Year of the Tiger Snake

Totem Spirits Arrive With the New Lunar Year

“Hmm,” hums O’Grady. “Looks like we have a snake in the Pentagon.” As regular readers will probably know, the arrival of a serpent is hardly an unusual occurrence hereabouts. I drew my eyes from the screen and merely glanced at the muscular tail.

“Looks healthy,” I opined. A pointy length of scaly reptile protruded from a small pile of backpacks near the centre pole of this pentagonal wooden cabin. I saw vaguely familiar patterns on the slithering surface in the dim glow of ambient lighting, and assumed it was the usual local python in pursuit of some spry marsupial rat.

Astute readers will know what comes next from this missive’s title.

To paint a fuller picture, this was our first night with broadband out here in the remote wilds of the bush. Thanks to a deluge of pennies from Kevin (our wonderfully profligate newish Prime Monster from Parliament House, who has showered the land with recession-proofing offerings we’re not supposed to regard as bribes), a brand spanking new plastic satellite dish now adorns the Pentagon’s metal roof, fixed to its aging corrugated surface by a formfitting corrugated mount.

So I was slightly reluctant to inspect the snake more closely until it slithered away from O’Grady’s bare feet; in summer we usually get about barefoot out here in the wilds. The snake was only about a metre long. “Looks like a young one,” I opined. Expecting a large diamond-shaped head, I was surprised to see a tiny noggin emerge in the semi-darkness of the cabin’s subdued lighting as the snake slithered toward a dark corner. “Hang on…”

I climbed from the control seat and flicked on a lighter, leaning close in the flickering light to view the distinctive patterns adorning the slinky body. Tan-hued bands encircled the snake, whose colour was deepest brown. “…That’s not a python.” I leant upright and the lighter flickered off. “It’s a Tiger snake.”

We returned to our respective positions. The snake was perturbed by the presence of our big heavy primate bodies and slithered around the margins of the building, searching every crook and nanny. Sitting cross-legged on our chairs we watched the deadly critter dart around the Pentagon for the next few hours until it finally found the doorway and disappeared into the landscape.

It was New Moon – the dawn of the Year of the Tiger Snake.

Other serpents still abound. The next day I decided to take advantage of the blazing sunlight (I’d readjusted the Cloudbuster the day before, almightily sick and tired of the rain and clouds that protect us so well from the Sun’s full summer fury) and drove the Jackaroo Deva up to the partially constructed brick lodge on the hill. I had a surprise along the way.

The Jackaroo Deva has seen better days and has been put out to pasture to become a classic unregistered four wheel drive rural ‘paddockbasher’. It’s particularly handy for moving landslides of rocks from the choked riverbeds that have resulted from past mindless logging and clearing attempts in this steep rugged rainforest country.

The Jackaroo Deva needs some new tires and the gravel tracks are particularly slippery right now. The four cylinder beast became stuck on the steep slope leading to the lodge and I was about to jam on the brake when an unmistakable something - soft and dry and tentatively explorative - slithered across my ankles.

Of course I was driving barefoot. The two metre python was particularly thick and muscular and the vehicle’s vibrations were driving it batty – which is not quite as mad as a cut snake. I daren’t press down on the brake or clutch – I already had the accelerator halfway to the floor and knew the python wasn’t entwined round that pedal – so it was just as well the handbrake works so well. We’re sometimes reminded of the meaning of the term ‘emergency brake’, and this was one of those times.

When the snake slithered under my seat I slipped the car into reverse and coasted backward down the hill, over the creek, through a slight flood-created obstacle course and onto a sunny flat, where I climbed across to the passenger door (which, unlike the driver’s door, actually functions) and climbed out. A couple of minutes later the python followed me and slithered unerringly in the direction of home, half a kilometre away.

I left the car parked and climbed up the hill, watching every single step. As Koorie elders often say; “Every step on sacred land is a prayer.” When I was halfway up the mountain a thunderstorm roared in from the Lightning-Maker Mountain to the west and I was thoroughly drenched in a matter of moments. It can be disconcerting to see lightning flash and hear thunder boom below you - or on the level at which you’re standing barefoot on stony ground – so I hurried downhill a lot more rapidly than during the cautious ascent.

When I walked through the door of the Bales, sopping and dripping, a fresh sight greeted my sodden stare. A two metre length of freshly shed snakeskin flagged the place where I normally sit. Now it adorns the new gas-powered 4WD van, a scaly mascot swinging from the rear vision mirror. Photographic evidence will follow when Wonder Boy’s finished with the camera.

Time appears to roll on in a slow daily stroboscope…

-R.A.

Images - Author

For further enlightenment see –

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

The New Illuminati

The Prince of Centraxis

(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 )

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

Pythoness

Tales and tails of a hotter summer

When the two metre python sank its fangs into my leg it wasn’t the snake’s fault at all. The shy creature was born in the loft of the cabin and its ancestors have inhabited this spot for a hundred million years or more; I’m merely a latecomer. We’ve shared this cabin since the youngish serpent was born; her mother lived here for well over a decade, cleansing all barely accessible nooks and crannies of varmints and vermin.

This particular representative of the latest generation has a penchant for lurking by doorways with beady eyes gleaming and blue tongue flickering as she coils into a muscular spring in wait for her prey. When I pulled a stack of clothing from the laundry basket she flew out in a half awake state and landed on my leg teeth first.

It didn’t hurt much; a python’s teeth aren’t hollow, like those of poisonous snakes; they penetrate like fine glass needles instead of oversized hypodermic syringes. When the upper fangs hit the old shinbone, however, there was an instant of worrisome pain – until I managed to flick off the serpent by dancing around the small wooden room and kicking her into the air.

She was so shocked she didn’t move a millimetre until I exited the room. All in all, a much less challenging experience than being bitten by a black snake.^# I’ve been bitten thrice by pythons now, and this bite was delivered on the anniversary of my first encounter with the pointy end of one of these friendly constrictors.

A couple of days later I wended my way to the Emerald City in search of electronic equipment and family reunions. As we arrived on the city’s outskirts the smell of sulphur (brimstone to the biblically minded) was as overpowering as usual to these countrified nostrils, but after just a few minutes the noxious scent was virtually undetectable.

We zip along Highway One, paralleling the curving Pacific coastline of easterly Oz, returning home from the Big Smoke. Wonder Boy lolls in the back of the four wheel drive gas-powered van while Geo and eye speak over the radio in the front of the cabin. “From the perspective of Earth the sun eclipses the centre of the galaxy on the solstice in 2012,” I tell him. “That’s what all the fuss is about.”

“So do you think anything will happen as a result?”

“Maybe a solar flare. We’re due for a peak in flare activity then, and if we get another like the one that hit in the ’60s it might get interesting; that one knocked out a sizeable fraction of all the computers and satellites at the time…”

“And there are a hell of a lot more of them now.”

“Just so.”

“But you aren’t expecting the end of the world?”

