Monthly Archives: May 2012

TIGHT ROPE SLACK RESOLVE: dismantling the statute of personal limitations

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DISMANTLING THE STATUTE OF PERSONAL LIMITATIONS

 

We were in flight mode from something to somewhere, Begoss, Kody and me. There were others with us. A small group. We had to climb up this impossible-looking vertical corner, which when we started (I was not in front!) proved to be of softish material a bit like spongy plastic, which allowed us to wedge ourselves into the corner at the same time as ascending somehow. In spite of my lack of faith in my own ability to do this, One was pushing from behind with a mixture of encouragement and command, which helped me to be not ruth in struggling inadequacy, but a purpose driven being, doing what must be done.

Beyond the next level we journeyed on together, efforting to blend in somehow with who and what surroundings we found there. Faces, gestures, appearances all differed markedly from what used to be normal, thereby encouraging and enabling a loosening of identity with what was possible. Movement towards dismantling of the statute of interpersonal limitations. Carved not in stone, but merely offered as temporary, transcendable guidelines.

Eventually the travelling troupe found ourselves on a windy mountain ledge, which was obviously very high up from the coldness of the air and the rareity of the atmosphere. Quite how dizzyingly high up was only revealed when the spindly bridge traversing the gaping chasm before us was confronted as a reality….no, not realistic at all! My mind and body shrank back from the very thought of stepping out onto this bridge. For it was not a bridge, it was merely two strands of wire stretching forth into space and presumably, logic reassured, connected with its further end tethered somewhere to the far mountain. Very far – it being a distant darker patch against the open expanse of nothing but sky and rather thin air. In between a tantalisingly motile bunch of misty clouds danced and writhed. Looking down, oh wow that was a big mistake – the sheer drop brought an instant stomach lurch and vertigo response, and my hands involuntarily shrank back to the cliff wall behind me, grasping as a baby monkey clings to its mother who is swinging through the trees. But it was not some natural climber lofting my bodily across; it had to be my own legs striding forth, eyes never below navel level, like the confident fool of tarot card depiction. Gulp. Hang on, it suddenly occurred to me, how would Begoss get across this non bridge? He could not walk along these two wires, they were too far apart, and he certainly could not balance upon one of the tightropes as his feet and physiology belied such a possibility. I am not going without him, came the inner decision, even as Another voiced the possibility of sacrificing him to the quest, that the rest of us might complete our traverse. Oh yes, and then when we need food further along, said a third, whom shall we eat, then? No, let us make ruth carry him on her shoulders across the ravine! Shoot, what if he struggles and disturbs my already tenuous balance? I shall require both hands firmly upon the waist level wires strung above the two walk wires to balance myself, so Begoss had better be very still and trusting, draped around my neck like a living foxfur.

My mouth is desert dry, and my shaking hands somehow work to counteract my quaking legs, as inevitability collided with impossibilty. The first three of us were well along in front, and the strung ropewires did not bow or sag or sway, so that was at least reassuring. All I had to do then, was ignore the focus upon anything which swirled around me and keep steadfast and resolutely single pointedly moving forward. Don’t stop even for a moment or you’ll freeze, an inner voice warned. Right, imagine it a done deal, the further cliff shore is in sight and you’re counting down the remaining steps betwixt you and it. Imagine yourself as at home and relaxed here as that person who stopped and fried an egg in the middle of a wire-walk strung between two tower blacks. Using the chair he had casually carried to sit upon whilst he did so. Then, as calmly arising; balancing chair and frying pan in opposing outstretched arms and smilingly continuing his walk. Imagine you are merely an actor, and this is a film set, with a reassuring but invisible glass floor. Ah that is SO much better, yes, I can convince myself that is so. Get on with it then, step on it, and it will be too late to change your mind. Come on, the One behind is clearly impatient, and implying that my reticence is transmitting to the others –must set a good, positive example. Bravery doesn’t come into it, for what is the difference between courage and conviction? Like faith and belief, there is no gap between them when the faith is real and the belief is genuine, right?

Right then, if I call one of these mountains faith and the other one belief…… but which is which…stop prevaricating it doesn’t matter its the same difference remember! Ok ok then, er, how about if one of my feet is faith and the other belief, and they know perfectly well how to walk in unity with one another without my conscious control. Indeed as with learning any motor skill, it is only when conscious control is superceded by automatic skill that any movement is perfected. Mmm so do I need to imagine I have been doing this all my life but temporary amnesia has concealed that memory from me? Act as if you know what you’re doing, fake it till you make it, that sort of thing? Ruth you’re still vying for time when you could already be on the other side had you not prevaricated. Just do it. OH my God I can’t believe that I’m………

BELIEVE believe “I believe/ mantra / prayer /positivity/ upliftment…..”

Am I actually out there walking or still shrinking back afraid? No, the wind all around me says this is the real deal, and I am actually tightrope walking, with a dog on my shoulders.

“ Chin up, Buttercup, you look lovely!” winked  the angel who floated along beside me.

 

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MY FIRST JOB

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The assigned task was to write about my first job in under 1500 words.

