Authoritarians and Libertarians

redicecreations.com/radio/2013/10/RIR-131004.php

A very interesting discussion, looking at some Pale Green Vortex-type topics from a fresh viewpoint. Well worth an hour of our precious human life, I'd say (or two hours, if you are a Red Ice member).

Sunny Isle

The Isle Of Skye,with its mountain range of the Cuillins, lies off the coast of western Scotland, and has the reputation for being a rainy, windy, misty place. These photos from a mountain walk last week illustrate that it is not always the case.

Migraines, Moons, and Mountains

                On Migraine Mountain

I wrote about my personal experience of migraines in a post on October 26th, 2010, 'The Bad Trip: Migraine'. Since then, I have continued to undergo their intermittent pain, albeit less frequently (I actually went for four months without an attack), and with generally less severity. When they have arrived, the migraines have tended to go on for a long time, however.

Migraines are, I conclude, little understood by the medical orthodoxy. This is evidenced by the large number of bewildered sufferers whose tortures can be readily accessed online, plus the equally bewildering profusion of causal theories and proposed palliatives and remedies that haunt the relevant websites. For me, there is, with little doubt, a supernatural element to the phenomenon. I once tracked the timing of my attacks against the phases of the moon. I discovered that the migraines have a strong tendency to cluster around the time of the full moon, to a degree that is statistically almost impossible to occur randomly. I also read on one website (which I unfortunately did not make a note of) that migraines typically occur thirteen times a year. This information was relayed without comment - but thirteen, annual cycles of the moon: any connection, maybe??? Some people find the apogee and perigee of the moon (respectively its furthest and closest proximity to the Earth) to be significant factors in the timing of their migraines.

The other bane of my physical life is chronic sinus problems. I may write more about this at some future time, but it started about five years ago. Since it is a condition that is focused around the same areas of the body and its energy systems as migraine - the brow/temple region and the intestines - it is reasonable to consider that both migraine and sinusitis manifest a similar problem. At this point, however, you leave the mainstream medical profession well and truly behind......

A few weeks ago I set off from home with the intention of climbing a fairly large mountain in western Scotland. I awoke to that familiar pressure around the brow and behind the eyes which is characteristic of sinus disturbance. Such a common experience was insufficient to cause me any real concern, however. It was only when I was on the coach and well on my way that the pain began to intensify and to migrate to the right side of my head. Accompanying this was a growing nausea, and it began to dawn on me that this was not simply sinusitis, but impending migraine.

It is one of the nightmares of a migraine person: to be stuck on some form of transport far from home with excruciating pains in the head and the uncontrollable urge to vomit viciously all over everybody and everything. Being stranded while in the throes of a migraine is one of the worst things around. What was I going to do? I could ask the driver to let me off at the next stop and somehow make my way home. I could ask him to take me on further than my intended destination, to at least a village where I might be able to find some respite. As it was, I decided to breathe deeply, try to relax, and continue with my original plan.

I stumbled off the bus in the middle of nowhere. To the east runs a long loch, and to the west the road snakes down a glen cut like a gash into the hills. Lines of steep-sided mountains stretch north and southwards as far as the eye can see. I was standing outside the only habitation for miles - literally - a lonely hotel with a solitary petrol pump. In my enfeebled condition, the mountain I originally intended to climb had taken on Himalayan proportions. Out of the question. Yet I felt strangely happy to be among the mountains with a skull about to split and intestines threatening to evacuate across the peat and heather. I would not go to the big mountain, but instead opt for a small mountain close at hand. I could take my time, walk as much or as little as I wished, and generally follow my fancy.

Am Bathach is the name of the little mountain, the one normally reserved for a half day out. I began to climb, very slowly, stopping for long and frequent rests, surveying the gradually unfolding landscape from a large variety of rocky vantage points. Halfway up the southern brow of Am Bathach I succumbed to some deep retching, following which I felt slightly better. Continuing with this stop - start routine, I eventually reached the summit ridge, where I was confronted by its three peaks. Normally, they present themselves as mere protuberances on the ridge, but on this day they manifested as enormous walls of mountain to be climbed. I lay down to rest in the silence of the middle peak. Suddenly I was jarred into wakefulness by a racket above me. A bird of prey - my rudimentary knowledge of wildlife suggests it was a buzzard - was hovering close to the ground,  but was being harassed by three noisy crows, which followed closely in its wake as it swooped then hung in the air, apparently trying to get close to the ground. The persistence of the crows paid off, and the buzzard eventually swung off across the valley and into the distance. The drama over, I closed my eyes again and drifted into sleep.

