpoint, and a change of heart. Would you like to tell your grandchildren you contributed to the destruction of their ecosystem by working at a mindlessly destructive job and filling your time and space with toxic crap, or explain how we managed to turn it all around, and grasp victory from the jaws of defeat by becoming smarter, more ingenious and compassionate?

What do you want to tell yourself on your last day on Earth? It’s high time to rethink all our lives, and get on with the things we’ve been putting off for so long. Live a little, or more than a little, in the wide green world outside your window – and let your kids run free. You don’t have to be lean to be green, but hey, friends, fat kills.

Turn on. Tune in. Opt out. Friends are waiting beyond the walls.

- R.A.

Images - author’s

For further enlightenment see –

The Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com

The New Illuminati

(These sites have been locked by Today.com and this author no longer has access to his own blogs - Enlightenment Today

Imagine Nation – Artwork & Images )

The Prince of Centraxis

This material is published under Creative Commons Copyright – reproduction for non-profit use is permitted & encouraged, if you give attribution to the work & author - and please include a (preferably active) link to the original along with this notice. Feel free to make non-commercial hard (printed) or software copies or mirror sites - you never know how long something will stay glued to the web – but remember attribution! If you like what you see, please send a tiny donation or leave a comment – and thanks for reading this far…

From The Rainforest Home of the Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com

Echidna

Sandy Echidna

Ongoing Project

Endless Crusade

Religion poisons everything, but war makes hell on Earth

The new millennial anti-Islamic crusade is progressing apace. Throughout carefully massaged histories written by victors, regional conflicts and major wars have usually been caused by off-the-shelf lies and unconvincing fabrications. This is nothing new; most conflicts are wrought for ‘reasons’ utterly different to those provided to gullible populations of sporty team players and nationalistic ignoramuses.

Everyone knows the one-sided war in Iraq (truly a massacre of innocents, using overwhelming asymmetrical force) was based on so-called ‘sexed up’ intelligence reports. Who did the sexing up – the bald faced lying – that made this all possible? It was lying lawyer/politicians that you probably voted for. Everyone knows the leaders of the ‘free world’ lied to their own citizens as thoroughly as they misled all the other peoples of Earth.

Anyone with half a brain could see what was happening prior to the year 2000, when US Republicans lied and cheated their way back into the White House while the world watched aghast. They’d earlier publicly promised they’d do whatever it took to regain the reins of power - just as, bold as brass in the knowledge that no-one would hold them to account for their crimes, they announced in early 2001 that they’d henceforth be altering intelligence reports. Which is the party that the military perpetually backs and fills and votes for, after all? Who butters the warmongers’ bread – and who recalls that since the 1980s the US economy has been designed to run on war? Without war not only would Amerika fail to dominate the rest of the world, but its economy would immediately collapse. Despite apparent recent changes in voter patterns and in the general zeitgeist, the Bush dynasty of Emperor Georges I and II ended the promise of US democracy and snuffed out the light of liberty. But the writing’s been on the wall for decades.

Credible threats have been thin on the ground since World War Two, and ever since that time most large scale wars and minor military incursions have been based on incredible threats and outright lies. Since the 1970s (at least) ‘intelligence’ has filled the news with subtle and unsubtle prods encouraging Western people to see a war against Islam as inevitable - even as desirable to superstitious fools who think of religions as football teams. The same malefactors have twisted the minds of gullible people in the Islamic world, turning them into a formfitting complement of purblind brutalising warriors.

Defacto crusades can be made to last forever, spilling profits into the coffers of corporate warmongers as swiftly as they spill the blood of innocents into oil-tarred sands. They certainly did so the last time around, when the feudal monarchies of the world conspired in an endless centuries-long struggle to conquer a distant ‘holy land’ and murder any who stood in their way. Those who forget the lessons of history…

Killers for Christ

Everyone knows the Iraq war was based on a lie, and yet the fighting goes on and on and on – longer now than all the bloody years of World War One or Two. Everyone with a memory should recall that hawkish US warmongers planned to invade Afghanistan long before the fabricated emergency of 9/11. They should realise that the ‘Patriot Act’ had been prepared long before that false flag attack, readied to turn the land of the free into a terrified homeland free of the brave and bereft of regard for truth or honour.

