I recently had an epiphany of sorts from a movie my daughter, who likes to catch people in awkward positions, made for me concerning last years trip to the beach.
First of all, I must say that even at the age of 75 I ignore the mirror and see myself as being muscle packed and fearless . . . probably always will. The truth, though, is a far different story. I have arterial sclerosis and a whole slew of other stuff I stubbornly ignore.
The other day after watching the candid camera kid’s movie I was mesmerized by the old man I observed in the movie. I know of course it was me, but I had/still have a problem reconciling that image with my own.
I am not that doddering old man, nor will I ever become him because now I am convinced without a doubt I am something or someone entirely different than any kind of physical presence real or imagined. I, the REAL me, am not at all a physical being, I merely present myself as one out of necessity.
So in the real world, though I am an old man physically, I am still a youngster at heart . . . and when that old physical body returns to dust I, the youngster, shall remain. I’m not sure how, or what form I will be in . . . (although I see no heaven or hell in my future) I KNOW I will remain vibrant in some form or another.
Anyway I saw this video and that’s the thought that came to mind. Because I have always been a bit like Dustin I have to wonder how many wonderful people I have passed by because they didn’t meet my physical/social/economic criteria. . . . far too many, I am sure. . . and our physical presence is the least aspect of who we are, it’s a shame that for most of us that’s all we ever see.
When I was a kid I never had a family I was very proud of . . . but when I got older I DID . . . .
Why is it one group sees the cop at Ferguson a killer while the other group sees him as being justified? What causes black people across the country to think and act like they do? They don’t know whether the young man was shot charging the cop or whether he had his hands up any more than I do . . . and yet they are convinced beyond a doubt that the kid was murdered. How can two people look at the same thing and come up with an entirely different viewpoint from that same evidence?
Distrust and disrespect . . .
The black man has been raised on a foundation of distrust and disrespect ever since the days the white man stole him out of his homeland and brought him to these America’s in the hold of a ship. He has been beaten down ever since.
In todays world various civil rights laws help him a bit, but I don’t see the foundation shifting or changing beneath his feet all that much. . . especially since the white corporate bosses packed up their factory jobs and left them, as well as the poor and middle class whites, holding an empty bag. If I were black . . . angry would be my middle name.
But I’m not black. My foundation’s entirely different than my black brothers foundation is . . . therefore I see a lot of things differently than they do. And in some cases I bought the white man’s con far easier than they would have.
I grew up in an all white lower class neighborhood. I don’t remember ever being around black kids, but basically, mostly because of our elders, us white kids didn’t like the blacks. I rarely ever saw one during my school years unless he was on the opposing football team.
In the early sixties I went into the military where I was forced to integrate and train with blacks. Once overseas we spent a large part of our time in the bush living in very close proximity to one another. We shared the same sleeping spots, ate the same rations, sweated and bitched about the same things.
I quickly found that in spite of my negative teaching, and though it was the rioting sixties, these guys were a lot of fun to hang out with. We were a small unit and quickly became like brothers.
Because of this experience I am no longer a racist. I have found many times I have far more in common with a lot of the “different” races of people than I have with those of my own race. Whites are so uptight they make me nervous. Get together with white guys and all they talk about are their portfolios and bank accounts and watching sports. I long for some of the good old time jaw jacking I used to get from the blacks.
Personally I would rather spend all my time amongst ALL the races, maybe have dinner one night with a black athlete and a Vietnamese artist and an Arab poet. (leave the religions out though cause I’m way sick of that stuff). Wouldn’t that be a lively evening? Wouldn’t that open a whole plethora of really interesting conversation?
I understand why the races distrust us . . . and why they think as they do. This thing at Ferguson has very little to do with the rule of law and a whole lot to do with perception based upon experience. I believe the actual incident is a secondary issue to all that.
So what are we going to do about it? Pass some more laws? Stand up and clap when race baiters like Al Sharpton come to town? Get all worked up and riot and ultimately settle back to the ‘same old shit different day’ routine in life we always do?
How about we ALL work on these distrust issues? . . . and these disrespect issues? . . . and bring back the jobs and balance the scales a bit before we judge each other. Nothing changes until we do.
Trust has no color . . . respect has no color . . . money does though . . . and those high white Wall Street/Politico war mongers who own it all? Now there’s a race of folks I truly DON’T trust . . . nor have any respect for.
Introducing . . . the happy . . . lively . . . downbeat beautifully neat! . . . Carolina Chocolate Drops!! . . . . .
The other day my daughter was telling me about a yoga friend of hers who is a professional astrologer, teacher and writer. I asked her to get me a reading while he was in town and (of course), she forgot and I didn’t get my reading.
Anyway, who among us that lived during the hippie days didn’t know their sign? . . . or that usually when meeting a chick the first question you asked was, “what’s your sign?” Continue reading
If there is any it will come from the children . . .