 

MY FIRST JOB

When I was 14 I went into a new pet shop which had opened. I was a shy, plump, late developing pre-pubescent who felt more in common with animals than people. Now I am forthright, post menopausal, plump once again, and I still feel more kinship with animals than with people. So, there I was, communing with the creatures, when the proprietor came up behind me and asked if I would like a job, cleaning out the cages after school a couple of afternoons a week. I said I’d ask my Mum. On my first day, the proprietors heavily pregnant wife was in the shop, and she showed me how to weigh, measure, and tie up bags of dried food to restock the shelves. The next day she wasn’t there, and the man insisted upon showing me how to tell the difference between the male and female animals – not at all obvious in creatures like guinea pigs. I was crimson with embarrassment because he made me hold the hapless critters on their backs and squeeze their genitalia. He told me it was natural and not to be so shy, which only made me blush more. The next day he locked the shop door and took me down the cellar to bring up some stock, but I did not like the way he deliberately squeezed himself past me, I did not like the rasp of his breath on my neck as he bent over me, so solicitously guiding me in the semi darkness, I panicked and ran back upstairs. He laughed at me mockingly as he opened the door to let me leave.

“You are a timid little thing aren’t you. I will see you tomorrow” it was a command. I didn’t want to go back the next day, but could not tell my Mum what had happened. Because nothing had happened, really. Yet I knew I had been violated in some invasive way. It was the same horrible feeling I had got when a man exposed himself to me when I was only 3. But nothing had really happened then either, because he did not touch me. The effects of these two nonevents have blighted my whole life and marred my relationships with men.

 

The man’s wife was in the shop again the next day, and I was so relieved, but when she asked me to weigh out some rat food my hands were shaking and I couldn’t read the dial properly. She said I had measured it all wrong, and tore open the bags to redo them herself. She gave me another job to do:

“Take these water bottles over to the far wall and put them next to the dog leads” she said.

I peered into the blurry haze but could not make out any detail. Exasperatedly she said:

“Just along from the Pedigree Chum tins!” and pointed.

The blur only intensified, and there was no way I could read what was printed on those tins.

“What do you mean you can’t read them? Look! They’re right there”.

“I can’t see that far away” my voice said.

“You need glasses then! Go home and tell your Mother to take you to the optician!”

The day before, my eyesight had been perfect. In fact because my older brother had worn glasses since he was 5 Mum had often tested me, asking me to count the horses in a distant field, or read road signs, and I could do it better than she could, and she never wore glasses. Suddenly my vision had shrunk back into my head, and I was rendered myopic overnight, condemned to be a spectacle wearer.

But at least I did not have to go back to that dreaded pet shop.

I thought about how I had been given a choice to leave, and about all of those who were not able to walk away from abusive situations, oppressive work, or unbearable terror. Such as the innocent vulnerable animals incarcerated in those cages. Just because humans found them cute and amusing and wanted to possess them. Innocent beings separated from their families and carried off in a cardboard box to be locked in a wooden box and given dried food and water, dragged out and played with at random times, then shut back in their lonely prison. And these would be the luckier ones, whose owners neither tortured nor abandoned them, or neglected to clean out their cages, freshen their water, or drop a piece of fresh leafy food in once in a while. I comforted myself with the thought that OUR pets at home received the very best treatment, including my duty to go out and pick fresh dandelions clover and cow parsley for them. How our pets got released into a run on the lawn which was moved around daily, provided with shelter from the sun and rain. The truth however, was, that theirs was merely a slightly larger prison, they still had no choice, no freedom to roam, find mates, run or hide. No right to pursue happiness in whatever way this manifests for guinea pigs.  It was necessary to keep them safe from danger and predators, Mum said.

On Sundays after church and lunch and washing up I sat alone in the living room watching “The world at war”. There was graphic actual footage of the concentration camp victims, naked and impossibly emaciated, and piles of corpses heaped up. It struck me forcibly that there was no difference between this and the way laboratory animals were treated the world over.

Traumatised and sorrowfilled  I stood at the kitchen sink, washing pigs hearts ready to be stuffed with sage and onion for our roasted dinner. A clot fell from one of them, and I felt slightly sick, it was not nice to be reminded that blood had been spilled for this meal. Mum said it was just the way it was. I washed the next heart, and another clot fell out. Suddenly and irrevocably I realised that this heart in my hand was until recently beating within the chest of some living being who wanted to live, who was terrified, who sensed and heard and smelt the murder of his or her companions on their enforced journey to the slitting knife. I wanted to take this pure heart and wrap it in a blanket and bury it, like I did when one of my beloved pets died, placing flowers on its grave and letting it know it was loved and not forgotten. My Mother got angry with me, but I could not ever again eat the dead animals we so heartlessly and thoughtlessly graced our table with.