The descent off the far end of Am Bathach is slightly steep, over heather and slippery peat. As I was coming down, it occurred to me that, despite my physical frailty, I did not feel the slightest bit worried or intimidated. In fact I had felt fully confident during the entire little adventure. I knew myself  - my abilities and limitations - and had made appropriate decisions for the day. I had never been be-migrained in the hills before, but I was very much at home here. I respected the mountains, and they lent their support to me. My  own love of the wild would be reciprocated, provided I acted appropriately and with common sense. Going to the mountains was what I did.

I arrived back outside the hotel with an hour to spare. I could have taken refuge inside. Instead, I lay down on a rock, closed my eyes again, and felt the caress of the wind on my face. It had been a mild migraine by my standards, allowing me the unique opportunity to spend a day of ill-health outdoors among the mountains. I felt curiously satisfied.

                  

Windfarms: Postscript in Blood

                                     Ed Davey salutes the masses

There may be those who consider me a little harsh on the supporters of windfarms. I could possibly do with a bit more understanding of their position; I could moderate my words and my judgment. Nothing of the sort. I have, in fact, been generous and charitable in the extreme in what I have written. The reality is worse than anything my ability with language can conjure up.

Among the worst offenders are those members of the Liberal Democrat party in Britain. These guys should get themselves a dictionary: it is difficult to find a bunch of people less democratic and liberal than these. Actually, in the last general election hardly anybody voted for them. Nevertheless, in the brave-new-world coalition of today they are in the driving seat for trashing vast areas of countryside with industrial junk, not to mention condemning lots of older folk to an early grave thanks to the consequent high energy prices of their windfarms policy.

Current Windfarm Fuhrer-Messiah is Lib Dem Ed Davey, successor to nice Lib Dem man Chris Huhne. The nonsense that issues from this man's mouth is jaw-dropping. His department is currently engaged in blocking reports on the effects of windfarms on property prices and on rural economies generally. Very liberal and democratic indeed. Of course, it is no coincidence that a guy like him is head of energy ('Coincidence' is a word we like to throw around to cover up a connection which we are either genuinely unconscious of, or which we do not want to face up to). It's all engineered by Cameron, but I'll leave you to work that one out.

A personal observation. I have no proof, but this is what I see...... Scottish Highland people, especially the rural ones, generally like to stay put. Selling a house here is a far slower process than it is likely to be in London. Yet I have passed through a number of small communities where a surprising number of 'For Sale' notices have been on display. These have all been near windfarms, or places with windfarm proposals around. Coincidence? No: 'coincidence' is a word.......etc etc. One village, in particular, not far from Loch Ness, seems awash with such notices. There is a windfarm already up the valley from the settlement, with another proposal adjacent, and several others in fair proximity. The area is also now crossed by the Beauly-Denny transmission line, hundreds of miles of giant pylons under construction which march across the hills. Their erection has meant considerable areas of forest being cleared and turned into unsightly industrial sites without a thought for their appearance. Of course, personal sacrifice has to be made in the name of the greater general good; tough luck on the local residents. 'The greater good' argument is another weapon wielded by the tyrannical. I have been there myself. It is not nice.

The Highland Clearances is one episode in Scottish history that is correctly viewed with shame. Yet the fallout from the saturation bombing by windfarms is similar. In fact, the closer you look, the more remarkable the parallels turn out to be. You see, the Empire maintains its control through a small number of strategies repeated time and time again. Deja vu.

        

A Warrior's Greatest Love, And Its Great Betrayal

It's the end of the line. After a decade and three best-selling titles, the time has come for a final dramatic farewell. Along with Pablito, another apprentice, Carlos Castaneda stands on the northern edge of the mesa, a flat-topped mountain, somewhere in Mexico. There, too, are Don Juan and Don Genaro, Castaneda's teacher and benefactor respectively. The light is fading; twilight, the door to the unknown, is fast approaching. The time for the jump. The jump into the abyss.