UPDATE: I have gotten so many hits on this tiny house that I have decided to draw up some computer plans along with a materials list for anybody that wants to download them (probably from my other site . . . http://crowswatch.com/ )
If anybody is interested in purchasing the download for about 5.00 bucks let me know and I will make a decision pro or con depending on the interest level. (Hard prints would be more of course, but I don’t see why anybody would need a set as this house is pretty simple to build.)
I built the structure for about 600.00 but I used left over materials from my main house to frame it and planned for an outhouse or a sawdust toilet as well as an outside cooking area similar to one I once had in Alaska. It will cost much more in real money depending on how fancy you need to have it as to electric/plumbing, etc. . . as well as being within code.
I am not personally big on all the amenities in a small dwelling as they take up way too much room and these places IMO are basically either for camping or a SHTF situation.
A lot is being said about tiny houses these days so I thought I would show everybody mine. It’s right around 200 sq’. Total cost to build for me was about 600.00. One or two could live in it, but one would be ideal. This will be our home when the SHTF . . .
We were sitting at the rented beach house one evening last week when my daughter, out of the blue, asks, “Dad, tell me about when you were in the military.”
“Ummm, no, how about I tell you about the hippie days, that was much more interesting.”
She kept pressing about the army. . . I kept himhawing around. My attempt to find a funny story or two fell short. I just wanted to change the subject.
At 72 I am so detached from the kid who loved the rush of jumping out of planes and blowing shit up that I find it all kinda embarrassing . . . and for a certainty I did nothing that I am particularly proud of.
Chris Hedges was a war correspondent for something like 15 years. He knows war like most never will and he defines it better than anybody I’ve ever read.
He wrote a book entitled War Is A Force That Gives Us Meaning . . . the following is taken from this highly recommended read about the false glory and the bullshit of war.
Let me have a war, says I: It exceeds peace as far as day
Does night; it’s spritely, waking, audible, full of vent.
Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy, mull’d deaf, sleepy,
Insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war is a
Destroyer of men.
(exerpt from Chapter Four)
The myth of war entices us with the allure of heroism. But the images of war handed to us, even when they are graphic, leave out the one essential element of war- fear. There is, until the actual moment of confrontation, no cost to imaginary glory. The visual and audio effects of films, the battlefield descriptions in books, make the experience appear real. In fact the experience is sterile. We are safe. We do not smell rotting flesh, hear the cries of agony, or see before us blood and entrails seeping out of bodies. We view, from a distance, the rush, the excitement, but feel none of the awful gut wrenching anxiety and humiliation that come with mortal danger. It takes the experience of fear and the chaos of battle, the deafening and disturbing noise, to wake us up, to make us realize that we are not who we imagined we were, that war as displayed by the entertainment industry might, in most cases, as well be ballet. But even with this I have seen soldiers in war try to recreate the fiction of war, especially when a television camera is around to record the attempted heroics. The result is usually pathetic.
The prospect of war is exciting. Many young men, schooled in the notion that war is the ultimate definition of manhood, that only in war will they be tested and proven, that they can discover their worth as human beings in battle, willingly join the great enterprise. The admiration of the crowd, the high-blown rhetoric, the chance to achieve the glory of the previous generation, the idea of nobility beckon us forward. And people, ironically, enjoy righteous indignation and an object upon which to unleash their anger. War usually starts with collective euphoria.
It is all the more startling that such fantasy is believed, given the impersonal slaughter of modern industrial warfare. I saw high explosives fired from huge distances in the Gulf war reduce battalions of Iraqis to scattered corpses. Iraqi soldiers were nothing more on the screens of sophisticated artillery pieces than little dots scurrying around like ants – that is, until they were blasted away. Bombers dumped tons of iron fragmentation bombs on them. Our tanks, which could outdistance their Soviet -built counterparts, blew iraqi armored units to a standstill. Helicopters hovered above units like angels of death in the sky. Here there was no pillage, no warlords, no collapse of unit discipline, but the cold and brutal efficiency of industrial warfare waged by well – trained and highly organized professional soldiers. It was a potent reminder why most European states and America live in such opulence and determine the fate of so many others. We equip and train the most efficient killers on the planet.
But even in the new age of warfare we cling to to the outdated notion of the single hero able to carry out daring feats of courage on the battlefield. Such heroism is about as relevant as mounting bayonet or cavalry charges. But peddling the myth of heroism is essential, maybe even more so now, to entice soldiers into war. Men in modern warefare are in service to technology. Many combat veterans never actually see the people they are firing at nor those firing at them, and this is true even in low – insurgencies.
To be sure, soldiers who kill innocents pay a tremendous personal emotional and spiritual price. But within the universe of total war, equipped with weapons that can kill hundreds or thousands of people in seconds, soldiers only have time to reflect later.
By then these soldiers often have been discarded, left as broken men in a civilian society that does not understand them and does not want to understand them.