 

The rift between myself and my fellow human beings widened, whilst the gap between me and the suffering creatures on this predatory planet shrank. It was to be years before I met a vegetarian, by which time I was vegan because of the reality of the dairy industry where lady cows are raped, and their babies are stolen away, so that unweaned man can gorge himself on their milk. Boy calves are usually slaughtered at birth, and the plaintive grieving noise of bovine cries resounds in my ears. I was 14 when I got sacked from my first job. I sometimes wonder if that paedophile is still alive preying on someone else’s youthful innocence, destroying someone else’s life. Do I have blood sisters out there similarly blighted? Is it my fault for not speaking out? The unhealed wound I have carried these long isolated years; the shame and the guilt, the muted rage, the sorrow of silence. . And then I am perversely grateful to him for being the catalyst of my awakening to the many injustices, cruelties and evils perpetrated so casually by one forcibly dominant species over every other lifeform on this beautiful, benighted planet. Man the guardian and custodian ravaging and destroying the paradise garden.  Oh for pity’s sake have mercy!

75 words for paragraph planet

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The object of this is to write a story in exactly 75 words including title for www.paragraphplanet.

INTERNET PEACE

Mitzi met me on facebook in a tenuous link of shared belief, stronger than steel. Sharing traumas and triumphs in the ether which simultaneously  split and united us. She a 19 year old paraplegic with no friends outside the prayerline chatroom. Were Mitzi a paedophile, or a satanic faith-shatterer my role was being the presence of non-judgmental love. And so it was. Serenity descended, joy ascended, and peace spread with the morning sunburst.

RESIDUAL EMOTIONAL REACTIVITY QUOTIENT

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RESIDUAL EMOTIONAL REACTIVITY QUOTIENT

 

Well I surprised myself yesterday morning with some of my blog, the fact that I so fearlessly posted it especially………….so, where to go from there? A great beginning actually, as it contained forgiveness, closure and confronting / embracing all aspects of self. If it sounded like criticism rather than speaking my truth perhaps you didn’t read to the end, but in any case it is not for me to interpret your interpretation for you – all I do is share my insight, awareness and feelings as clearly, directly and openly as possible; why? Not to be heard, primarily, but in order to illuminate, enlighten, unburden and release others who are similarly imprisoned in cages of their own making. It is fascinating how one person seems to just get over massive trauma whilst another cannot escape from the most apparently minimal trauma imaginable! TFH helps to explain this by quantifying the residual emotional reactivity. Case in point, I endured 5 doctors crowding around my hospital bed, pushing me down onto my back, spreading my legs and poking about with my bits when I was 5 years old. They neither introduced themselves, nor told me what they were going to do. Indeed they were only interested in investigating why I had started bedwetting from having been dry, and being unable to wait when I needed a wee. This had happened following a paedophile episode when a strange man had abused me when I was 4. But these doctors were determined to find a physical cause, in order to tick their little diagnostic boxes. Granted this was in the early 1960’s, but it begs the question: are we really any farther along now that doctors have coined a syndrome for every divergence from standard, human, socially conditioned behaviour? The focus is always what’s wrong with you, never what is right with you, and as such it can even further entrench aberrance. Now it is sanctioned to have a particular set of behavioural anomalies which everyone else has to make allowances for. Not mine though, not yet. Let me tell you about it, as I’m sure you’re longing to hear 😉 The effect of having those doctors, all of whom were male BTW, in their crisp white coats, invading my space and body without so much as acknowledging my presence as a sentient being, has given me a lifelong empathy for laboratory animals – I empathise with them, I feel rage on their behalf at the inexplicably cruel, heartless, and evil way they are incarcerated and messed with. These things happened to human children too, lest we forget.

Is it any wonder then, why I am so passionately pro animals being granted rights to be left alone? So passionately pro kids having rights to choose? My Mother used to grumble because I allowed my daughter to say what she would like to have for dinner, which resulted in my having to make two different meals much of the time, because my own preference was not for vegetarian nuggets, potato waffles, cauliflower and baked beans! We were given no choice as children, but my Mother grew up during wartime and went to bed hungry night after night. Things are relative I suppose, and it could be argued that today’s children are spoilt for choice. I surely would have liked the right to say no to my convent school ox liver and greasy potatoes with slimy cabbage. Here again, perhaps the fruit of this food abuse became my aversion to putting dead animal parts in my mouth…………..

 

The second most impactful aspect of this set of experiences was a painful aversion to being looked at – it literally used to hurt me to have people’s eyes upon me, especially if those eyes were men’s eyes behind which was a mind indulging sexual thoughts about me. I learned recently that in India the reason why parents put kohl around the eyes of their very young children is to deter strangers from staring at them, because they realise that this is an invasion and that it is stealing something precious from the child. Stealing innocence is a heinous crime, stealing serenity and personal safety is a crime. I reflect upon today’s autistic children, some of whom similarly cannot cope with being exposed to unstructured random social settings. Perhaps ironically the way as a child my brother and I were conditioned to sit bolt upright on hard chairs during those visits to relatives might actually have served to buffer us on another level. So too in church, when we were  conditioned to be quiet and still for what seemed like hours. Even dogs, trained to be extremely self controlled, go loopy during the times when they are allowed off the lead, running and playing with other dogs. Meanwhile their owners stand around smiling and chatting, when really they too would like to be free to run and whoop and play together like they did as children. At least I assume they would, because I certainly want to and frequently do when I think I can get away with it 😉