It’s obvious now that Weapons of Mass Destruction were always a lie. Many thousands stood in the streets and denounced the lie even before the Long War began. All those intelligent farsighted protesters were derided as ‘unpatriotic’ and ‘cowardly’ and the juggernaut war rolled over millions of innocent people – millions of deaths which fed the maw of bestial corporate clowns in the corridors of power.

A CIA front organisation called ‘al Qaeda’ was stitched up with a crime committed by smiling politicians and their shadowy puppetmasters. Where is this deadly group of terrorists today? Right where they always were – they only exist in the imaginary world of Misters Fixit, the gunman Cheney and brutal Rumsfeld; selling news for Mister Murdoch, NBC, ABC and all the rest of the pile of lowest common denominator crud-sellers, who can’t understand why people won’t believe their lies as readily as they once did.

Has anyone in Amerika – or all their ‘allies’ in crimes against the Afghan people – noticed that the war is no longer against the fictitious al Qaeda, but someone else entirely - the indigenous Taliban? How could this happen, without anyone seeming to notice? Hasn’t anyone read 1984? Hasn’t anyone heard of the historical Great Game, or noted contemporary movents of billionaire-owned gas and oil through vulnerable pipelines in these unstable territories?

And the corporate liars and soap-sellers of the co-opted and mediated mass media have the hide to deride the independent commentators of the Internet. Oil’s ain’t oils and power is power; it’s almost as simple as that.

Meanwhile, the real perps have got away with mass murder as usual! They’re still raking in billions and trillions, laughing all the way to the banks they own as they suck the world dry. Look at oil, at cars and tanks, at GMO foods, nuclear power and weaponry, insecticides, patented lifeforms, bullets and guns; their filthy hands desecrate everything they touch. All substantial manufacturers and miners are owned and/or controlled by the perpetrators of these crimes against humanity, along with the Fortune 500 and any profitable company backed by self-blinding shareholders.

There’s no need to blame scapegoat Jews or the Sultan of Brunei - the pillars of your society are rotten to the core; all your heroes have feet of clay and foreign holiday homes stuffed with cash and servile slaves. They’re the same old barren-minded robber barons of yore, still dressing their corpulent corporate frames in silken cloth and gilded fripperies – and the peasants they own are still too stupid and preoccupied to notice they’re being fattened for slaughter.

How could Amerikans – whose nation was forged in protest and revolt against distant murderers, tyrants who ruled with a sense of unending entitlement, stand by and allow this to happen to their country – and, because of this dereliction, to the entire world?

Long Time, Short Memory

All these events have been on the drawing board for a VERY LONG TIME. When I heard what was planned for the New Millennium back in the 1970s, the events of our era had already been plotted, believe it or not. Yet it seemed outlandish to expect educated populations to Fall for these age-old tricks, even if they’d still worked so well in the trumped-up Vietnamese phoney war. It seemed unlikely that an unending ‘crusading’ war wouldn’t be seen for what it was by the newly educated populations of wealthy nations – an endless money-making exercise in a new incarnation of the same old Royal Game.

It seemed unlikely that the world’s people would be blinded to the death of the planetary ecosystem and the rape of a dying world by the fog of manufactured wars; unlikely that they’d fail to see what was happening under their very noses, crimes committed by their own hands. Unlikely they’d allow the Nazis to take over again, or fail to recognise the same old wolves kitted out in the same old daggy wool.

It seemed foolish to believe that the broken-backed Nations of Islam could be conflated with a ‘credible threat’ that would ensure continual profits for power mongers – or that the ruined Temple of Solomon might eventually become an excuse to start World War Three and implement global control or genocidal policies of conquest; but believe it or not, this madness is still on the cards and the worst is probably yet to come, for the self-proclaimed King of the World desires to be crowned in an establishment befitting the ancient credentials of Rex Mundi.