The other day I went into a shoe store to buy a pair of running shoes. I found a pair of Reebok’s and bought them after I saw that they were made in Vietnam. All I could think was how I wanted to give some business to the people we were so stupid to start a war with in the first place. We sent 50 + thousand of our kids to their death over there . . . for what? Now we are friends and trading partners (something that Ho Chi Minh wanted in the first place) I STILL don’t get it . . .
Who are these homeless people anyways? Folks down on their luck who have just fallen through the cracks? Drunken bums? Drug addicts? Criminals? What does the rank and file in this empty faced army consist of? Do we even care? . . . or do we just want these losers to disappear from our streets so we don’t have to look at them.
As I see it the only difference between ‘us and them’ is that the homeless, for whatever reason, lost all their stuff. Therefore since we judge one anothers worth by the amount of stuff we possess, these people are deemed worthless.
This ‘haves and have nots’ attitude is so screwed up on so many levels that it is hard to even write about it. The changes it will take to actually create the society we love to brag about are almost insurmountable . . . but not quite.
Many years ago in this country we were snookered into believing that a monkey dressed in a three piece suit was no longer a monkey. Even if he had lied and cheated, even if he had killed to get that suit, it didn’t matter as much as the fact he possessed it.
Today we have a corporate owned government in this country filled with psychopaths and charlatans every bit as evil as the homeless thugs who enjoy strong arming other homeless persons as they sleep under a bridge. The only difference between the two classes of thugs is that the official has learned to cloak himself in respectability and hide in plain sight while his brother hunkers in the shadows. We need to break the spell . . . we need to wake up and get our priorities in order.
I got out of the military sometime in the mid 60’s, came home to the States and got a factory job right away. In those days hundreds of men physically manned the steel mills that ran three shifts 24/7. A large majority of these guys were black. It wasn’t too many years later that computerized machines were introduced into the factories and a steady shrinking of the work force began.
The black communities were hit very hard. Unable to find work the men lost their pride, they became drunks and druggies in order to cope. Many lost their family ties and ended up living in the streets. The army of the homeless began to grow in size.
Many soldiers came home from the war with PTSD and problems that drove them into the streets. The army of the homeless was strengthened. They say 30% of today’s homeless are veterans.
A 1985 report from Los Angeles estimated that 30% to 50% of homeless persons were seriously mentally ill. The study concluded that this was in part the product of the deinstitutionalization movement….The streets had become the asylums of the 80s.
So, basically we have three main reasons for homelessness: Loss of employment, veterans and their PTSD, the release of mentally ill through the deinstitutionalization movement. There are many others . . . and the army of the hopeless grows.
Today there are countless numbers of people who, although they are fine at the moment, are living off credit and only a couple days away from the streets themselves. It’s scary in America these days and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better.
You know, you’d think this country, especially since the corporate takeover at least, would begin to realize that coming up with a solution to the homeless problem would be GOOD for business. Remember what happened to the rich and powerful in Russia’s Bolshevik revolution? (see Dr. Zhivago)
Globalization may not be a bad thing, but just dumping our citizenry overboard for cheap off country labor and a higher profit margin to the corporation is so short sighted that I have to wonder just how intelligent the CEO actually is. As is, when he/she takes the podium I’m having a hard time seeing nothing but Cheeta in a three piece suit.
“There are thousands and thousands of people out there leading lives of quiet, screaming desperation, where they work long, hard hours at jobs they hate to enable them to buy things they don’t need to impress people they don’t like.”
― Nigel Marsh
My first acid trip
Many things have been written about the late sixties, some say if you were really there you wouldn’t remember them, but I was there and I remember.
The decade between 1965 and 1975 was a pivotal point in the history of our nation. The horror of Vietnam, and getting caught red handed in one monumental lie after another had placed our government center stage on everybody’s shit list. By the Fall of 1973 when ‘tricky Dick’ Nixon spouted his now famous one liner on TV concerning Watergate, “I am not a crook.” nobody believed him. He WAS a crook, as well as a liar when he promised to end the war and instead broadened it into Cambodia. He was a dick all right . . . a dickHEAD.
Many of us young folks, after realizing we were being ripped off, broke ties with the establishment and dedicated ourselves to the Utopian dream of peace and love instead of war and hate. For some of us, this was heavy, happy stuff, tantamount to be being born again.
Me? Fresh out of the military and a short, but brutal marriage, I would say I was more escape and evade than peace and love. More aggressive than giving. More . . . ahhh who knows? whatever I was, all I really wanted was another drink.
In 1968 I rolled across the high desert of eastern Oregon into Portland seeking only one thing . . . a place to hide.
The flower child craze was in full bloom on the West Coast by then and Portland seemed to be a mecca. I had a hard time keeping my meandering eye on the road as I gawked at one brightly dressed hippie after another loitering on her streets. One thing for sure, there was a lot going on in this town that looked like fun. And fun was something I desperately needed after leaving the misery of Ohio.
Once I found the bridge across the Willamette River and made my way to the SW section I cruised around Portland State University until I spotted a neon sign signifying that I’d found My Place Tavern. This was the bar where I was supposed to meet Tom Yoho, an old friend from high school who’d left home months before I had.