What is this morning’s bloggo-rant about then? And your point is, Ruth? Last night I met a lovely lady who shared her experience of being confronted with the selfsame plate of liver by her father mealtime after mealtime, because she refused to eat it. She told me that in the end the liver had hairy mould on it. Oh My God 😦  There are endless permutations of child abuse, some more wounding than others, but the compounded effects of what we call food is for me the most perniciously pervasive of all. First we act as if it is ok to enslave whole races of highly sentient beings for the sole purpose of tearing mother from child, then stealing the milk she forms out of her own body tissue to nourish that baby. Oh and prior to this, that female cow has been forcibly impregnated on a rape rack ( yes, they actually call it what it is in the trade) and then she is deliberately engineered to produce 7 times the milk output needed by a single calf, in order to maximise profit for the dairy industry. Consequently cows suffer from mastitis, lose calcium from their bones, and usually only survive 5 years of this very vicious cycle, when their natural lifespan is more than 20 years. And what of her stolen baby? He is killed at birth if male, because milking cows are different to meat cows and those males wouldn’t put on sufficient muscle to make it profitable to keep them alive. Even if your personal opinion allows for the incarceration commodification and killing of other species in their billions (59 billion a year actually, sentient non-consenting animals killed by humans for food which is known to make humans sick with cancer, heart disease and other illnesses) have you not once stopped to think of what such behaviour says about us as a race of beings? What the psycho-emotional cost to us is of pretending this is ok way to be, when we are not natural carnivores, and when we at the same time preach and aspire to living in gentle peaceful harmony? Try “you can’t get there from here”: it is impossible, it is hypocritical and it is self defeating. Until human kind turns genuinely humane and deserving of a peaceful existence, by allowing other creatures the same priviledge, wars and objectification abuse and injustice can only continue accelerating, as they are so clearly and tragically doing.

 

How come this is ok with the majority of people? Or if it isn’t why do more of us not electively change our eating habits to more truly reflect the nice people we believe ourselves to be? Nice people coo over cute baby lambs, and get a warm glow at depictions of mother animals nursing their babies, no? But then there is a profound disconnect, a massive cognitive dissonance when they sit down to a dinner of murdered lamb, don’t you think? “But that’s why they’re bred in the first place, its just the way it is……” I get told. No, it might have been the way it was; one of the means humanity used in order to collonise and survive in colder climates, but it is not sustainable with 7 billion hungry people, when meat and dairy animals are eating 70% of our crops but delivering only 10% of the protein from that food back to us. Whilst causing huge pollution problems, wasting lakes of increasingly scarce water, and requiring gargantuan fuel resources for raising, slaughtering, refrigeration, transportation and storage of all that dead flesh.

 

Quality of life is generally considered to be preferable to the prolonged duration of a painful existence, and so the welfare myth dupes the general public into imagining that todays farm animals are well treated. How can being shut indoors with no sunlight, fresh grass, space to explore or exercise any of your natural social needs be welfare? Free range is another cunningly created marketting myth too. The reality is sadly very different to the idealised imagery. Do your psyche, your health and your children’s increasingly precarious future a favour and research these things for yourself. Watch “Earthlings” free on you tube. It can be only by confronting that which is being done in our names, that which our purchasing power supports, and its true costs, that we may evolve into our rightful place as custodians of planet earth.

PEACEFUL PASSAGE

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                                                   PEACEFUL PASSAGE

 

                Beloved Vital Vegans of Vegantopia, How wonderfilled it is to be present here with you now!

And what a stunning contrast to the former experiences life seemed bounden by in times passed. When encounters were all too often obligatory, hollow, role-wearing episodes down dark rabbit holes of inadequacy. There came a time when such happenings evoked a clamour which, commencing in the curled toes and clenched fists, shot straight through the stiffened heart : the duty screw, the hullabaallooo, the hell to pay and the leaden lidded day. There came a time beyond bearing the weeds of mute family history, a garlanded deathmask, when I found the courage to shout into my mother’s vagina I’M NOT COMING BACK IN THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!

God how I hated “home”. The passionate, tearing, shredded, clawed-open, scratched, grazed, burned, drowned flaying of it all.  Mother hated me so very much didn’t she. Families are so fucked up, dangerous and grim; no wonder all the young men choose to march into war and kill one another in an open, deliberate, honest manner.

Quick death over the agonisingly slow stretching between two opposing forces both of whom have been using you as  bat and ball since before conception – when they enticed you into the womb : so ambiguously cosy, constrictive, and encasing.

Right then, I’ve been outside the womb long enough for my skin to harden and my wings to set, so why am I not yet flying? What invisible ties keep me brooding over the pain and the abuse I suffered from them?

Turn it around ruth, play devils advocate just for a minute……

ok silky smooth slithering voice I will

what if it was not them inviting me in but rather me forcing my way through – me demanding to be born? For so it seemed when Iona needed a place to come forth from – there was precious little her dad or me could do to hold back the imperative override………..nothing in fact. She insisted upon implanting herself in my womb, and I was given one chance to flush her out,                                     which I declined to take. I distinctly remember crouching in the grounds at norney in a knot of misery and fear, having been done over by her dad. An angel spoke into my ear, telling me I could not survive in two, split minds about being pregnant – I had to either accept it or reject it…. There was no question for me of course I accepted, in spite of the very difficult circumstances and questionable future. And it was a big relief to admit and accept that I had chosen this, long before consciously verbally acknowledging and confirming that choice there on the soil, trying to burrow down and away from the glare like some startled rabbit.