I was obviously as naïve as all the war-loving dolts in Christendom and Islam.

If you keep people numb and dumb and ensure some or many fall through huge gaps in inadequate social safety nets as examples to the rest, the fearful mug punter will swallow pretty well anything – even tranquillising rat poison in their tapwater and biocides sprayed on their food. Anyone foolish enough to tell them they’re poisoning themselves and their kids will be derided or attacked. As we’ve seen throughout times past, most coopted football-worshipping proles will roll over and present their bellies or loins to grinning death’s head tyrants when real rightist Nazis take over their societies through guile and stealth. They’ll ignore what’s happening so long as it doesn’t happen to them (until it’s too late), blaming ‘socialists’ and ‘do-gooders’ for the demise of liberty while they cry out to unseeable sky gods to save them from themselves.

As I write, the second huge dust storm in as many weeks (supposedly a once-in-a-lifetime event) is coated my lungs with irreplaceable powdered soils, blown thousands of miles from a landscape desiccated by bare dirt farming and daft desperate cattle ranching on unsuitable land. The dust of ages flees to the seas and fertilises this surviving green fragment of a once global paradise, where I type on a solar-powered laptop. The radio news (this slice of paradise is thankfully too far out for TV) is full of meaningless daily financial weather reports and monetarist fluctuations while the real thing – the collapse of the world ecosystem - goes unreported; unprecedented earthquakes, typhoons, tsunamis, landslides, dust storms and even mass murder apparently pales to insignificance compared to a daily rote reading of uneconomical facts and temporary figures.

Even as I write, the apocalypse has already begun; the winds and tides will grow stronger and wilder and civilization will be swept away in a single human lifetime – and all people seem to want is someone (else) to blame for their predictable private woes. Unlikely as it seems, we can still turn it all around. But I’m just jaded enough to believe it probably won’t happen, because people are too selfish to give up a few minor luxuries, too greedy to stop working at soul-sucking jobs that destroy the planet.

They’d prefer their children die before their time, rather than plant a few trees and stand up to their boss, or stand in front of bulldozers that are killing the one true Mother of us all. They prefer to borrow irreplaceable time with plastic cards to buy useless crap from monstrous killers. They prefer to watch rigged corporate sport and dopey game shows, rather than stand up to be counted in the only struggle that really counts – the honourable quest to save the world, preserve the forests and animals and free the people from the unnecessary yokes of stock markets, murderous billionaires and the pervasive illusion of money.

Democracy has already been snuffed out, not just in Amerika but in most other nations and corporations. Time to resurrect it. That’s one real task facing us all, and a far easier job than the rehabilitation of the planet. How can the will of humankind be heard and acted upon in this Brave New Millennium? How can we salvage victory from the ashes of this woeful defeat of all that is good in our hearts and minds? How can we forget the religiously ingrained dreams of apocalyptic ruin and stupid mass death and replace these old superstitions with something more positive? How can we rise above the lies that our parents believed, and stuffed down our throats with fearful glances over hunched shoulders?

It’s the end of the world as we know it. We have to change our hearts or die. It’s as simple as that. It’s up to you. See you in paradise – a paradise on Earth! The other options aren’t worth considering, and besides; no-one will be allowed off the planet until they’ve cleaned up their mess!

- R.A.

Images - http://guardianoffunds.com/yahoo_site_admin/assets/images/teutonic_order_knights.111153850_std.jpG

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3070/2611730190_f08e9fed32_o.jpg

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y-DbBvf7R5Y/SBd7cLSrDoI/AAAAAAAAKTk/2Xw8vLpGngY/s400/06Dore_Crusades024.jpg

For further enlightenment see –

The Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com

The New Illuminati

( These sites are about to be closed along with ALL the free Geocities sites -

Save the World from RamPage

TimeSpace

RingWood )

(These sites have been locked by Today.com and this author no longer has access to his own blogs - Enlightenment Today

Imagine Nation – Artwork & Images )