Going sunlight to bar light, I stepped inside the door and allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I began noticing people. Some were hunched over the bar chatting while drinking their beers. Others were lounging around the three pool tables lining the center of the room with cue sticks in their hands. This joint might look the same, but it didn’t have the foreboding of an Ohio bar. The mixed crowd of people actually seemed to be having a good time.
I found a spot at the bar, ordered a beer from the pretty barmaid and began to relax. Looking . . . I found a payphone in the corner of the room and called Tom.
A short time later the door opened and through the stab of light Tom sauntered in. I barely recognized him. His hair had grown to his shoulders and he was all decked out like some kind of court jester trapped in a time warp. My tough guy, hoodlum friend had gone full bore counter culture.
“Sid!” (everybody called me Sid in those days) He seemed very happy to see me. “Wow, man, how you doing? Far out! Man, I’m glad to see you!” I wasn’t used to the Wow! stuff. Every other word out of his mouth was some sort of an exclamation point. Wow . . . Far out . . . Cool . . . Tom had learned a whole new strange, colorful, exuberant language. I was taken aback, but destined to soon mimic this funny hippie language and wear it like a badge of honor.
We drank a few beers and caught up on old times for a while. The talk then turned to the new society and the drugs that gave it life. I listened intently as Tom expounded on the wonders of pot and LSD.
I’d vowed earlier to never take drugs because of the bad rap they had been given, but Tom assured me it was all a lie and that ten thousand hippies couldn’t be wrong. It wasn’t long till my resolve withered away and we were off to the local park in search of some purple Ozzly acid and a trip to his promised fantasy land. So much for my resolve.
This park wasn’t the normal ‘green grass and ducks in the pond’ kind of place either. This park, packed shoulder to shoulder with people, was a virtual marketplace of buyers and sellers of illegal drugs.
Guys walked up and down the paths hawking their particular products like hot dog vendors at a baseball game. Pot, acid, and a variety of uppers and downers that probably out did the local pharmacy in variety, were only a few bucks away.
We found a guy selling Purple Ozzly’s and bought two hits. We went back to the tavern, took a booth in the corner, popped the pills and waited for something to happen. The unknown had always been my favorite haunt and I was ready for the experience. . . It didn’t take long in coming.
My eyes went first. I lost focus and started picking up flashes of pure color in the corners. Then my ears began buzzing and I heard snapping and popping noises. Solid began to melt, shimmer and move. Nothing stood still except time itself. Seconds, minutes, later even hours were no different. I was caught in a wild, crazy time warp. The yellow brick road and the mad hatter . . . were real.
There was a large poster of a semi-naked female hanging on the melted wall behind the pool table. The girl’s exposed belly button had become a large black tunnel, and like a giant vacuum it began sucking the contents out of the room while she smiled back at me.
“Wow, man. Check it out.”
“Ohhhh, shit! The walls are melting.”
Tom was lost in his own trip. We were both high, but not on the same page. There are no pages on an acid trip. Everything happens at once. Instead of picking and choosing certain thoughts and emotions for consideration, a whole bucket of sensual stimuli is dumped on your brain at once. You have no time to sort them out.
If you don’t just go with the flow, you’re in for a very hard evening. There are no markers along the acid trip trail . . . and getting lost begins the proverbial bad trip. I wanted to laugh . . . or maybe cry. I couldn’t figure it all out so I ignored everything completely and went back to mesmerizing on the girls belly button.
The room was breathing. The people in it moved about in slow motion, their voices mingling to become one huge rush of wind. I couldn’t understand any of it and thought about losing control, but realized that although everything I considered normal had changed I was still behind the driving wheel. I began to relax and enjoy the trip.
I glance over at Tom who was pointing towards the door and saying something I couldn’t hear. I got up and followed him out of the safety of the room into the night.
Outside, the first thing I noticed was the brightness of the street lights. A car came by and slowly turned at the corner. Only instead of doing a normal turn the car actually bent around the corner like a worm. . . WOW!
We headed down the street. Noise came from every direction, snaps, bangs, whistle, crunch, pop . . . you name it.
“Let’s go in this bar,” Tom said. “You have to see this.”
We entered the narrow low lit beer joint. An ancient wooden bar traveled the extent of the entire right side. On the left were a couple empty tables and chairs. There were some guys sitting at the bar and a nondescript barmaid tending them.
“Take a look at this guys face.”
As if on cue, the first guy at the bar slowly turned and looked at us. He had the puffy, unhealthy face of an alcoholic. I could read it. The despair . . . the sadness . . . layer after layer of pent-up, burned up, emotion.
I felt his sadness to my soul. His face told a story that he probably never read . . . or denied it if he had. His rheumy, alcohol numbed eyes stared sightless into mine. No one said a word. I turned and walked out onto the safety of the street.
Tom caught up. “That’s what alcohol does to you, man. Can you dig it?”