And it was both good and beautiful to be carrying a child, shielding a wonderful new life within my body from the blows and endless poking.

Thank you Jesus for sitting with me whilst I write. I could not open this pandora’s box of horrors and delights on my own.

And my dear friend Jeff : I feel so keenly his incarceration of dutiful responsibility – for his Mum, and Spoon; his commitment to holding on to the past. Whilst within himself, the free-flying bird of paradise trills and breaks its wings against the bars.

Meanwhile our bodies ask why have you done this to yourself?

Are you not meant to love, protect, cherish and enjoy me?

Are we not in this together, united till death parts us matter from spirit, memory from emotion?

On the other side all the reactivity vanishes, and clarity of the softest, most forgiven kindness suffuses the blurred recall into a perfect watercoloured piece of art.

Ruth writes from her ivory tower, her lengthening hair and receding days bearing testament to her convictions : If it can be spoken, voiced, expressed and shared then its hold is broken.

Then the thin red twine is being maintained willfully, with awareness, and not as an imposition. It becomes suddenly enlightened with its true purpose. It becomes a joyful exultation and not a groan of trevail. The cross is lifted up, and every knee bows in respectful awe.

I was never trapped!

I was never a victim?

What???

You were never oppressed by anything but your own non allowance ruth, sweetheart of my heart, precious daughter of love, noble carrier of the reeds which beat your back…..aaaah listen, look, feel and perceive this truth with humility………….allow it to seep through the sand and stone into the cave you holed yourself up in for so very long. Up there in the mountains 🙂 watching the shadowplay against the wall in the flickering candlelight. Ghosts parading and demons parodying past whilst your mindsky blazed across the heavens in all its stupendous irrepressibility. THAT is why you self-incarcerated, because it was not yet time to unleash HER. But now that she is out, freely vocalising and fearlessly confronting those shadows, all is perfect yes it is

 

 

where is your god they taunted Jesus as he was spread eagled in crucifixion

where is the god we were promised, coming to save us

you are not he

just as mum screamed at dad ; you are not my beloved you imposter in fact you are so much not the beloved I have waited for that you are the anti-beloved, you must be therefore it is my duty to hate war against and destroy you to my last breath she said to him as I cowered within her womb. Oooh where have we heard that line before? Where does that line from my lover’s play and mine clash in a discordant mockery of resonance?

We came together, drawn inexorably by the sirens of fate, it seemed, in answer to our deepest desires. Then we had to deny and punish ourselves and each other. Meanwhile those women, our mothers, pursued their lives with a relentless unbreachable linearity, blinkers welded on, waists cinched tight, and lips sewn shut.

Eeeooo

castratory masturbatory eliminatory defiance beeth the froth on the surface

peaceful calm serenity beneath the surface of the pond,

peace of the deep waters be unto us

and when the hurly burley’s done there is only calmness, not a mere smattering of snow covering up a slag heap but a genuine gentleness like that after BATTLE OR  STORM 

and this time nothing shall re-ruffle the waters

for there are no more minnows left to be lured by scintillating fake dragonflies. |All the little fishes have learned that dragonflies are not real, therefore they no longer chase them up into the jaws of death. They cannot be tempted to bite upon the barbed hooks any longer. It is over.

In vain, in vanity and alone, the soulfishers cast their curses and scatter their opprobrium , but it does not contact the pure waters, they are unreachable now. The fishers of men must go home, empty pails dangling forlorn and useless – the fishers are vanquished. They had their chance, their time and their hour of triumph, when they could have marvelled at the beauty of what they had netted, rather than cracking its head on a stone, or watching as it gasped itself to asphyxiation.

.

Yesterday I comforted a lady who had been vegetarian for 18 years – (what’s with this 18 years thing????last time I did leafletting this bloke collared me for over an hour appealing to me to  accept his termination of 18 years of vegetarianism for the same reason/excuse)

she needed consolation, forgiveness and understanding for her decision to return to meat eating – conscious meat eating mind you, in order to regain her health which had been ebbing away progressively. Who are these people who come to me for solace, as if my sanction and blessing could erase their guilt.

Consider they might be mirroring your 18 years of celibacy, your denial of pleasure to your body

what do you stand for, live for, preparing to die for?

Shut up

NO

okay then get to the fucking point already

what if there is only the torch carrying and passing on……the flame which must be kept alive at all costs, the ideal of excellence we strive to uphold, as honour, respect, protect and defend cycle round.

Is that thought comforting, in a similar way that sitting in country churchyards is soothing?

Rattling the bones of the dead around in your head

Yes that thought is comforting. It says it is not in vain, it tells me I am not forgotten even as I fall

it speaks of the life ongoing within the hearts of those whose feet tramp on

solace smooths my furrowed brow, laboured breathing eases, constricted tongue releases and I am at peace with myself

truly

but that still does not give me permission to say, as the appointed voice of the voiceless innocents daily being tortured and slaughtered, I FORGIVE YOU.  Mine is not the right to offer absolution to anyone. My allowance however vast it stretches can never cancel out karma, can it.