The Prince of Centraxis

This material is published under Creative Commons Copyright – reproduction for non-profit use is permitted & encouraged, if you give attribution to the work & author - and please include a (preferably active) link to the original along with this notice. Feel free to make non-commercial hard (printed) or software copies or mirror sites - you never know how long something will stay glued to the web – but remember attribution! If you like what you see, please send a tiny donation or leave a comment – and thanks for reading this far…

From the New Illuminati – http://newilluminati.blog-city.com

Liquid Dreaming

Life on the bottom of an atmospheric ocean

When it rains in the rainforest, it pours. The blasting heat had become enervating, each footstep a crackling portent of fiery energies to come - of fire or electricity relentlessly moving closer, ready to manifest as bushfire or thunderstorm. The choice was an easy one to make.

I adjusted the neo-Reichian cloudbuster to draw ambient moisture into the crater of the ancient volcano that surrounds this part of the Great Southland, eliciting a particular form of manifestation from the flow of ‘soft electrons’ leaking into this plenum through the vortexial action created by this simple little device. Unlike Wilhelm Reich’s first cumbersome pioneering models (celebrated in Kate Bush’s Cloudbuster clip; see it on UTube), this version is a wonder of simplistic engineering, with no moving parts at all!

Suffice to say I tell none of my neighbours of these weathermaking efforts. While most enjoy rain after two months with barely a drop, they all dislike floods. I’m still fine-tuning my application of the device, and so far this year we’ve had an unprecedented series of five major floods. Live and learn. After the last one I ensured the cloudbuster was set up on this side of the river, where I usually hang, so I could access and readjust it in an emergency.

When this week’s deluge arrived we had eighteen inches of rain in eighteen hours, after which I reset the cloudbuster to raise the clouds above the level where they’d produce rain; just as well it was on this side of the river! The bridges to town had already gone under and the road itself had disappeared in a couple of locations, carried away amidst landslides and the rampaging gully-raking waters, but the rain thinned and lifted over the next hour and the dam behind my building project is filled to the brim.

When the rains really come down in this gorgeous gorge country the hills truly come alive with the sound of music. The screaming waterfalls, singing streams, raging rivers and the rumbling rocks making rapid neo-glacial progress down all their bedrock courses combine with the torrential rain to produce what many would term ‘audial hallucinations’ – but to a shaman like me they’re a fugue of richly resonant frequencies, conspiring with my inner ear to create audio holograms filled with uncanny meaning, sonic auguries that delight the hearing of this particular her(m)etic musician. There’s no shortage of melodies, riffs or beats; in order to ‘create music’ at times like these all a musician has to do is pluck the sounds from living creation and emulate them as best one can.

The living world is a sentient landscape, continuously passing messages into the open ears and dreaming minds of all who sail in her, cohabiting with myriad other lifeforms who call this waterworld Earth their home. Symphonic music, complex rhythmic beats, massed choirs and murmuring voices arise from the interplay of the elements amidst a watery dancing field of innumerable intersecting wavelengths. Coherent sounds arise out of the endless white noise, telling anciently relevant tales, singing freshly resurrected songs of all the strange scenes the primordial rocks and soils have witnessed as they ride the whirlybird world round the whorl of the Milky Way galaxy.

All our perceptions of the universe arise from such intersecting waves, meeting at the infinite parallax point of your consciousness.

Old lessons are never forgotten while the landscape retains its essential character, shape, integrity and biological identity. Whenever anything changes everything in this hologrammic universe subtly alters and the song is transposed to a different key of meaning – but the songlines keep singing for those with an ear to hear the seminal music they continue to carry from moon to moon and epoch to epoch. Ancient wisdom is always available, pouring through the holey sieve of reality and cascading around every woman, child and man who pauses for a moment of quiet contemplation or dances with frenetic steps to keep up with the everturning tide.

Another day in paradise without having to make the trip to a fussbudget town is always a godsend, and it only took two days for the waters to subside enough to access the nearest internet connexion – a fifty klick round trip into the nearest village to update the New Illuminati and the Prince of Centraxis sites (see below). My Geocities sites all disappeared into the volatile maw of digital history just last week, along with ALL the free sites hosted by Yahoo Geocities. If you want to build a site with them now, it has to be linked to a credit card; doubtless photo ID soon, too, and your biometric data and sexual history to boot.