Oh, boy did I ever. I had prior experience with booze and had been close to becoming a drunk myself. My ex-wife was a drunk. Lots of my friends were drunks. That acid induced encounter affected me so deeply that I have rarely taken a drink since. The guy at that bar was as close to being in hell as I had yet, in my young life, seen. . . and I had seen a lot of hellish life.
Later, we were walking around the neighborhood when some really cool chicks yelled down to us from their third floor apartment window. “Hey! . .. you guys wanna party?”
They buzzed us up and we sex, drugs, and rock and rolled with them till dawn. I loved this town!
Half way through the night I remember sitting on a window sill with my legs dangling out. There was no fear as I looked down . . . and no depth perception either. It seemed very reasonable to me that I could just step out into the night on the sidewalk below and walk on down the street.
Later I heard stories of suicides where kids had gotten high and jumped out of windows. I doubt they wanted to kill themselves though, they probably never realized how high they were and just thought it would be cool to step down onto the street or something like that.
Acid is dangerous in an open setting. It is not a party drug, but more of an inward searching kind of thing best taken in the safety of a controlled environment among friends. In the right environment it could be an amazing, mind blowing experience. One I had taken many times. In the wrong environment the horrors of Hell await. I have never had a bad trip, but I HAVE stayed up all night cradling a female friend in my arms while talking her down.
Personally, I have never been the same since that first trip, nor do I feel I’ve caused myself any harm mentally. I feel more like I was born again that night to an awareness and possibilities that I previously never even thought about.
I gave up being the tough guy I never really was anyway, and began to delve into a softer, hidden side of my psyche. I began to think of playing music, painting and writing poetry. . . even more important I began to shun the expected norms and started to look within myself for the answer. I began to realize my power.
Lastly . . . acid is a mind expanding phenomena. Although I can’t speak for others, because I have lost a few good friends along the psychedelic highway, I can say for myself . . . it was a great trip.
A bit crass . . . a bit simplistic . . . but I have been from there to here and I gotta say . . . “The dirty fucking hippies were RIGHT!” . . . sort of . . . in a way . . . but . . . Oh, what the hell it WAS a time of GREAT fun! . . . for me anyways.
In the beginning of our search for land, my wife and I decided to wait for it to come to us. (it works) One day while talking with a shopper at our small woodworking shop, she told me about a place her dad was thinking of selling. I called him on the phone, went on down to the area to check it out, and bought the land that same day for a very good price without any Real Estate involvement. It was all very easy and to this day we have few regrets. The work was hard, the hours long, but in the end we created a pretty nice place for ourselves.
That was us, but what about you? What are your desires when it comes to housing? Where and how do you want to live? What can you afford? Following are a few different ways to live if you are young and really don’t want to go it alone like we did.
Let’s look at eco villages . . . (wikipedia)
Ecovillages are intentional communities whose goal is to become more socially, economically and ecologically sustainable. Most range from a population of 50 to 150 individuals, although some are smaller, and larger ecovillages of up to 2,000 individuals exist as networks of smaller subcommunities.
With the increasing evidence of human-initiated climate change, people throughout the world are coming together to try to reduce their carbon footprint. Groups are trying to move away from the dependence of fossil fuels and consumerist practices. There is a focus on producing and consuming locally, forging meaningful relationships and living as sustainably as possible. Many initiatives are encouraged, such as reducing energy use, creating sustainable local businesses, localizing farming and creating environmentally minded communities.
There are many different dimensions of Ecovillages that need to be examined. For instance, building a positive community is integral to the workings of an Ecovillage. As these groups are quite small, members need to feel empowered, included and comfortable speaking and sharing ideas. As well, cultural and spiritual practices are encouraged, such as an understanding of the interconnectedness of the earth.
Ecologically, Ecovillages allow people to be connected to the earth. Members respect their environment as it provides them with the majority of their sustenance. Villages seek to grow the bulk of their food organically, use local materials for their buildings, protect biodiversity and growing seasons and protect local water, soil and air.
The majority of the practices undertaken by Ecovillages aim to take care of the land. Ecovillages demonstrate a unique economic dimension, as many seek to keep money within the community and circulating between members. Income is often generated through the retail sale of their products and services and recycled to improve everyone in the community.
I believe the ecovillage will be the way of the future and for now the best possible way to break clear of the corporation that runs our lives. Were I younger this is where I would be looking . . . though I WOULD advise anybody searching for a better lifestyle to take a good hard and careful look at this way of life.
You will be dealing close up and personal with people in these communities, and you are practically guaranteed to find a few that you absolutely cannot stand, that is the way of the beast no matter what you do.
You must not go into these housing situations wearing blinders, yet if the fundamental goals of your neighbors are the same as yours, you will learn the art of give and take and become a better person because of it. I see nothing, but win, win, for everybody involved in these eco vilages.