Aaah but enlightenment means stepping off the karmic wheel, we are told………..ok then lets go with this :

if I am genuinely boddhisatva and not delusional, if I really did pass on last time, out from that death camp with genuine love for my oppressors, whilst all around me people scrabbled and gasped their last……..

if my last life recall of drawing my 3 daughters close to me in reassurance that this was a good day, because we were all going back together to heaven………

if this be not some fancifully constructed justification for being me here now vis a vis things perceivedly out there beyond my cadence

if my story be more than post-rictor rationalisation

then all is indeed unfolding as it should

and if not?

If not, then at the least my life has not been without scrutiny and self reflection

it has not been lived without awareness of or protest about the thumb which pressed its cheek to the dust

resolution

closure

ho opono pono prayer :

I am sorry

please forgive me

I love you

thank you

 

                                       And that is how we got here from there

 

for until the justifictions ceased

no that was not a typo : justi – fictions

until the myriad ways we excuse obfuscate and justify the stories we tell to ourselves, about ourselves, come to a halt

the madness accelerates like a rollercoaster turned hadron collider

 

STOP IT

GET OFF

and realise your parents did the very best they knew how, given their own strictures and the limitors upon their awakeness – what I have pointed out as a parody of love was sincerely their best effort, given their bands of blindness and bonds of duty. Forgiving, then, is the only possible useful sane response. Forgiveness is the only way out.

And until I had fully forgiven myself, the portal through to the peaceable kingdom of Vegantopia remained invisible.

The fact that I am here is proof of a successful mission accomplished.

I have left a trail for others to follow,

a map of love through the maze of deceitful apparencies

whether this trail be crumbled bread or solid stone I cannot as yet ascertain.

Perhaps another will write that story later on.

For now, there is all the work of a new lifetime to immerse myself in, and I turn to it with joy 🙂

 

“Welcome, Beloved Vital Vegans! It is another beautiful morning here in Vegantopia………….”

PEACEFUL PASSAGE

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                                                   PEACEFUL PASSAGE

 

                Beloved Vital Vegans of Vegantopia, How wonderfilled it is to be present here with you now!

And what a stunning contrast to the former experiences life seemed bounden by in times passed. When encounters were all too often obligatory, hollow, role-wearing episodes down dark rabbit holes of inadequacy. There came a time when such happenings evoked a clamour which, commencing in the curled toes and clenched fists, shot straight through the stiffened heart : the duty screw, the hullabaallooo, the hell to pay and the leaden lidded day. There came a time beyond bearing the weeds of mute family history, a garlanded deathmask, when I found the courage to shout into my mother’s vagina I’M NOT COMING BACK IN THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!

God how I hated “home”. The passionate, tearing, shredded, clawed-open, scratched, grazed, burned, drowned flaying of it all.  Mother hated me so very much didn’t she. Families are so fucked up, dangerous and grim; no wonder all the young men choose to march into war and kill one another in an open, deliberate, honest manner.

Quick death over the agonisingly slow stretching between two opposing forces both of whom have been using you as  bat and ball since before conception – when they enticed you into the womb : so ambiguously cosy, constrictive, and encasing.

Right then, I’ve been outside the womb long enough for my skin to harden and my wings to set, so why am I not yet flying? What invisible ties keep me brooding over the pain and the abuse I suffered from them?

Turn it around ruth, play devils advocate just for a minute……

ok silky smooth slithering voice I will

what if it was not them inviting me in but rather me forcing my way through – me demanding to be born? For so it seemed when Iona needed a place to come forth from – there was precious little her dad or me could do to hold back the imperative override………..nothing in fact. She insisted upon implanting herself in my womb, and I was given one chance to flush her out,                                     which I declined to take. I distinctly remember crouching in the grounds at norney in a knot of misery and fear, having been done over by her dad. An angel spoke into my ear, telling me I could not survive in two, split minds about being pregnant – I had to either accept it or reject it…. There was no question for me of course I accepted, in spite of the very difficult circumstances and questionable future. And it was a big relief to admit and accept that I had chosen this, long before consciously verbally acknowledging and confirming that choice there on the soil, trying to burrow down and away from the glare like some startled rabbit.

And it was both good and beautiful to be carrying a child, shielding a wonderful new life within my body from the blows and endless poking.

Thank you Jesus for sitting with me whilst I write. I could not open this pandora’s box of horrors and delights on my own.

And my dear friend Jeff : I feel so keenly his incarceration of dutiful responsibility – for his Mum, and Spoon; his commitment to holding on to the past. Whilst within himself, the free-flying bird of paradise trills and breaks its wings against the bars.

Meanwhile our bodies ask why have you done this to yourself?

Are you not meant to love, protect, cherish and enjoy me?

Are we not in this together, united till death parts us matter from spirit, memory from emotion?

On the other side all the reactivity vanishes, and clarity of the softest, most forgiven kindness suffuses the blurred recall into a perfect watercoloured piece of art.