But for now the nearest village remains a bumpkin bastion of bucolic mediocrity, with only three or four surveillance cams to oversee the two thousand locals who call the township and entire surrounding region home; one of these cameras stares down at me when I set up the laptop at the broadband-connected building. “Enough rain for you?” the government sponsored internet café’s proprietor asked with one eyebrow suspiciously cocked; he’s heard me talk to the local alchemist (who volunteers at the establishment once a week) about the cloudbuster. If I’m lucky he still doesn’t take me seriously…

Meanwhile, a hundred thousand years of soil is washed away downstream and dumped on the bed of the swelling ocean. The farmers (mainly graziers, actually, with no real claim to the knowledge carefully accrued and stored by real sons and daughters of the soil, who literally preserve the earth) and loggers spent more than a century trashing all the rivers and every little waterway they could lay their axes and cattle on, and now the price is being paid by us all.

The rivers must be replanted with filtering fringes of trees to stop deathly desiccating evaporation and the continual collapse of the banks, which fill in the deep waterholes as they make their way to the ocean, rendering the cool water warm and lifeless. After a few decades all the soil washes away, the rivers jump their banks and destroy the paddocks, and the farmers stand around scratching their heads in a rocky denuded desert. It happens to the best of civilizations.

We need to start paying attention and paying more than lip service before the wellsprings of life run dry, as they already have in much of the world. We need to replant rainforests along all our waterways (they also make great carbon stores, firebreaks, habitat and wildlife corridors for endangered creatures) and fence out the cattle that illegally graze these public lands – for that’s what the verges of every stream are, not private booty but part of the common wealth. The farmers won’t replant and fence the and; most of them break the law every day by grazing cattle right in the rivers and cutting down any tree or sapling that threatens to take up a square yard of money-grubbing grass.

Strangely sensible laws have been in place for more than a century in most parts of the ‘civilized’ world. Destroying riverbanks has been illegal in most places for a very long time, but governments routinely turn a blind eye to malfeasance unless complaints are made. So you have a choice; plant more (non-combustible rainforest) trees along the nearest river or stream, or make a complaint to your nearest government agency responsible for water or soil if you can’t be bothered. Or perhaps both.

Either way, the land needs a hand from more sensible people who’ll come and live with it and heal its wounds; the past generations of pioneer thugs have had their chance and can’t be trusted to do the right thing while the siren song of money has deafened their ears to the music of the planet’s tears.

Of course, none of this mindless destruction would occur if people realised there’s no sense or reason to keep, kill and eat dead animals. But then, civilisations have always destroyed necessities to create temporary luxuries.

The world is crying out for a change, and the only real change is always in you. As for me – I’m only a fig of the image nation, another nut hanging from the Tree of Life planting seeds and seedlings in whatever soil I happen upon.

Meanwhile, fresh mulberries, apples, raspberries and strawberries are a deliciously sweet breakfast as the river sings songs of home, and this laptop is sucking up photons while another twenty trees are ready to go into the ground on this fine wet day. Paradise, anyone?

- R.A.

Images - author’s

See Water Power

See The Triumph of Wilhelm Reich

For further enlightenment see –

The New Illuminati

(These sites have been locked by Today.com and this author no longer has access to his own blogs - Enlightenment Today

Imagine Nation – Artwork & Images )

The Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com

The Prince of Centraxis

This material is published under Creative Commons Copyright – reproduction for non-profit use is permitted & encouraged, if you give attribution to the work & author - and please include a (preferably active) link to the original along with this notice. Feel free to make non-commercial hard (printed) or software copies or mirror sites - you never know how long something will stay glued to the web – but remember attribution! If you like what you see, please send a tiny donation or leave a comment – and thanks for reading this far…

From The Rainforest Home of the Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com

alien humans on planet earth

primordial swimming hole

friendly python

Snags

Ancient Perspectives and Blind Modern Groping

When I reached to grasp the nurseryman’s handshake he withdrew shattered remnants of healed-over flesh from the pocket of his baggy shorts. He introduced himself and grasped my proffered hand with the stumps of two fingers and the nubbin of an amputated thumb.