“No – not unless we get a flare that’s absolutely ginormous – and aimed right at us, like in the movie Knowing. According to the ancients the eclipse of the galactic core results in us being cut off from necessary influences that we’re currently unaware of. The fact that we’re passing through the galactic plane seems far more important; that’s the sort of thing that could lead to a magnetic pole reversal, for instance. But the orb of the solar system’s progression through the plane of the ecliptic takes thirty-seven years, so the solstice in 2012 may not be the most important date to consider.”

We barrel along the freeway that cuts through fifty million years of clearly revealed rock strata, tilted at an angle of sixty degrees either side of the van; atop the rock, palm trees and rainforest mark the halfway point home. I change down on the steep ascent north of Buladelah. “And as it says in the Unholy Babble, ‘My time has been shortened’ and ‘No man may know the day of my coming – I come like a thief in the night’, so it may be unwise to believe any particular prediction for more reasons than one…”

“Do you want to play ‘I spy’?” chimes Wonder Boy.

“After I died I tried to think of some way to prove I was actually alive and not dreaming all this*,” I say with an expansive sweep that takes in the panoramic vista beyond Maya’s broad new wooden veranda.

“That’s so funny,” Wonder Boy’s mum says with a dimpling smile. “A woman would never look at it that way.”

“Fair enough. But it’s a fair question, surely; how can you know you’re actually alive?”

“Rene Descartes,” supplies Geo. We both turn to face him. “ ‘I ask the question and so I am’.”

“Indeed,” say I, “and ‘I think therefore I am’. But cogito ergo sum doesn’t mean it isn’t all a dream.”

Billowing cumulus towers progress past the mouth of the valley in stately procession, receding into a pink and mauve fractal fantasia that gradually fades into infinity over the eastern horizon. Maya’s smile broadens as her eyes wander through the extraordinary living landscape of the paradisaical subtropical valley. “But what’s the difference?” she asks. “It’s all the same, isn’t it?”

“Exactly. You know how the Bardo realms are?”

“In what way?”

“If enough personalities accrete into a particular astral realm after death, the plane they all share can seem as real as this,” I declare with a rap on the hardwood frame of a comfortably cushioned chair. Maya and Geo both nod; the trio of kids sits glued to the twelve volt laptop screen, watching Milo and Otis. “And so what’s all this, but a consensual dream of trillions of dreaming minds - a billion species living in a multitude of different shapes and differently shaped minds and sense organs, all overlapping to weave a consensual reality out of mindstuff? The more minds combine to create it, the more congealed it becomes…”

“And again, what does it matter if it’s all a dream?” repeats Maya. “It’s all alive either way – all equally real and valid. What difference does it make?”

“Alive, but asleep and dreaming reality; not awake. All imbued with consciousness, but not necessarily conscious.”

“Not enlightened, you mean.”

“It’s a question to ask the Buddha, I guess; how can you ever really know you’re alive - unless you’re enlightened?”

“So do you know you’re alive?”

“It took a while, but I found a couple of ways to prove it to my satisfaction.”

It’s Bunya Nut year; the trees usually bear their lethally massive cones only once every three years, and this is the triennial year of their fulsome bounty. We stare at the Bunya pine outside the Pentagon, trying to ascertain how many giant pinecones are still on the tree.

The Bunya’s branches grow in a perfect spiral, conforming to an aspect of the Golden Mean. I continue an interrupted conversation with Geo and O’Grady:

“Hyperspatial fields slow down by a factor of the speed of light and rotate into this three (or four) dimensional timespace as energy; in the solar system this energy manifests as bands of potential which roughly conform to Bode’s law - the harmonic spacing of the planetary orbits.

“Energy slows by a factor of the speed of light and rotates into our timespace as matter – the material bodies of the planets rolling around their orbits.”

“Did those probes ever reach the edge of the…” O’Grady shakes his head. “What do you call it…”

“The heliosphere?” I suggest.

“That’s it – the heliosphere, the solar bubble.”

“Apparently they did. And the boundary of the heliosphere acts as one node in the standing wave of the solar system while the Sun is the other – the vibrating structure of the underlying fields wouldn’t maintain themselves without a boundary.”

“A standing wave needs two nodes to oscillate between,” O’Grady nods in agreement.

“So the Sun can be visualised as a hollow sphere of energy vibrating in the centre of an elliptical swimming pool and the planetary orbits are standing waves whose scales and structures depend on the vibration rate and the shape and size of the pool.”

“But what sustains the vibration?” O’Grady’s no fool.

“Hyperspatial conduits that light all the suns; the Sun’s vibration occurs in sympathetic resonance with all the other suns and solar bubbles. The planets are solid material but the Sun is a ball of energy because it occupies the unitary position in the centre of the system; it rotates around its central axis and never quite achieves materiality, while the further planetary orbits are stretched through swathes of timespace.”

Now the northerly cyclones are breaking apart and the rains are coming to the subtropics again; there’s little need to reset the cloudbuster. While I was away in the city there were a few changes. A thirty foot bus decked out in electric kool aid-emulating paintwork has been taken away after three years under the widowmaker gum trees – and someone smashed a hole in the leaky weir that keeps the swimming hole nice and deep; now I have another few boulders to shift back upstream, against the current.

Time appears to flow onward…

- R. A.

# See Creator, Judge or Architect?

* See Shaman of Centraxis 4 – To Infinity and Beyond

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

Where the Wild Things Are

Living in a Pair o’ Dice

This week Japanese Nashi pears, blood plums and Chinese Grumichama berries are ripe in the orchard and on trees I’ve scattered around this remote little valley. Peaches and mulberries are finishing off, along with the last of the purpleberries (flannel flower berries), tropical apples and mulberries. Passionfruits, feijoas and guavas are ripening alongside native blueberries and indigenous, giant (and potentially lethal) Bunya pinecones and wild Smilex blueberry grapes. The year is a cyclic clock of rainbow flowers, fruits, berries and nuts.

This hermetically sealed hermit dwells in a subtropical paradise, but few could manage to live with themselves or each other in this extraordinary place. Fewer still would live here as I do. Very few do, in fact; less all the time of late. As land costs more and more, different, usually older breeds buy the titular deeds. They seem to have less time, patience and room for experimenters or experimentation in alternative lifestyles. Many want to remake the world into a misconceived vision of the destructive rural yesteryears of their distant childhoods. Despite all apparent recent gains and transformations of global consciousness, few can see the forest for the monetary value of ‘their’ trees.

Most would-be settlers last only a few months, regardless of the quality of their dwelling or quantity of land they inhabit; a couple of years at best. Not many people can live with themselves, it seems.

Maybe it’s the water. The lack of fluoridated town water may be partly responsible; new chums are suddenly bereft of the ubiquitous rat poison tranquiliser that’s inserted into most people’s drinking water and are newly filled with unbridled energy and suddenly unsuppressed sundering passions.