Pablito and Carlos are told to say goodbye to all those present and everyone else they are leaving behind. They might return to fulfil their earthly task, or they might not, instead merging finally and completely with the nagual, the infinite.

A wave of sadness and loneliness overcomes Castaneda. 'It's almost time for us to disband....' says Genaro.'But before we go our separate ways, I must tell you one last thing. I am going to disclose to you a warrior's secret.' He recalls Castaneda once saying that the life of a warrior was cold and lonely and devoid of feelings.  This cannot be so, iterates Genaro, because his life is based on his affection, his devotion, his dedication to his beloved. At this, Genaro makes a series of 'dazzling magical moves' that Castaneda perceives as a luminous ball 'sliding on something like the floor of an ice skating rink with a thousand lights shining on it.'

The voice of Don Juan illuminates: Don Genaro's love is the world, and this is his way of embracing the Earth. The Earth knows that Don Genaro loves it: hence his life is filled to the brim. 'Genaro roams on the paths of his love and, wherever he is, he is complete.' 'Only if one loves this Earth with unbending passion can one release ones sadness' he continues. 'A warrior is always joyful because his love is unalterable and his beloved, the Earth, embraces him and bestows upon him inconceivable gifts.'

The barking of a dog cuts the silence. This barking, Don Juan goes on to explain, is the saddest thing one can hear. 'That barking, and the loneliness it creates, speaks of the feelings of men. Men for whom an entire life was like one Sunday afternoon, an afternoon which was not altogether miserable, but rather hot and dull and uncomfortable. They sweated and fussed a great deal. They didn't know where to go, or what to do. That afternoon left them only with the memory of petty annoyances and tedium, and then suddenly it was over; it was already night.'

For Castaneda this, a warrior's greatest love, is the final teaching, the one that puts everything else in context. And it is written about in the final pages of 'Tales of Power' with a force, a focus, and a passion, that is, to my mind, unequalled in the work of Castaneda. It is real Earth mysticism, direct contact and communication with Gaia, which arguably represents the highest aspirations a human being can have.

Today, this sacred pathway has been twisted and distorted beyond recognition, hijacked by the oligarchs and other emissaries of control over our species. Love of the Earth has been debased into global warming panic, carbon emission guilt, the desecration of the beautiful face of the Earth with windfarms that benefit only the rich and power-hungry, and a general hatred of humanity for its sins. A message both poisonous and ludicrous, thrust upon a gullible public desperate for something to believe in, something to save their hideous souls.

In Britain we have the Camerons, the Ed Daveys, the Huhnes; the Salmonds and Fergus Ewings in Scotland; the shameless opportunists of Scottish Renewables and Renewables UK; the fanatical ideologues in Greenpeace, Friends of the Earth, and WWF. Blind ideology and Machiavellian opportunism combine in varying proportions in an appeal to people's better nature. Rationally, it doesn't have a leg to stand on. Just as one example, even were human-made warming a perilous reality, whatever happens on these small islands of Britain would be irrelevant, given its tiny contribution to planetary emissions overall. More and more people are seeing through these vicious lies, but still they hold, through ignorance, fear, and guilt, far too many people in their thrall.

In truth, the Green mind control programme delivers a double whammy; it is probably the most successful in business at the moment. Increasing numbers of people are becoming suspicious of the 'Mohammed Dave has an enormous armoury of massively destructive weapons in a little country far from here and he's got them all pointed at his next-door neighbour/Kensington High Street (delete as appropriate)' routine. Yet those very same people will swallow whole the 'climate change - panic - just do as we say and everything will be alright' fabrication. It's the programme that catches nice people, people who are concerned. Some generally aware 'psychedelic people' are among those who have fallen for the scam. Take Graham Hancock and Ralph Metzner: both people for whom I have a goodly store of respect, and who carry around a bucketload of wisdom with them. Yet look at their blogs and websites, and they are littered with stuff about human-induced climate catastrophe, draconian low carbon strategies, etc. If we are going to talk low carbon technology, let's at least do it properly. Forget wind turbines and everything else that's been thrown at us thus far. Put serious time and energy into looking at the plethora of low- and free- energy devices that are popping up nowadays (with predictably zero coverage in the mainstream).