I would also recommend all religious groups be avoided, as well as political ones for obvious reasons. I lived on a commune close up with about 50 people once. IMO it was a wonderful experience except for the fact it was Christian based. I loved the people, but . . . .
Following are links to a few prospects that I found very interesting:
http://www.maitreyaecovillage.org This place is just outside Eugene Oregon (oregon is a beautiful place to live in so many ways)
http://columbiaecovillage.org This is a pretty cool urban community in NE Portland Ore. I lived in Portland during the hippie days . . . loved it!
http://www.earthaven.org This place in North Carolina looks very promising . . .
http://www.findhorn.org Findhorn in England has been around a long time . . .
http://www.aaev.net/ For our Australian friends . . . looks promising . . .
Anyways there are whole LOT of these villages springing up all over the planet. Research diligently, choose wisely, and have yourself a piece of the New Earth . . . NOW!
According to his wife, Dan was a quiet unassuming guy like many of us are . . . UNTIL he got the message! This is how the largest movement in the world is coming into being . . .
A true sense of community is one of inclusion, common purpose, and safety. I had never truly experienced this sense of community until late last year when I joined a community group.
In our society we are schooled in fear from early childhood. The news paints a picture of a horrifying world at our doorstep. So we lock our doors and rarely even speak to our neighbours. We disconnect from the people around us. It’s not that we don’t care about them, we are just scared.
I think that this lack of community creates such isolation, a feeling of being so alone. Which when confronted with problems such as climate change makes it seem like such a hopeless task.
Here enters Community Groups!
The buzz of excitement, the enthusiasm, the motivation! When you get a group of like minded people together anything is achievable!!!
It terms of climate change the…
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Most of us realize that because of their money, power and influence the corporation has taken over Washington politics by buying off pretty much all of the people we have sent there to be OUR spokesmen. We know on a basic level that the whole idea of this country being a constitutional republic is now a sham. We know that the new United Corporate State Of America has replaced any semblance of a nation once touted as a country ‘of the people and by the people’.
Today in this country we people are enslaved to the monied interest as deeply as the young black working a plantation in 1816 was enslaved to his master. The difference is that we weren’t shanghaied into it like he was, we have been captured by our own greedy and corruptible natures.
Today, our massa teaches us the naturalist is a wacko and the wealthy people like the Koch brothers, are demi gods and we buy his bullshit. We honor them and their money so much that many go to bed at night praying to be just like them. In doing so we are just as sick as the asshole politician who sits in his hallowed office postulating upon the state of the union according to corporate doctrine.
We need to bust out. We need to break the bonds that hold us down. We need to fight back.
Today, when we choose to fight the corporation we meet them on a battlefield of THEIR choosing. We attempt to fight money with money and that won’t work because we will always have less of it then they will. Add the fact that they pretty much own the media we choose to fight through into the equation, and you can see why it is so difficult to defeat them.
We cannot meet them head on, they are too powerful, too wealthy, too connected . . . we may as well be pissing into the wind. If we want to defeat this enemy we must use gorilla warfare techniques on them.
Following is a short conversation in my comment section I had with another blogger from Australia: http://discoveringreallife.com/
me . . . “our great problem here in the States is that from day 1 we have been taught the ways of subduing and conquering the earth . . . now we realize we should be caretakers . . . but the question is “How can we, as a unit, make the change?” in numbers large enough to break the bondage we are in?
She . . . “It’s not just the States – Australia’s no different. We really look up to your great nation and so we’re busy conquering earth too. That’s the right thing to do, that’s progress! Change needs to occur from the bottom up. Someone told me the other day that the critical mass for change was 10% of the population, so in my town of approx. 200,000 residents, I need to help awaken 20,000 people. A little daunting (quite a lot of zeros still!) but hopefully not impossible. Those 20,000 will be the tipping point for the remaining 90%. Now my town isn’t quite 10% of our state, but our state is more than 10% of Australia… Anyway – you get the picture!”
So are there 10% of the residents in our city, town or village that believe as we do? I’d say yes, and maybe even HELL YES! . . . we have many more than that.
When I was a kid in the projects there was always a bully. Everybody knew who he was and everybody respected him though he rarely deserved it. He would push and brow beat the other kids when he felt like it, but most of the time he would pick on kids he knew he could easily lick.
He didn’t want to lose any fights because he knew that if he lost just one battle, the facade of invincibility he had created around himself would be broken, and that would mean he also lost his power over the rest of us kids.
The analogy is that corporations like Monsanto are acting like a bully. We are weaker than them and we must be smart when fighting them. They have a hard punch, given the opening they are quite capable of breaking our ribs and bending our nose.
We must learn to fight them on OUR turf, using OUR weapons, OUR strategies. The moral of the story is that although we can never completely defeat them, we CAN bloody them up and force them into dropping their over the top arrogance and begin to listen to us and our concerns.
How can we defeat the bully? Study the American effort to shut down the Ho Chi Minh trail during the Vietnam War and you will find that the largest and best equipped military in the world dropped 3 million tons of bombs on that jungle trail and yet, they could not stop those little brown people from resupplying their soldiers in the South. This is a great study on human resolve and determination. We could learn a lot from those people.