Either way, those who would live in an isolate paradise find we must face all we’ve suppressed for much of our lives, and finally deal with the things we’ve ‘put off until later’. Out here, that ‘later time’ when fears or memories, failures or inadequacies must be faced has finally arrived. You can’t avoid yourself any longer by ploys of endless distraction or blame-making. Life is 24/7 and the human mind is a relentless inquirer.

Tonight a large serpent slumbers an arm’s length above my head while echo-sounding microbats wheel round my bed, emitting charming little clicks as they devour their prey. The rare endangered fliers weave acrobatically, snaffling insects which might otherwise sup on my blood or keep me awake with their buzzing. The tiny endangered bats’ relatively huge ears inhabit the place where eye sockets would be on other mammals, resting just above their furry cheeks where displaced beady eyes glitter in candlelit darkness.

Like all the insect-eating frogs and toads hereabouts, they’re much more convenient to maintain than mosquito nets. Some people actually spray poison on their skins to achieve the same effect, so depleted are their habitats.

The non-venomous python drives poisonous snakes away and eats vermin that crave my food. If you get too drunk in the bush a rat or ratite marsupial might nibble your earlobe or other body parts without waking you; I’ve seen it happen in protest action camps where we blockaded loggers out of the last of the last untouched forests. I try never to get quite that out of it, and usually succeed.

Some dangerous morons poison the entire landscape (and their own food or water and all the pythons, eagles and other scavengers and predators) in a vain attempt to be rid of so-called indigenous vermin. But if you keep food from the wee animals’ reach they’ll generally avoid you like the plague, along with all the animals which doggedly pursue them.

Spiders scuttle through webs that infest the corners of my windows and the cornice of the rooms. They consume flies and other insects more swiftly and surely than electrified bug zappers. Whenever some well-intentioned soul ‘cleans’ them from the windows a dozen huge flies are buzzing about within a few minutes, and it takes months for the webbery to be completely rebuilt and functional again. The spiders around here never bother humans; in these parts they’re only toxic to insects and certain small animals.

On wetter days I’ll often be pulling the black wormlike bodies of leeches from my skin – usually (but not always) before they painlessly pierce the surface and inject blood thinners and cleansers that remove fatty deposits from my veins; they’re not truly parasites, but symbiotes, and they never swim in the pristine river where fish and frogs eagerly devour them.

On drier days I discard the only true local parasites – bloodsucking cattle ticks (actually small bloodsucking arachnids) that attempt to drink my juicy essences. They’re only a problem if you’re so out of it you fail to notice their presence for days; like many insects, they have no way to get rid of their wastes but to regurgitate them – into your bloodstream – and that’s the source and cause of their infamous debilitating poison. I hardly ever see them unless escaped domestic cattle have recently wandered through.

All these animals have lived here for many millions of years; we’re all visiting latecomers in their natural realm. They are the living world while we are their privileged guests. And as a local Aboriginal elder has oft remarked, the bloodsuckers out here are nowhere near as bad as the two legged variety in town.

It’s polite to retain long fingernails out here in the real world; it’s also polite to scratch any itch. Long hair protects you from heat and cold. Most body heat is radiated (and lost) from our great big brains, which can also be broiled by direct summer sunlight. Here in the subtropics mad dogs and Englishmen go out in summer noonday sun; the mild winters are a different story.

Uninspiring Aspiration

Though I aspire and attempt less every week – growing closer to the Tao all the timeless time as I gradually become part of the landscape - I nonetheless continue to achieve and maintain, build and retain the delineaments of a human life with many of its attendant works and chattels.

Yet all one builds or keeps requires more work to maintain, sustain and inevitably elaborate, enslaving all creators to work and their works. This journal is no exception, but it’s easier to maintain than most intellectual pursuits or artistic elaborations.

I care little what the putative morrow may bring. In truth there’s no tomorrow, nor even a yesterday. The passage of time is an illusion engendered in primates evolved to suit a spinning globe and a slow stroboscope of light and dark. In reality there is no yesterday, today or tomorrow. Above and beyond planet Earth there’s no night or day, but light all the time.

The only ‘dangerous wildlife’ out here in the wilds of eastern Oz are introduced runaway dogs, which range in size from terriers to Irish wolfhounds. Animals fear me less all the time; being a vegetarian I don’t reek of rotting corpses and they recognise a fellow harmless beast in me. I talk and listen to them when they reply or make declarations in their usually silent manner. But a pack of ‘domestic’ and/or abandoned dogs on the prowl can tear you to pieces if you can’t escape in time; they’re actually wolves, folks – the selfsame species that interbreeds with each other, themselves - and if you stop feeding ‘man’s best friend’ with the bodies of innocent dead animals they’ll probably eat your babies when your back is turned.

Each week the illusory clock of the year yields different fruits. In most seasons I walk unshod on holy ground so every step is a prayer (as the same Aboriginal elder oft maintains). This is true for a number of reasons, obvious and otherwise.

Living with life is total immersion - the opposite of avoiding real visceral living, hiding from each other behind mazed walls of cities and indoctrinated insectile minds. Paradise is for people who aren’t afraid of themselves; as Frank Herbert said, ‘fear is the mind killer’. If we let fear rule us it also kills body and spirit, and the intricate living body of the planet.

Rejoice! This is the best of all possible worlds and will continue to be so if we can only let it be.

Turn on. TUNE IN. Opt out.

- R. A.

Images - author’s

See Also - Wild Life

(but be aware – this site contains implicit and explicit concepts and imagery)

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

Solon, the notable ancient wise man of Athens, travelled to the Nile delta two and a half millennia ago to visit the Temple of Sais. He intended to ask the priests there a question which would settle a bet he’d made with a few friends; was there merely one Great Flood, or two? Was the Deluge of Deucalion identical to the Flood of Ogyges – apparently separate events that were both recorded by separate tribes of ancient Greeks - or were there truly two separate Great Floods? *

The priests of Sais (who were reputed to maintain a library of texts containing information going back 50,000 years) replied that the Greeks were a very young and childlike people whose forebears had often been reduced to such barbarism they had no way of recording or passing down the truth of events which had destroyed their (and all other) previous civilizations.

They informed Solon (an uncle of Plato, who recorded his tale for our edification) that the world had been devastated by convulsions of water and fire on at least four occasions, to their knowledge. As one might expect, when the planetary catastrophe was brought about by the element of water, all who inhabited the lowlands were exterminated and many living at higher altitudes survived; on the other hand, when fire from heaven destroys the world the high places are totally consumed.

Many theories have been advanced over the last century or two to explain these grand destructive cycles. Durning the first decades of the 1900s it was a widely recognised and discussed fact that the distribution of ice during the last Ice Age indicated that the planet’s axis had tilted some twenty degrees since the Holocene began. Such planetary tilts are clearly recorded and described in the ancient annals and legends of many peoples, including the Greeks, the Chinese, Egyptians, Australian Aborigines, Amerind tribes and the Vedas of ancient India, to name a few. Instantly frozen mammoths and the sudden extinction of a plethora of species are vividly obvious instances of the devastation that occurred.