The biannual little plant fair in the local village was dusted with windborne scrapings from the far deserts, and the desiccated salt-crusted bed of distant Lake Eyre was soughing down on all and sundry like finely sieved flour. The surrounding landscape of rolling hills was rendered into a stylistic smudge of hillcrests rising from a greyish miasma that blocked out the daylight in a partial eclipse. The Sun had burned with an uncommonly sharp bite for the previous few weeks, but now the world was cloaked in grey and the solar bite was replaced with that of the chill ill wind.

A supertyphoon was massing over Southeast Asia and Half Past Human’s roving webbots had retrieved data suggesting dire cataclysms around the September Equinox. This led the website’s authors – who employ sophisticated algorithms that retrieve clues to the zeitgeist of the collective consciousness, on the premise that if individual humans are (at least) subconsciously psychic, then the collective babble of humanity as expressed on the worldwide web must be orders of magnitude more so – to make a prediction that has since borne spectacular fruit.

The site had previously made some notably accurate prophecies regarding the 2008 financial meltdown, among quite a few others. Their prognostications regarding recent seismic events – beginning almost three months ago, which is about the self-proclaimed limit of accurate forecasting for Half Past Human – indicated dangerous volcanic (or seismic) activity around the Pacific rim around the end of September, when the equinox falls.

This prediction is a remarkable near miss at the very worst, and in the light of the unprecedented – in both frequency and magnitude – run of recent earthquakes and resultant tsunamis this result should be considered accurate for all intents and purposes. It must be adjudged as evidence for the efficacy of HPH’s method, and perhaps for a fundamental concomitant truth; that humankind has the capacity to see beyond the veil of time.

Day after day the Earth rebelled in a chain of lethal rumbles, ranging from Indonesia to New Guinea, Tonga, Samoa and the isle of Santa Cruz - zones situated around the so-called Ring of Fire that girdles the planet like a twisting magmatic serpent. Tsunamis rose from the chaotic seas and populations dashed from crumbling buildings and made for higher ground, with the memory of the great killer Southeast Asian tsunami still fresh in the minds of many.

One may be forgiven for thinking that these events only seem remarkable because we have an accurate grasp of seismic events in the 21^st Century. It’s a little-considered fact that since just before the dawn of the 20th Century we’ve been able to detect all quakes occurring anywhere on the globe with a magnitude of six or greater. There were a handful of such quakes in the first decade of the last century, and only a few more in the next decade. Quakes with a magnitude of seven or eight on the Richter scale were virtually unknown until recent decades, and have now become very familiar to millions of victims around the world. The frequency and magnitude of earthquakes has increased in a steeply rising curve across the globe over the course of the last hundred years.

This is only to be expected. The planet is warming in more ways than one and the crust is beginning to show the strain. Extraterrestrial and anthropogenic sources of heating are shifting vast masses of displaced ice and water around the world. The oceans weigh more than most people image and the planetary crust is thinned into shallow-bottomed basins by their mass, sunken between the thicker encrustations of continents.

Additional water flowing into the seas from the poles and melting glaciers displaces so much weight that the fractious fault lines of the planet are suffering from even more stress and strain than from all drilling and mining, past underground nuclear tests, current geothermal experiments, and innumerable other sundry damages caused by purblind burrowing humankind, in the unexamined treadmill quest for meaningless monetary progress.

It’s obvious that the old feudal paradigm will no longer suffice to meet the needs of the planet, or the requirements of the upgraded specimens of humanity many aspire to be and become. The best time to change our ways utterly, to find new methods of thriving on a healthy planet, is also the best time to plant fruit and nut trees – twenty years ago. But today is still a viable second best, while next year will be far too late.