The corporation fears one thing more than any other. They fear the stockholders and lack of profit. Why are they so afraid of this small community in Oregon that they are bringing all guns to bear on them? We need to find out, magnify their fears ten fold and never, never, never, give up and quit.
Agribusinesses give $380,000 to beat anti-GMO vote
POSTED: 4:50 PM PDT April 3, 2014 UPDATED: 9:31 AM PDT April 4, 2014
GRANTS PASS, Ore. (AP) — Six major producers of herbicides and genetically modified crops are shoveling $380,000 into the campaign to defeat measures to prohibit genetically modified crops in southwestern Oregon.
Political contributions posted Thursday on the Oregon Secretary of State website show the money was donated by Bayer CropScience, BASF Plant Science, Dow AgroSciences, DuPont Pioneer, Monsanto Company and Syngenta Crop Protection.
They bring to $445,470 the amount that Good Neighbor Farmers political action committee has amassed to defeat the measures on the May ballot in Josephine and Jackson counties.
Syngenta leases land in the two counties involved in producing seed for sugar beets genetically modified to withstand herbicides.
Organic farmers put the measures on the county ballots because they are afraid that wind-blown pollen from Syngenta plots will contaminate their crops.
We need to find out and we need to pursue this path as it may be an opening large enough to unite our 10% into action. If we can defeat them and their money at the polls and stick to it and never quit we have a chance to knock them back to where they should be.
Our goal is not to destroy the corporation it is bring it into order and understand that this planet can no longer take it’s profit mongering ways.
There are only two kinds of corporations on this planet.
Those who put profit above people and the planet.
Those who put people and planet above the profit.
We declare this day, open and everlasting warfare against the former and will work for peaceful coexistence with the latter.
Consider corporations like Apple Computer when It was run by Steve Jobs and what happened when the big boys moved in and pushed him out. Steve Jobs was the innovator, he was the motivational force that created the greatest computer on the planet.
It’s guys like him that we need to run these corporations. . . . the artist, the maker of beauty, the gifted ones who can take care of the people and the planet and still make a profit. These kinds of corporations are the ones who hire us and help us along our financial path. We need them.
What we don’t need are the low vibrational hacks that think only of their profit margin. We need to bring balance to the corporate world by choosing the one over the other. We don’t buy an enemies product. We don’t shop at the enemies establishment . . . They go down and the world ultimately becomes a better place for us all.
Right now we are bound to them because they have us believing the old tune, “what’s good for General Bullmoose is good for the USA.” . . . it isn’t.
Imagine that you have decided to leave the city. You want to buy some land and live the life you had always dreamed of. How will you go about this daunting task? If you don’t know, I will show you a way, not the only way of course, but a pretty good way of action to take in order to escape the modern world and live a more natural life.
First of all you must know that a natural life is not necessarily an easier life, there is a reason why people born on the farm generally dream about leaving it once they are grown. But for those of us who have already experienced the modern lifestyle and chose to leave it behind, country living will be far more rewarding, both naturally as well as spiritually.
In many ways returning to the land will feel about the same as a soldier feels upon returning home from foreign service. You may be bewildered at first and out of synch, but after a period of adjustment you will adapt and get on with it once you realize that romantic fantasy is ALWAYS better than it’s reality.
So you’ve dreamed about it for years and finally decided to make the leap, now what? How do you keep from turning that pleasant dream into a nightmare?
First thing to do is put your plan in writing. What do you want and where do you want it? What are you planning to do with your land? How much money do you have? Do you need to get a job right away or can you wait a while? Answer all these questions as best as you can and you will have formed a direction to take.
Following is the direction we took . . . each person will, of course, have their own way according to their abilities and the size of their bank accounts.
I was close to fifty years old when I decided to stop wandering. I was tired, had been to all the places, done all the things I wanted to do, and now all I wanted to do was find a soft place to fall.
I met and married my beloved Joyce.
She, an officer of the law. I, who spent most of my life escaping and evading the law, were married in a Kent Ohio park. Today, 23 years later . . . the beat goes on.
Joyce told me that she had always prayed for a cabin in the woods. I intended to make it happen for her. We would find a piece of land with hills and woods and I would build her a cabin on it . . . . We would live there happily forever after.
First we had to figure out where we wanted to live. We began the search taking into consideration all the variables like distance from our grown kids, temperate zone, water supply, terrain, price, etc.
The way we found our land was to go to the area of choice and look around. We talked to people and got a feel of whether or not we wanted to live amongst them. What kind of culture is available? Music? Restaurants? Anything?
You could research the local paper, as well as the various mini-mart type classifieds. You may get lucky and find good property for sale by owner. If you do buy from a private owner you must be able to do all the research on your own. This will be cheaper, but you will also have more responsibility. You can not take anything promised by the seller for granted because they may be lying (sad, but true) . . .