Luminaries including Einstein regularly corresponded with now widely vilified visionary mavericks such as Immanuel Velikovsky and Charles Hapgood, attempting to discover what could have possibly caused the Earth to experience such a massive event. Collisions with planetary neighbours or disastrous near misses, cyclic wobbling caused by uneven icecap distribution and a number of other theories competed to provide an explanation for the catastrophic tilting of the globe..

After that time other ideas surfaced, including the notions of Hamaker and Weaver in the 1970s – which, briefly outlined, claim Ice Ages occur when available minerals in soils and continental shelves have been so thoroughly depleted and locked up that all the forests of the world burst into flame in a planetary conflagration, due to the suffocation of bacterial growth that provides nutrients for plants. Soil acidification increases throughout the warm times, binding up minerals and rendering them inaccessible to bacteria and all the lifeforms that depend on this essential base of the planetary food chain.

The collapse of myriad coastal shellfish stocks (whose shells are made of calcium carbonate), which are also primary drivers that maintain stable atmospheric CO2 levels, are another result of mineral depletion and acidification of the oceans due to increased levels of carbon dioxide. The Earth’s biologically stabilised state thus regularly collapses into a new paradigm, and ice ages subsequently grind mountains to dust over tens of millennia, providing freshly mineralised alkaline soils for the next burst of growth in the next interglacial era.

A singular advantage of this hypothesis is that if demineralisation is truly the cause of cyclic ice ages (and not merely a symptom), humans can alter this grand cycle by remineralising soils and coastal fringes, thereby holding off the coming glaciation. All it would take is the widespread application of huge amounts of crushed rock, pulverised to a very fine dust, into coastal regions and watersheds. This would regenerate soil bacteria, vegetation and shellfish and fix vast amounts of CO2 into soils and seabeds.

Whether Hamaker’s theories explain the nature of glacial cycles or not, they provide clean green solutions to many of our dilemmas without the need for last-ditch recourses such as widely promoted and largely discredited technical fixes, like dumping toxic pollutants into the oceans and atmosphere in irresponsible experiments that will almost certainly fail to mediate global chemistry and temperature in beneficial ways.

Another less comforting theory is outlined in The Serpent at the End of Precession,+ which states that the vast cycles of glaciation are a result of polar flips and earth tilts and occur whenever the solar system passes through the galactic plane, at roughly 700,000 year intervals. The entire solar system is a huge gyroscopic structure and grand climatic cycles can quite easily be (ice) sheeted home to an even greater and inexorable galactic cycle.

The Earth is not the only planet currently experiencing the effects of climate chaos; a second Great Red Spot has recently formed on the planet Jupiter and the icecaps of Mars have been retreating at accelerated rates, amongst a raft of other observed changes. These changes indicate what we’ve always known – that the Sun is the primary driver of all weather in the solar system.

Does this mean that the current preponderance of greenhouse gases in Earth’s atmosphere is not a result of human activity, or that whatever we attempt to avert destruction our civilisation is foredoomed to annihilation? Not at all. CO2 is the least of our problems; we’re continuing to pump hundreds of thousands of lethal and toxic compounds into our air, water and soils at a suicidal rate. We already face potential sterilisation and species extinction without recourse to solar activity or grand galactic cycles.

Our chronic pollution of the world’s ecosystems (and our children’s bodies and minds) has to cease soon – preferably yesterday - and global commitments to clean up our act are an historic first step to accepting our responsibilities as the climax predator on the planet. It’s time to realise that we’ve become a virtual collective deity. It’s time to adopt truly adult sensibilities and virtues, and work for something far greater than endless acquisition of material goods and comforts at the expense of our very lives.

It’s tempting to believe that spewing never ending amounts of carbon dioxide into the air might be a way of staving off the next glaciation, but it’s actually more likely that doing so will result in even more rapidly catastrophic change. Our weather systems are already chaotic and all our food crops are already likely to wither in the present regime of randomly changing rainfall patterns, shrinking rivers and increasing temperature.

Global heating may be the very mechanism that brings about ice ages; sea level rise places catastrophic strain on precariously balanced tectonic systems and can easily lead to massive earthquake activity and the concomitant vulcanism that instigates enduring global winters. Our entire biosphere exists in a delicate state of (dis)equilibrium and as scientists have pointed out since the 1980s, humankind is engaged in an unprecedented and potentially irreversible experiment with the extraordinarily thin membrane of Earth’s atmospheric envelope.

Humans have achieved a stage where we are now in a position to moderate the cosmic cycles which have prevailed in the past. Just as life is the antitheses of entropy, consciousness is the prime cause, creator and governor of all material effects. This commonplace of quantum mechanics is still largely misunderstood and disbelieved, but it’s the truth nonetheless; mind not only affects matter, it patterns every material substance and event.

The universe bears only a superficial resemblance to all the images we hold of it, and all the ideas we’ve been routinely taught to explain its form and existence are provisional at best and at worst dangerously wrong-headed. The same is true of widespread beliefs about the inalterability of human nature and the potential of your mind to alter and create events in the manifest world. Long-running and replicated experiments have demonstrated not only that human beings (and life in general) routinely alter the odds in their favour, but that it’s possible to alter solar activity with a careful application of collective will.

Believe it or not, you aren’t a mortal animal inhabiting a finite universe at all, but an immortal being patterning your existence in an infinite holographic multiverse. We each have an infinite number of realities to choose from and experience and the world is made of mindstuff. Everything you do, say and think is significant in ways most domesticated primates can scarcely imagine. What were you thinking an hour ago, or ten minutes ago? If you’re not aware of your thoughts how can you possibly note their effects?

What kind of world would you like to live in? We all have the choice of inhabiting blind cycles that follow historical precedent like clockwork, or to recreate the prevailing patterns into an entirely different future – and change human nature itself. Either way, if you want to survive and thrive it’s vitally necessary examine your mind, heart, deepest motivations and very soul - utterly transforming your reality by examining all your hopes and fears, and changing them into viable conscious tools of evolution. Evolution isn’t over. The human race is not yet run. Enlightenment and survival require not just transformation, but complete metamorphosis!

The future is in your hands. Live long and prosper; turn on, tune in, OPT OUT! Together we can create a far better millennium than life on Earth has yet experienced…

- R.A

PS – I’ll be having a party in 2013 and you’re all invited!

* See Plato’s Timaeus and Critias

+ See The Serpent at the End of Precession

For Mind Over Matter see http://newilluminati.blog-city.com/global_consciousness_project_1.htm

or http://enlightenment.today.com/2009/09/12/global-consciousness-project-trans-humanity-awakening-to-reality/

Images - author’s

For further enlightenment see –

The New Illuminati

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

(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

A New Paradigm

Transforming the Planet Is a Change of Heart

It’s hard to realise how utterly different daily life in modern nations has become compared to the existence of our forebears. Who can say what’s been lost amidst all that’s been gained? Many promising babes have been thrown out along with the wasted bathwater of the past.