Loggerheads

The nurseryman shook my right hand with the stump of his. Such injuries are common among mill workers in the local timber and beef cattle towns, here on the east coast of Oz. Many digits or limbs have been severed or crushed in the quest to wrest money from the hard, hard wood of the eucalypt forests cloaking the rugged foothills of the Great Dividing Range.

Almost all such crippling injuries were delivered in devastating accidents with spinning blades, fast-moving belts or machinery, or sudden smashes by crushing loads of heavy wood. Very few of these once common stigmata are the result of insurance jobs – in which a finger could be swapped for a few thousand measly bucks – but such happenings are hardly unknown in impoverished, ignorant and desperate settings.

The nurseryman – who gave me a lopsided smile from beneath a typical mill worker’s cap – was selling Bangalow Palms he’d grown from seed on his hobby farm-sized lot just outside town. The youngest boy was with me, and both of us were looking pretty wild and woolly in the harsh dusty windstorm that knocked his potted palms flat with its blustery gusts. Even whilst Wonder Boy was picking pots up for him, the grizzled sunburned soul started a tirade against ‘those damn greenies’.

Greenies were ‘stopping men from making an honest wage’, ‘stopping them from cutting down useless old growth trees – just rotten wood, not worth a damn,’ and ‘stopping them letting some sunlight in for the saplings’; they were ‘all dupes of a city conspiracy, sucked in by people who reckoned carbon dioxide caused global warming’, and ‘there are plenty of trees, and the only endangered species is the farmer, because of the stupid rules they’re expected to follow’ (not that many do in the vast and convoluted landscapes of the Great Southland – inadequate environmental regulations are rarely enforced and the land is only overseen by its so-called ‘owners’); yet his rave unravelled onward and on with nary a word of dissent from me. After a number of similar fusillades, this human stereotype completed his rave with a dig at ‘those stupid greenies who stop you pulling logs and snags out of the river – from tidying things up and making them safe and neat.’

I was tempted to mention that the government had been paying good money for such logs and snags for years now, and was trucking them across hundreds of kilometres of (now) treeless desert and dry blowaway grass to the once mighty Murray River, where they were putting the tree trunks back into the near-lifeless water – to replace those pulled out and burned by misguided speedboat-owning, oil-spewing bank-trashers and destructive neatness freaks. After pulling billions of trees from the verges of the mightiest river system on the continent, there are literally none left along incredibly long stretches of this infamously trashed national waterway - no protection of washaway soil, no stabilisation of crumbling banks, no shade to prevent evaporation, and no common sense, environmental awareness or scientific intelligence.

But what would be the point of arguing with him? He was too old and debilitated to do any more damage to rivers or forests, too crusty to change his ways, and far too belligerent to seriously consider making the attempt; not with my wide-eyed ten year-old in tow at the gossipy local village plant fair. I went and spoke to the other stallholders, almost all of whom proved to be card-carrying greenies, all selling wide ranges of various species of local and exotic trees and other plants, while the soil of the continent blew overhead and made algae bloom in the far Pacific, while Mother Earth prepared to toss and tumble, turn and grumble not far below.

The next day I ran into man-mountain Brian, erstwhile head man in the local Aboriginal Land Council. He beamed down at me over his whitening beard as we stood by the new surveillance camera set onto the

token clock tower in the midst of Main Street and discussed local and broader events. After a while and out of the blue he proceeded onto the topic of snags in the river. “You know they’re pulling out all the logs again,” the elder said, “and half of the jiddi logs, too.” ‘Jiddi’ is the cobera worm, a favourite delicacy among the few local tribes that have access to this locally distributed seasonal rarity; I’ll probably not discuss it further in this public forum – not unless the elders say otherwise.

“No cover for the fish, and you know what’s worse if you pull them all out?” he asked with a rhetorical air. “The rivers silt up. If you leave those logs on the bends in particular, they sweep out all the gravel and silt in the floods. The bends stay deep and cool. If you don’t, the rivers silt up and dry out, like they have all around.”