Ruth writes from her ivory tower, her lengthening hair and receding days bearing testament to her convictions : If it can be spoken, voiced, expressed and shared then its hold is broken.

Then the thin red twine is being maintained willfully, with awareness, and not as an imposition. It becomes suddenly enlightened with its true purpose. It becomes a joyful exultation and not a groan of trevail. The cross is lifted up, and every knee bows in respectful awe.

I was never trapped!

I was never a victim?

What???

You were never oppressed by anything but your own non allowance ruth, sweetheart of my heart, precious daughter of love, noble carrier of the reeds which beat your back…..aaaah listen, look, feel and perceive this truth with humility………….allow it to seep through the sand and stone into the cave you holed yourself up in for so very long. Up there in the mountains 🙂 watching the shadowplay against the wall in the flickering candlelight. Ghosts parading and demons parodying past whilst your mindsky blazed across the heavens in all its stupendous irrepressibility. THAT is why you self-incarcerated, because it was not yet time to unleash HER. But now that she is out, freely vocalising and fearlessly confronting those shadows, all is perfect yes it is

 

 

where is your god they taunted Jesus as he was spread eagled in crucifixion

where is the god we were promised, coming to save us

you are not he

just as mum screamed at dad ; you are not my beloved you imposter in fact you are so much not the beloved I have waited for that you are the anti-beloved, you must be therefore it is my duty to hate war against and destroy you to my last breath she said to him as I cowered within her womb. Oooh where have we heard that line before? Where does that line from my lover’s play and mine clash in a discordant mockery of resonance?

We came together, drawn inexorably by the sirens of fate, it seemed, in answer to our deepest desires. Then we had to deny and punish ourselves and each other. Meanwhile those women, our mothers, pursued their lives with a relentless unbreachable linearity, blinkers welded on, waists cinched tight, and lips sewn shut.

Eeeooo

castratory masturbatory eliminatory defiance beeth the froth on the surface

peaceful calm serenity beneath the surface of the pond,

peace of the deep waters be unto us

and when the hurly burley’s done there is only calmness, not a mere smattering of snow covering up a slag heap but a genuine gentleness like that after BATTLE OR  STORM 

and this time nothing shall re-ruffle the waters

for there are no more minnows left to be lured by scintillating fake dragonflies. |All the little fishes have learned that dragonflies are not real, therefore they no longer chase them up into the jaws of death. They cannot be tempted to bite upon the barbed hooks any longer. It is over.

In vain, in vanity and alone, the soulfishers cast their curses and scatter their opprobrium , but it does not contact the pure waters, they are unreachable now. The fishers of men must go home, empty pails dangling forlorn and useless – the fishers are vanquished. They had their chance, their time and their hour of triumph, when they could have marvelled at the beauty of what they had netted, rather than cracking its head on a stone, or watching as it gasped itself to asphyxiation.

.

Yesterday I comforted a lady who had been vegetarian for 18 years – (what’s with this 18 years thing????last time I did leafletting this bloke collared me for over an hour appealing to me to  accept his termination of 18 years of vegetarianism for the same reason/excuse)

she needed consolation, forgiveness and understanding for her decision to return to meat eating – conscious meat eating mind you, in order to regain her health which had been ebbing away progressively. Who are these people who come to me for solace, as if my sanction and blessing could erase their guilt.

Consider they might be mirroring your 18 years of celibacy, your denial of pleasure to your body

what do you stand for, live for, preparing to die for?

Shut up

NO

okay then get to the fucking point already

what if there is only the torch carrying and passing on……the flame which must be kept alive at all costs, the ideal of excellence we strive to uphold, as honour, respect, protect and defend cycle round.

Is that thought comforting, in a similar way that sitting in country churchyards is soothing?

Rattling the bones of the dead around in your head

Yes that thought is comforting. It says it is not in vain, it tells me I am not forgotten even as I fall

it speaks of the life ongoing within the hearts of those whose feet tramp on

solace smooths my furrowed brow, laboured breathing eases, constricted tongue releases and I am at peace with myself

truly

but that still does not give me permission to say, as the appointed voice of the voiceless innocents daily being tortured and slaughtered, I FORGIVE YOU.  Mine is not the right to offer absolution to anyone. My allowance however vast it stretches can never cancel out karma, can it.

Aaah but enlightenment means stepping off the karmic wheel, we are told………..ok then lets go with this :

if I am genuinely boddhisatva and not delusional, if I really did pass on last time, out from that death camp with genuine love for my oppressors, whilst all around me people scrabbled and gasped their last……..

if my last life recall of drawing my 3 daughters close to me in reassurance that this was a good day, because we were all going back together to heaven………

if this be not some fancifully constructed justification for being me here now vis a vis things perceivedly out there beyond my cadence

if my story be more than post-rictor rationalisation

then all is indeed unfolding as it should

and if not?