It can be difficult to discern which aspects of human nature have been thoroughly transformed and which have been simply disguised beneath fashionably chameleonic costumes and momentary mores. Many apparently wilful acts are actually repetitive reiterations of instinctual behaviour. Fundamental change can easily evade control or prediction.

Commonplace notions and behaviour that seemed utterly normal in times past are often thoroughly forgotten or completely proscribed. Blood sports and bloodletting, mercury tooth fillings, poisonous coal gas pumped into citizens’ homes, workhouses for the poor and the apparently ‘natural order’ which routinely subordinated women and ignored children’s needs are anathema to advanced societies. We’ve left much behind in the infancy and childhood of our species but if we’re wise and fortunate we still have a great deal of growth and evolution ahead of us, doubtless accompanied by the usual requisite growing pains.

Our race is not yet run. Many things we take for granted will be completely swept away and replaced in less than a single human lifespan. Whether we keep the baby or the toxic bathwater of our industrious leavings is entirely up to us; we can’t have it both ways.

Throughout virtually all of human history slavery was regarded by almost everyone as a normal state of affairs. Populations reared in the primate pecking order of feudal societies were indoctrinated to believe in a ‘natural order’ of sexes, classes and castes and to regularly pay obeisance to distant faceless overlords and the tin-pot graven gods devised to authorise their totalitarian rules. Even when enough technical and ethical progression had occurred to make slavery both an uneconomical and undesirable proposition, freeing the most benighted enslaved underclass of humankind required centuries of argument, conflict, bargaining and travail.

Centuries of struggle and public education were necessary to make the bleeding obvious a recognised fact; that all men and women are born (not created, friends, but self-created) equal and deserve the same rights, freedoms and responsibilities as everyone else - unless they prove by destructive actions that they’re incapable of living in free and just societies. Centuries of struggle have resulted in the recognition of a few prime requisites of egalitarian cultures; the recognition of an individual’s sovereign rights to habeas corpus (to own their bodies and live freely without fear of unjust imprisonment), robust democratic traditions, freedom of speech and an unfettered media, an independent judiciary, electoral oversight, fair and equally apportioned rights and responsibilities and the freedom to pursue one’s dreams, ’ere they harm none.

It’s always suited ‘great leaders’, captains of industry, monarchic dynasties and their coterie of privileged servants, relatives and hangers-on to keep the far greater majority of humankind time-poor, ignorant, insecure and helpless. Endless work was required to maintain the lifestyles to which these robber barons were accustomed and to fulfil their dynastic fantasies, so the poor were informed that they were expected to work until they died. They were told that ‘idle hands do the devil’s work’ and ‘there’s always a place for you in the army’.

We applaud the advances of the last two centuries, but still have a long way to go before true equality and freedom can become the norm. It isn’t a matter of technology or ability; all the tools and treasures we require are lying at our feet, hidden in plain sight. It’s a question of perception, wisdom and will.

In this day and age, working almost all your life away to secure the basic necessities and a few little luxuries is lauded as a valuable and necessary ethic. In fact, we’ve already reached the point where everyone on the planet could easily be provided free housing, food, clean water, health care, education, refrigeration, transportation, information, communication and energy – if only we’d give up war and stop paying all our time and imaginary money to weaponsmiths and their bankers, so they can hold a war-stained sword of Damocles over all our heads.

Utopia? Why not?

It would be relatively easy for everyone on earth to be provided with a basic payment or guaranteed wage that would provide us all with the requisite leeway to spend our only true asset – our precious time on planet Earth – more fruitfully and wisely. Those who seek more can always work harder than is healthy for them if they so desire. Most taxes, visible and otherwise, go not toward schools, hospitals and public welfare but into refinancing imaginary debt. Almost all the rest are wasted on war.

There’s plenty in the pot, but a lazy crazy few hold all the cards. Universal welfare is not a dirty word or some socialist plot; it’s easily available now, if we wake up and seize the day. Scarcity is an artefact of profligate waste, empty-headed ingrained competitiveness and carefully inculcated moral and technological delusions. If he heal and nurture the planet that spawned us abundance will be our reward.

Despite all our advances and advantages wage slavery is still the norm, regarded as a fair and ‘natural’ order by just about everyone. But technical and ethical progress has reached the stage where endless, pointless drudgery is no longer necessary, and certainly undesirable. In an age when everyone is expected to work full time to keep up with an endless mechanised rat race treadmill and children are farmed out to day ‘care’ in their parents’ absence, it’s easy to see that mindlessly active hands, not idle ones, are the true agents of mayhem, loneliness, madness and destruction on planet Earth. Idle hands have time for recreation, regeneration and true creation – time and space to write, build, paint, maintain, plant, repair, play, enjoy and make love.

Further progress or evolution can’t be achieved within today’s politically daft power-oriented pseudo-system of monetarism – a regime that not only throws out the baby with the bathwater but eats its own children and spits out intractable toxic waste. Neither capitalists, communists, monarchists, nor any adherents to other tried and untrue isms hold the keys to our future. Yet whatever we choose to do with our lives and time, a brave new world will be built on the foundations of the paranoid old one. Change isn’t coming; it’s already here, unstoppably unavoidable, and it’s time to open our hearts and minds and recycle our destructive tools and toys into braver, better implements. How we proceed is up to all of us all; it isn’t up to the self-blinding beurocrats and timeservers who currently run the uninspiring show for the amusement of today’s unseen overlords. It’s a question of what we each choose to do with our time.

How will caste-ridden control freaks with edifice complexes continue to suppress and divert that which they fear the most – the wilful nature of fundamentally uncontrollable yet thoroughly likeable humankind – when everyone realises that the emperor has no clothes? Abundant sources of power and techniques to harness endless free energy have been ruthlessly suppressed for more than a century. How can you sell free energy? How can you meter freedom? How can the masses be allowed flying vehicles, making all notional national borders redundant? Abundant free energy makes a totally new paradigm possible; inevitable!

There will always be those who believe unlimited power also makes possible an unmatched potential for total control and complete oversight of every earthly deed, word and even thought. Some insecure people just can’t let go of limited power and will cling to it ruthlessly, even if they must maim and blind everyone in the process of hiding the unlimited sources of energy all around and inside us. If you’re a worker, you’re probably working for one of these perpetual malefactors - contributing to their stockpile of destructive power, while receiving only indigestible promissory notes that have no intrinsic value in return.

Free energy is the lynchpin that makes anything possible. When most work in today’s world is actually measured in joules, not women-hours, we can all be free to work or play at whatever we like. No-one needs to struggle for supremacy in a needlessly competitive dog-eat-dog world any more. In fact, clinging to the superannuated failing patterns of our ancestors in a nuclear era is a lethal proposition.

Today’s purblind leaders won’t easily give up their kingdoms and satrapies on the quarantined prison planet we’ve built for them; they’re terrified of humans, after all. But even a world emperor can’t hold back the tide or moderate the output of the Sun. They’re things we can only do for ourselves and together; believe it or not, such things are not only possible but well within our grasp as a species. Anything is possible when we’re finally ready and willing to leave the playpen and take our place as wise collective governors of Planet Earth.