I agreed, casting my mind’s eye back home, where a massive trunk sleeps at the perpetually deep bend in the crooked creek, providing a channel for currents that churn out the detritus of a century of land clearing and aggrocultural abuse – all on behalf of a crumbling pyramid of inedible cash in the distant anthill termite cities, whose non-conspiring willing workers flush the world away down toxic pipes and burn swathes through the world forest with each languid flick of a switch.

The daily casual damage to rivers, soils and the landscape in general is unbelievable to anyone with an ounce of common sense and a dram of eyesight, let alone foresight. I could rant and rave for hours about leaving the banks alone and keeping the cattle away from the broad filter strips we need to grow and maintain along all our streams and rivers – but what would be the point? These controls are already well-established in the laws of most advanced countries; laws so poorly enforced by lazy time-serving officials that the once pristine water in most waterways is toxic to humans and animals.

Unless you procure your drinking water from an unpolluted sky (ho ho) or a pure groundwater source (ha ha), the stuff in your taps is laced with stultifying aluminium and chlorine, and don’t even start me on tranquillising sodium fluoride rat poison – just find out for yourself (you might read the recent EU judgement on the matter)! Pure water is a thing of the past in most places, and the modern industrial version they pump into your house is being rapidly privatised in a world where increasing scarcity means temporarily greater profits.

But not around here. We ‘greenies’ kept the forests around the upper catchments of this valley intact as we could, by standing up to the mighty bulldozers, implacable cops and standover merchants behind the curtain, who move their ignorant contractors and enforcers like pawns on a cutaway chessboard. We kept them from the rivers and the hills and from the ridges all around. Many of the rainbow warriors and earth defenders (derided as ‘dirty hippies’, ‘filthy ferals’, ‘stupid peasants’, ‘impressionable aborigines’ and ‘city greenies’) still do, every day - probably somewhere not far from where you’re sitting and reading at this very moment.

Out here in hippified swathes of countryside (that you probably haven’t seen or even heard of) we’re slowly witnessing the fruits of our labours turn greener and fresher, while the rest of the world turns a fecund planetary paradise into a toxic industrial wasteland under the tombstone catch-cries of ‘progress’ and ‘industriousness’. Most people won’t know the value of water until their own privatised well runs dry, and the taps finally deliver only grave dust from the desiccated heart of their vampirised Mother Earth.

Now witness the slow-motion apocalypse occurring before every punter’s dazed and overworked eyes – devastating changes are all happening in a geological eyeblink while we wander along, failing to notice the signs of impending demise, making a date with density.

The world is changing; it’s not just events which always occurred beyond our purview suddenly becoming apparent due to advances in modern communications. No. ’Fraid not. The writing’s on the wall, friend. Everybody knows.

There’s still time to discover your place in the real living world, away from the entrancing pneumatic throb of money and status. Find clean water. Plant a forest (but don’t build a house on the beach or under a volcano). Discover the true inner self you haven’t had time for. Become a snag in the mainstream – a sensitive new age guy, gent or girl, an eddy that slows the onrushing flow to the falls. Save the world. Save yourself. Love someone. Life is awaiting. Turn on. Tune in. Opt out together, today not tomorrow…

Start by clicking this screen that stands between you and the REAL world off – or not. The choice is up to you; red pill or blue?

- R.A.

Images - author’s

See the Ringwood Agreements

For further enlightenment see –

The Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com

The New Illuminati

( These sites are about to be closed along with ALL the free Geocities sites -

Save the World from RamPage

TimeSpace

RingWood )

(These sites have been locked by Today.com and this author no longer has access to his own blogs - Enlightenment Today

Imagine Nation – Artwork & Images )

The Prince of Centraxis

This material is published under Creative Commons Copyright – reproduction for non-profit use is permitted & encouraged, if you give attribution to the work & author - and please include a (preferably active) link to the original along with this notice. Feel free to make non-commercial hard (printed) or software copies or mirror sites - you never know how long something will stay glued to the web – but remember attribution! If you like what you see, please send a tiny donation or leave a comment – and thanks for reading this far…

From The Rainforest Home of the Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com