Find the local real estate company and look at their listings. If you buy from a real estate company you will pay more, but it will be safer for you to do it that way.
We bought our land direct and at a great price because I was a homebuilder and knew what I was doing. Were I an accountant on my first go, I would have used a real estate company. They will do it all for you, BUT they will probably not mention the scourge of big gas, coal, and oil . . . so you must be careful, as well as damn lucky.
In the US we have a large variety of places to build or buy a farm, BUT we also have the fossil fuel industry on a feeding frenzy. We must do our research because the oil industry OWNS the butthead politicians, lock, stock, and barrel and will ultimately get their way. (unless WE stop them)
When I bought this property I had never heard of fracking, therefore I was blindsided when the virus became a reality around here. Now I must fight. This was not in my plans. I am tired of fighting, but the reality of life on this planet often leaves one with only that option.
Notice: You do NOT want to buy land above the Ohio Utica shale play like I did. If you do you must make sure you have the mineral rights or they may be digging a well 250 feet from your house and basically ruining you without a second thought.
Luckily, I own the mineral rights to my property as do most of my few neighbors, and none of us have signed leases except for one guy who now regrets it.
Water is the main victim of fracking. I purchased this property knowing I had two great springs. They are beginning to feel the pressure that the frackers are putting on the water table beneath this whole area. Although no fracking will ever be done in view of my place, I may still suffer from it . . . we may all suffer from it.
Water is our lifeblood, without it we die, everything dies. City water is fluoridated.
see video: http://youtu.be/aqQkqZKBuV4
I did everything I could to get these springs in good shape and I must say we had GREAT water . . . now I’m not so sure.
Watch this video on fracking . . .There are many other video’s on youtube . . . . and DON”T believe the bullshit coming from the gas industry! They are putting profit above people and therefore cannot be trusted. . . . Good luck.
In spite of the problems Joyce and I would desire no other place to live. We love it here in this quiet valley and are glad we made the move . . . (you can see the pictures of our two houses in the catagory section)
It will be difficult to find, but great to own your own land . . . just be careful. (to be continued)
When it comes to fossil fuels the peoples of the earth are on a feeding frenzy. Their suppliers, Big Oil, Big Gas, Big Coal, lust only for profit and have secondary regard at best for the natural environment. This combination has created a perfect scenario for disaster . . . and it is coming.
There are those among the Earth First people who choose to fight a heads up battle with these guys. I would be one of them were I younger, but beings that I am now in my seventies, I no longer have the energy to fight. Instead of fighting I will remain living semi off grid and write what I believe to be true until either the big three dies of over consumption or I die of old age.
I feel the great change that is coming will mostly effect the young, twenty something crowd. These are the folks who will take the brunt of it and feel the most pain. What I write, I write to them.
If I were a young family man serious about changing my lifestyle, I would move to the country. Of the three main choices available to the average family this one seems to me to be the most doable as well as the move that will ultimately reap the greatest reward.
The city has much to offer those career oriented singles who are stuck there, but at it’s best the city is still in a precarious position. City life, when it comes to family, will always play second fiddle to the country life, IMO.
The suburbs, especially those allotments bound in rules, are just undoable. I have an ingrained revulsion to the whole idea of Ken and Barbies suburbia. From distance to services to poison saturated lawns, the lifestyle is such a waste of resources that in no way would I want to live in the burbs. . . .That leaves the country.
The country will give a guy the most options, but he must also be more careful in choosing them because there are many hidden dangers out here. There are frackers and coal companies . . . there are crackheads and low vibration people of all ilk and form. It can get dangerous out here, especially since the drug epidemic has every scumbag in these hills cooking crystal meth . . . and the police are basically non existent.
On the flip side there are also truly wonderful, laid back, industrious people out here. It will take some time to get to know them before they open up and accept you into their community, but once they do you will have made a true and lasting friend. I know it was that way with us. Today although we have few neighbors, they are all friendly towards us and the act of ‘stopping along the road to BS for a minute’ still exists.
Life in general is much slower down here in the foothills of Appalachia. I found this land. I bought this land. I cleared this land . . . and built everything on it to my liking.
I can’t begin to tell you folks how good it feels to do something like that, especially for a guy who has spent most of his adult life building stuff for other people.
disclaimer . . . Although I have over 40 years experience in the building trades the following is suggestion only:
The only way to buy land is to educate YOURSELF because . . . BE ADVISED . . . there ARE crooks out there . . . not all, not even many . . . but the few that are can cause you untold grief when it come to buying land.
AND never, never, never! . . . buy land sight unseen, no matter how many videos, or bullshit brochures you receive . . . you MUST have boots on the ground before you buy. That old saying ‘if it seems too good to be true it probably is’ applies in spades when it comes to buying land.
So let’s get started on finding you some property one step at a time. (To be continued)
1. Find the property.
2. Inspect the property.
3. Buy the property.
4. Build upon the property.