A great philosopher of the last century* formulated a basic plan for human advancement and evolution - SMI²LE; Space Migration, Intelligence Increase and Life Extension. This is what it will take to reach the next plateau of being for humankind, but we have to let go of our childish toys and transform our partial notions of who and what we really are. Wise friends are waiting to help us; not gods who demand prayer or prostration, but our very selves dwelling in more advanced forms.

One day most of us – even the otherwise praiseworthy Dalai Llama - will even come to see that the unnecessary slaughter of sentient beings for the purpose of consuming their corpses is unnecessary, unsustainable, unhealthy and positively demonic. Death reeks and breeds death and it’s also a very bad look. The enslavement of other beings takes many, many forms, and in all slave societies the masters also live in an all-encompassing prison where freedoms are negligible and compassion is rare. If we can’t recognise sentience and the intrinsic right to life amongst our fellow travellers on Spaceship Earth, how can we recognise it elsewhere – or even in ourselves?

The future we face is a revolution of human hearts and minds; a rekindling of the light within. Unlike information and temporal loyalty, knowledge or love can’t be bought or sold, nor even given; they’re an experience. Don’t put it off. Jump off the treadmill. Live your dreams today, in the gift of the present. We live on a beautiful world and there’s plenty of real work to do and joys to experience while we’re repairing all the damage we and our ancestors have done. It’s been a long party, but no-one gets to really SMI²LE until the mess has been cleaned up.

Turn on. Tune in. Opt out! We can only create paradise for all if we’re together, man…

- R.A.

Images - author’s

Thanks to Robert Altmann for always keeping the inspiring light burning on the hill for this and other fools

See Free Energy

See Basic Income - An End to Poverty

* Timothy Leary

For further enlightenment see –

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

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

(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

Private Fantasies

Owning Land is a License to Create or Destroy

I move more slowly these days, when I climb the high hills often referred to by locals as mountains. I carry more weight; more muscle than ever I had in my skinny youth and a little less fat. I often scale cliff faces with a fifty pound pack on my back; sometimes it’s only thirty. I cart water to nurture young plants and trees, and regularly carry the trees up mountains. Most seeds can’t make it up there by themselves, and almost all the seed trees have been killed for money, or in fiery holocausts.

It’s astonishing to discover how steep are the precipitous slopes and precipices from which previous generations ‘won’ the wood, tumbling trunks all the way down cliffs into valleys below, smashing the canopies that once harboured a plethora of endangered species to flinders. Purblind pioneers often razed the forests without using the timber, at the behest of expansionist governments presiding in the name of a distant urban crown, who forced them to ‘clear’ the land or lose it. Dumb old habits die hard.

This week the trees offer up a bounty of apples, sweet and sour Brazilian cherries and trunk-borne purple Jaboticaba berries, all eminently suited to growth in this (currently) subtropical paradise. I have plenty to eat and it’s all organic. I plant more trees each week of all descriptions while my neighbours cut ‘theirs’ down to repay distant banks borrowed money that bankers have summoned from thinning air. Land ‘owners’ are even allowed to cut down whole forests in the upper catchments of rare pristine waterways, robbing all those downstream of water – because yes, trees bring rain, and they hold the water and temperature in place. Trees are tall standing cylinders of cool water, after all; just try leaning against one (preferably one with smooth, thin bark that doesn’t act as too much of an insulator) on a hot steamy day.

The seedlings I plant today will take thirty years before they begin to aid in stabilising the atmosphere, and the trees all those others cut down are between sixty and two hundred years of age. There are ten tree cutters for every tree planter and it takes about five minutes to fell one with a chainsaw. You do the math. It isn’t comforting.

In this crazy world people can do what they like on ‘their private’ land. There’s really no oversight at all. If I want a quick fix of cash all I need do is lay waste to the land, and it would take more than most human lifetimes before it recovered, if ever. I can even break most of the laws that apparently stand in protection of Mother Earth, that supposedly protect your forests, animals, rivers and soils; they’re never enforced unless a specific allegation is made against the perpetrator, and often not even then. Out here there are few to hear when a tree falls in the forest and all the perps have relatives in government or relevant ‘protective’ agencies, including the police and fire brigades.

The government agencies cry poor, saying they don’t have enough resources or personnel to investigate breaches of the law at their own behest – and yet I can simply look at Google Earth any old time and witness the despoliation of the fragile planet that nurtured us all. The agencies apparently live on some other planet, where the internet hasn’t yet been invented. This is, after all, an ‘advanced’ nation, not a cash-strapped and resource-rich ‘developing’ country. But we’re all living under the whip of Mammon (the deity of money) and historically, Mammon was an eater of children; a demon god to whom the future was sacrificed.

Inscribed around the Temple of Australia - on the site where the ex-penal colony was proclaimed a nation in 1901 – are the following words; ‘Mammon or Millennial Eden’; Mammon OR paradise forever. How appropriate. A lesson for the entire prison planet.

The media blathers on about how most farmers, graziers, miners and landholders are now ‘doing the right thing’, now that we all know better than our ignorant forebears. But the truth is that less than five percent of landholders aren’t actively destroying the earth and cutting off the branch from which they themselves depend. The truth is that most rural people are usually even more hidebound, ill-educated and downright stupid than their urban counterparts and if you try to tell them what to do on ‘their’ land they’ll burn you out, beat up your children or perhaps even shoot you. There are plenty of ways to disappear a person in the wild woods of paradise, and rednecks are the only ones who’ve hung onto their guns after recent reforms – hung onto them like grim death. We all know what happens to most whistleblowers.

This is Realpolitik, folks. This is life as she is actually lived, not the comforting fiction appearing in your daily papers and nightly news. Almost all the hippies and planet savers have been run off the land or gone quietly to ground. There’s precious little counterculture left to speak of. Younger people are dazzled by bright lights and big cities even more than they ever were, and the ‘back to the land’ and ‘down to earth’ movements of brave young people have been replaced by conservative waves of retiree ‘tree changers’, most of whom view trees as just another form of superannuation.

Hardly anyone can see the forest for the trees.

There’s little point complaining to authorities if you live out here (though I do, and am). If you call the police for most purposes, including threats to life and liberty, they’ll literally take days to appear – unless they stand to make an earn out of busting you, or threatening to in exchange for something or other. I won’t elaborate. If you call government agencies whose jobs are supposedly designed to protect forests, soils and rivers you’ll find they’re all out to lunch, or attending a meeting of some committee; same thing, really. They must be held to account, even more so than the ignorant bumpkins they’re meant to be overseeing.