If not, then at the least my life has not been without scrutiny and self reflection

it has not been lived without awareness of or protest about the thumb which pressed its cheek to the dust

resolution

closure

ho opono pono prayer :

I am sorry

please forgive me

I love you

thank you

 

                                       And that is how we got here from there

 

for until the justifictions ceased

no that was not a typo : justi – fictions

until the myriad ways we excuse obfuscate and justify the stories we tell to ourselves, about ourselves, come to a halt

the madness accelerates like a rollercoaster turned hadron collider

 

STOP IT

GET OFF

and realise your parents did the very best they knew how, given their own strictures and the limitors upon their awakeness – what I have pointed out as a parody of love was sincerely their best effort, given their bands of blindness and bonds of duty. Forgiving, then, is the only possible useful sane response. Forgiveness is the only way out.

And until I had fully forgiven myself, the portal through to the peaceable kingdom of Vegantopia remained invisible.

The fact that I am here is proof of a successful mission accomplished.

I have left a trail for others to follow,

a map of love through the maze of deceitful apparencies

whether this trail be crumbled bread or solid stone I cannot as yet ascertain.

Perhaps another will write that story later on.

For now, there is all the work of a new lifetime to immerse myself in, and I turn to it with joy 🙂

 

“Welcome, Beloved Vital Vegans! It is another beautiful morning here in Vegantopia………….”

We CAN get here from there!

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            It is another beautiful morning again here in sylvan gladed Earth! The forest gardens stretch around the globe, now that the newly terraformed floating islands are developing. What a marvellous initiative, to manufacture machines which graze on all the floating plastic in the oceans, like the Pacific garbage dump the size of Texas. And not just the floating plastic, but the sunken swathes, and the tossed carrier bags are meticulously vacuumed up and reformed into useful material. The erstwhile curse of plastic not breaking down is hereby turned to advantage as it becomes the base material for  things. It was astounding how rapidly technology created solutions to the myriad problems of the old paradigm life, once that old paradigm defence / aggression and profit / consume mindset evaporated. Suddenly whole fresh avenues began to occur, which had been there all along but could only reveal themselves once humanekinders had woken up. Awakened to our utter interconnectivity with all nature and the truth that our health and the biosphere’s well being are intimately linked.

           It was never sustainable, rational or lucid to have imagined we could merely flush used discarded stuff out of sight and mind. Yet the collective madness had encouraged and facilitated this and worse – fostered the lie that there would be no consequences to such actions. The consequences actually had been showing immediately in illnesses and epidemics, but due to the racing pace of what was laughably termed positive progress and necessary economic growth we barely murmured. Those who voiced a warning were dismissed as Luddites or naysayers. So too with the sinister move away from family farm to factory concentration camps, for the billions of doomed animals tortured, confined, and killed, day after day – every one a precious, sacred life; callously, ignorantly and cruelly denied. 59 billion land animals a year snuffed out just for a cheap, mindless, meal.

          That was the first idol which had to fall, but it took pan-global epidemics to bring the empire of death to an end. And even then it was only due to government withdrawal of the subsidies given to the MAD (Meat and Dairy) industries as the stark facts of the true cost of animal agriculture became undeniable. There was no pure water left, the oceans were slurry dead zones and the atmosphere had become precariously volatile and inhospitable due to the methane and CO2 from livestock’s long shadow. Precious primary rainforest had been destroyed by man’s unholy beefburger addiction : 70% of grain to feed western cattle whilst millions of humans died of starvation.

          Now, the children who have been born post-consumerly cannot believe the dark ages their parents came from. How could 7 billion people have agreed to go along unquestioningly with such obvious lunacy? Well, the rich nations trusted their democratically elected officials, who were in the grip of the multinational corporations whose only remit was accelerative profit at any cost. The various nations who had variously plundered and aided one another throughout the serial wars and occupations exacted their payment through land grabbing and resource stealing. Because people were not thinking as a race of beings sharing and co-operating together for the common good, but as conflicting vying powers and nation states. So the value of a life, be it human or non-human, became reduced to a commodity on the stock market under the control of unaccountable non corporeal corporations. These were above the laws which might have restrained individuals or groups of named persons, who could be deemed responsible for the consequences of rampant, blinkered, ruthless greed.

 

          And how did we get here from there?  It could not have been achieved by a continuation of the rationalisations humans habitually used to justify, and thereby continue in, their addictive behaviours. It took both the crumbling consequences of their consumption patterns, in personal, societal and global health; and the painful mirroring back to us that what we meted out was recoiling upon our heads, hearts and spirits. It took the proof that we must be genuinely gentle, consistently caring, attacklessly loving, and permanently peaceful : in thought, word and action, in order to discover the peace we so craved. That cry for freedom and desire for peace overtook the lesser cry for distraction and desire for temporary comfort. Those senses which had been progressively numbed came back online in a great surge of awakenment, as the critical mass and the hundreth monkey got it : what we do to any seeming Other we are doing to ourselves. 

            The little innocent ones are being raised far from the covert attack forms of their forbearers. Now that everyone’s true colours are clearly shown, those who need healing from the twisted effects of the regimes of punishment and control have safe refuges. Here, without condemnation or judgement they are facilitated to release their trapped pain and rebuild their shattered existences. One of the most beautiful transformations for me has been how miraculously this occurs, once the collective denial and suppression which caused the worst expressions of rage and hatred to be expressed by these vulnerable weakest links.