And this is a ‘developed’ country. A literally decimated country, where not one original tree in ten still stands after two centuries of ‘self regulating’ progress and industrialisation. A wilfully blind nation of hypocritical television viewers who have no time for anything less important that servicing their whims and voting for the most convincing liar once every few years. Usually less than ten percent vote ‘green’, but that percentage is surely rising now that dust clouds are covering city peoples’ houses, cars and lungs with blown away soil lofting from ‘self regulated’ farms and the prices of tapwater, electricity and waste ‘disposal’ are rising. And this is an advanced democracy, unlike most totally corrupt regimes around the planet.

I’ve been attacked many times, in many interesting and mundane ways, but I persevere. I endure. I have a pretty good time. I live in paradise. I’m not complaining on my own behalf. If you want people like me to keep planting trees then YOU can just open up Google Earth yourself and take a close look at the many sites of despoliation beyond the termite towers hives of civilization. If trees are being felled (i.e. you can see a clearing) in upper river catchments or on steep hillsides, if there are no thick stands of forest by a river or stream, if cattle are grazing right up to the banks - then the law is being broken, right now, today, and all our efforts to save the planet will be in vain. And someone is making a shitload of money at your expense, if that’s a thought that will spur you to action.

You don’t have to get up out of your chair (though it’s a good idea. There are many places in need of protestors on the ground and inactivity will eventually kill you). Just look, simply witness, and then pick up the phone and complain to the relevant agency. Or try to – I assure that you almost certainly will be given the runaround by people who just want to collect their wage and go home. The names of the agencies vary from nation to nation and state to state, but they all work for you – if you make them do the job we’re all paying them for. They’re all in the phone book, and all on the internet.

Don’t bother to try and protect coastal areas (and whatever you do, don’t move to them). It’s a waste of time and precious resources; they’re all simply doomed already. If you have some money then buy some land and keep it out of the hands of the Earth rapists. In most cases you don’t have to do anything with it to ensure it grows healthy except leave it alone. If you’re smart you’ll find some way to improve its chances without meddling it to death.

Very few places are pristine any more. There are very few virgin forests. There’s very little drinkable water, too, so be warned; if you want to live on the land you need a permanent running waterway that you can drink. Bores and dams will not suffice, but only make things worse in the long run. Plant not just trees, but whole diverse forests.

There are people who are doing the right thing and they all need a hand. Living in paradise is a wonderfully dirty job, but someone has to do it. If not you, who? If not now, when? If not here, where? And other pointless aphorisms. After all’s said and done, there isn’t enough room for you all right now, except where you’re already living. The infrastructure will never be built and if you try doing it yourself you’d better know what you’re doing or you’ll simply trash another precious part of paradise.

But there’s room for you, the person who’s bothered to read this far. You don’t even need money; just good will and will. Friends are waiting, if you’re a friend of the Earth. It’s fun. If you’re really tied to where you are or what you’re doing, turn to Google Earth and then pick up the phone. Send some emails and demand a reply. That’s all it takes. Make a difference!

Today the east coast of Oz is covered in another horrendous dust cloud – irreplaceable lifegiving soil blown from the destroyed self-regulated farmlands at the dying centre of a desiccating continent - and everyone burdened by cardiac or respiratory ailments is advised to imprison themselves indoors; as should everyone else who prizes their health, under the hideous circumstances. In this great prison planet the inmates lock themselves in their cells, avoiding reality.

But be not afraid. It’s not too late to save the world and ourselves. With a modicum of hope and a whole lot of well placed work we can still live on a pleasant green planet populated by the wise and canny weavers of a glorious future – humankind’s true destiny, if we can only seize the day.

Now you’ll have to excuse me. The unprecedented high temperatures and pervasive dust cloud have driven away all our much needed November rain. The wind is rising, and I can smell smoke.

Turn on. Tune in. Opt out.

- R.A.

Images - author’s

For further enlightenment see –

The Ringwood Agreements – How to Live in Paradise (without destroying it)

The New Illuminati

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

(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

The King of the World

An Inbred Lunatic Who Fears All Others

How could it come to this? What an extraordinary mess. A nation founded by refugees fleeing an extreme modern example of racial genocide becomes an egregious country led by intolerant bigots who enact policies driven by hatred, malice and racism.

This nation isn’t the USA, though that country would have fitted all these criteria a short time in the past. Many countries in much of today’s essentially feudal world could easily fit the bill, but Israel is a particularly puzzling and depressing case.

If you’re interested in how this mess(iah) really came to pass it’s necessary to accept that, as British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli once claimed, the world is run by very different people than those you might think – and they aren’t simply some relatively lone bunch of Zionist Jews, but powerbrokers whose apparent genealogies extend way into the mists of time, far beyond even those of the twelve tribes of Israel who fled Egypt amidst a largely forgotten global calamity.

Believe it or not, the real questions the hidden rulers had to consider in formulating their plan of global control and dominance have been followed to the letter of their lore. You’ll be surprisingly familiar with much of their beliefs, as they have been enshrined ad ingrained into many of the regional lies that serve as the world’s religions. If you’re interested in knowing the strange truths behind the distracting masks of reported events, try and put yourself in the position of those who dwell at the capstone of humanity’s city state pyramidal hive societies. The salient questions they’ve had to consider:

How can we rebuild the Temple of Solomon upon Temple Mount in Jerusalem, the site of the Dome of the Rock – one of the holiest sites of Islam – without precipitating events we cannot control?

And how can we rebuild the Temple of Solomon without first ensuring that the Jews of the world return to the Holy Land now known as Palestine, as they are the only people who can possibly rebuild the temple, with or without the missing Hiram - the Master who held the hidden keys necessary to complete the edifice, well known in Masonic doctrine and to all scholars of the Old Testament?

How can we resolve an apparently insoluble paradox? How can the Messiah (Redeemer) – the King of the World, who will appear at the end time of Armageddon, as we the masters of Earth avow - return to be crowned if God has banned the Jews from returning to the Holy Land until after the Redeemer has already returned, or from even speaking the Hebrew language outside their temples?

How can we engineer events to bring about what we require and expect, to fulfil that which has been prophesied? We have centuries in which to further our plans.

We shall arrange for the wandering exiled tribes of the Hebrews to be persecuted and decimated for many generations, and ultimately drive the survivors back to the Holy Land to recreate the nation of Israel against Jehovah’s ancient edict. The Jewe (JHVH) has long provided an excellent front man and scapegoat for us. We shall fund, create and nurture a group of racially motivated sociopathic genetic purists for the express purpose of thinning their ranks, rounding them up and instilling abject terror in the survivors. Marching under a crooked cross and following one of our own well-trained recruits, blunt-headed warriors will do the job for us, enacting a new reiteration of the Jews’ past tortures under the hobnailed heels of Babylon and Rome.

Many survivors will scurry for their ancestral lands at last, and rise up on their hind legs to defend themselves against all comers.

We shall then have to subdue and defang the nations of Islam, that the Moslems will not be a threat to our Divine Plan when we threaten the Dome of the Rock that they have erected upon the Temple’s tear-drenched foundation stones. The terrorised Jewe will create a beachhead from which we shall take charge of the strategically vital lucrative treasure stored in the sands of the once Fertile Crescent. This hoard of laid-down wealth will ensure our global control and ultimate victory, and when it has fulfilled its purpose and been expended so will be the troublesome Jewe.

The beginnings of an apparently endless war for peace will serve to distract the people of Earth from the radical changes wrought on the biosphere by events we have long known will come to pass and have long prepared for, storing away more than enough wealth against the day when we and our chosen serfs will retreat into inviolable safe havens. Our filthy dark mills will spew forth industrious toxic wastes that will help to precipitate foreseen events and ensure the certainty of a climatic calamity according to our preferred timetable.

True freedom is free for the taking, but the price of terror is eternal vigilance. Fear is the mind killer that will trick whole populations into obedient compliance. Fear stops knowledge and freedom stone cold in their tracks. We shall ensure we hold the world by the scruff of the neck and shake it until it writhes in terror and our plans will continue amidst the babbling confusion, so that we can finally create an empire of such changeless stability and ultimate control as the world has never known.

Capital may then be caput, yet we shall remain the heads of the families and control the new Capitol. One of our several heads will wear the crown. If, like the last European Kings of Jerusalem in the past Millennial Crusade, I am a potentate who claims direct lineage from the Sangreal, the holy blood of Joshua the Nazorite and his Bride Miriam Magdalene (though my line has been carefully falsified and is truly very different, descending from other realms entirely), I can proclaim I possess the age-old and carefully instilled Divine Right of Kings to rule over all comers. If I want to be crowned King of the World – Rex Mundi – then, by all the tenets in which I (and my brethren) have invested our trust through the aeon, the only place fit for my coronation is the rebuilt Temple on the Mount.

Mistaken for the Prince of Peace by everyone who simply wishes to be left to enjoy their lives or lies in peace, I shall become the triumphant sovereign lord of all my far-flung relatives who hold power at the summit of their regional principalities. I shall not arrive bearing the crook and flail of a shepherding pharaoh who breeds fat dumb sheep, but a blood drenched sword and radioactive munitions to forever poison the lands and offspring of any goats who dare to rise up or rebel. I shall ensure that all is rendered unto Caesar.

And all the while I shall be looking over my shoulder after my cousins, lest they find me in the Forum during the Ides of March. I intend to take all of them with me – and you, too, my cousin.

- Rex

Oh yes, friends, this plan has been progressing for a very long time, and some think it’s about to reach final fruition. If you find all this ridiculously hard to believe (as will any truly rational and sceptical person) examine the fables that have been used to control and indoctrinate much of purblind humankind for millennia more closely, and ask yourself, ‘why’? Examine the bedamned so-called Protocols of the Elders with an eye to seeing who really wrote them.

But as angels most commonly advise, ‘fear not’ - because fear is what Rex always feeds on. All truth can be found within, and knowing your self is the way to enlightenment. This world is Paradise, and if we can only grow up fast enough, examine our real motives and needs and open our minds and hearts we can help the planet and ourselves blossom into something extraordinary – a fertile blue-green world filled with myriad creatures protected by a wiser Humanity.

We are all one great family and every one is everyone. We can still make this the best of all possible worlds and become our own Saviour Redeemers, each and all.

See you there.

- R.A.

Jews raise millions to be ready for coming of the Messiah

by JASON KOUTSOUKIS

Sydney Morning Herald Correspondent

November 14, 2009

Ready … Yehuda Glick, the director of the Temple Institute, holds a sacred vessel specially made for the Messiah’s coming. Photo: Gali Tibbon

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JERUSALEM: Yehuda Glick is a 44-year-old American-born Jew who spends most of every day preparing for the arrival of the Messiah in Jerusalem.

Since he became the executive director of the Temple Institute, Mr Glick’s main task has been to supervise the manufacture of the utensils the high priests will need when the day arrives.

Crowns and other instruments made of solid gold fill glass cases in the Temple Institute museum in Jerusalem’s Old City.

Other artefacts include an array of copper urns, trumpets made of silver and garments to be worn by the High Priest, woven from golden thread.

Musical instruments, including hand-made harps and lyres, lie ready to be brought to life upon the Messiah’s appearance.

So, when can we expect this momentous event?

”That is a very good question,” Mr Glick told the Herald.

”All that we know is that we are now living in the age of miracles and all of those miracles are predicted in the Book as happening on the eve of the end of days. It could well be tomorrow, but it might be another 100 years, or even 400 years.”

We were in the Quarter Cafe in the Jewish sector of Jerusalem’s Old City, high on an embankment that overlooks the most contested religious site on Earth.

Jews call it the Temple Mount, or Mount Moriah, and believe it to be the site of the Foundation Stone, the Holy of Holies from where God gathered the dust to create Adam.

Muslims call it Haram al-Sharif, or the Noble Sanctuary, and believe it to be the third-holiest site in Islam, from where the prophet Muhammad ascended to heaven.

To Jews the Temple Mount is also the site of the first temple built by King Solomon. After it was destroyed, a second temple was built about 500BC, and stood for 500 years before the Romans destroyed it. Their religion holds that a third temple will be built upon the arrival of the Messiah.

”That is why we have engaged two architects,” Mr Glick said. ”It will be a modern building, with car parks and elevators, but it will look very much like the Second Temple.”

The Temple Institute museum contains a large-scale model of what the Third Temple will look like, with its main building set to reach a height of 60 metres.

Today, the Temple Mount is dominated by the al-Aqsa Mosque and the gold-topped Dome of the Rock.

”Al-Aqsa can stay,” Mr Glick said, pointing to the mosque. ”It’s not even on the Temple Mount proper. But we intend to just build over the Dome of the Rock. We might be able to find a way to include it in the Third Temple.”

Mr Glick envisages a house of prayer open to all believers in the monotheistic faiths, Christians, Muslims or Jews.

The Temple Institute has become a fixture on American evangelical tours of Israel. Thanks largely to their donations, it has so far spent $US27 million ($29 million) on preparations.

”We started with $US100,” Mr Glick said. ”There are 70 million evangelical Christians around the world, and most of them have become Israel’s strongest supporters.”

Ordinarily, Israel prevents Jews from visiting the Temple Mount. It so sensitive an area that when the then Israeli opposition leader Ariel Sharon visited, accompanied by hundreds of Israeli riot police, in 2000, it sparked a wave of violence that came to be known as the second intifada, or uprising.

”This ‘Temple Institute’ is a right-wing extremist movement interested in nothing more than provocation,” said Khatem Abdel Kaber, the Palestinian Authority minister in charge of Jerusalem affairs. ”We will vigorously defend our right to manage this site. No amount of insulting behaviour from these people will succeed in removing us.”

From http://www.smh.com.au/world/jews-raise-millions-to-be-ready-for-coming-of-the-messiah-20091113-ieqk.html

Additional Images - http://www.unicorngarden.com/pennington/index.htm

For further enlightenment see –

The New Illuminati

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

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

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

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

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