I haven't written much about windfarms recently. That doesn't mean they have gone away. It's just that I have no intention of turning into a full-time campaigner. At the end of the day, moving the pieces around on the chessboard isn't a solution. The real game is off the chessboard altogether. As it happens, my cursory glances at the 'news' show how the extent of the windfarm lie is being exposed on a daily basis. Yet still this programme bulldozes its way through regardless, attempting to worm its slimy way into every nook and cranny of sacred earth beauty. And, by the way, the Earth appears to be cooling at the moment, and Arctic ice is back with a vengeance.

Image: truth frequency

           

 

Chasing Authenticity

Being authentic - sounds simple, doesn't it? Do your own thing, man. Be true to yourself. Follow your bliss? Er, no. Granted there are different degrees of authenticity, but to honour this pursuit at all deeply is one of the most difficult tasks on offer to a human being on this planet.

Authenticity requires removing, or at least getting beyond, the veil upon veil of fabrication that stands between our everyday experience and direct immediate reality. From the moment of our birth - or even beforehand, if we take seriously the work of Stan Grof and others - we are assailed by all manner of input and information drawing us out of our core. Very soon our direct perception of reality is being substituted by an interpretation of it, or what in the works of Castaneda is termed a description of reality. This normally happens seamlessly, a process of which we remain blissfully ignorant. Undoing the knots and tangles presented by this taken-on interpretation is a large part of the process of self-discovery, spiritual life, call it what you will.

Two main, though not completely discrete, elements of this fabrication of experience can be discerned. Firstly, there is what is commonly known as personal conditioning. A library of therapies has appeared over the last century with the aim of helping to untangle the knots and tangles (complexes), the distortions developed through our lifetime that have stayed buried, unconsciously skewing our experience of the way things more truly are. In Castaneda, this is referred to as 'erasing personal history': not that things didn't happen, but liberating us from the dark magic that their hold maintains over us.

Then there is the distortion created through the ever-present influence of the media, religion, the education system, the belief systems and taboos of the culture that we grow up in. As Neil Kramer vividly explains, it is almost impossible to be authentic, real, while remaining a heavy consumer of mainstream media, such is its power to tell you what is what, and what is not. A little research soon throws up the unsavoury truth that these are not organs passionately dedicated to getting to the bottom of things and aiding in our quest for liberating authenticity. Even if this was their more noble original intention, they function, in their mainstream guises especially, to put onto an unsuspecting public a particular version, or single tiny slice, of reality, making out that this is the whole story.

It is my observation that many people into 'spiritual things', while acutely aware of the former, often limit their degree of authenticity through ignoring, or denying, the second form of distortion summarised above. If you are being constantly put on, by the media, for example, and not even conscious that that is happening, what chance have you got of experiencing the deeper levels of your reality? We have a personal responsibility to delve below the surface, to try to see what is really happening to us, what we are really being fed and why. Taking personal responsibility is an integral part of developing authenticity. To get topical: if you believe hook line and sinker what international thugs like Obama and Kerry, Cameron and Hague, tell you about Syria, you are likely suffering from a severe unconscious reality distortion.....

Contact with greater authenticity is one of the main benefits of immersion in 'nature' as we call it. It could be anything: forest, desert, rivers or oceans. In my case, mountainous places are the main thing. Go to the mountains and you are confronted with authenticity. You can't escape it. Stones, rocks; heather, peat, mountain streams; wind, rain, sun; a deer on the horizon, a frog caught unaware in a pool of slime. All have no choice. They know no other way than to be authentic, whatever that might be for each and every one of them. Out of the tangled, distorted world of humans for a week, a day, for a few hours even. Recontacting, reconnecting. Back to source, giving our authentic self a chance......

            

Casey Heads West....

Casey Hardison has appeared before on Pale Green Vortex, most notably in 'The Gagging of Casey Hardison', posted on October 24th 2011. He was, you may recall, well into a twenty-year prison sentence dished out to him for producing LSD and other 'psychedelic-type substances' in his house in Brighton. His persistence and irrefutable logic regarding the ridiculous severity of his sentence finally led to the Home Office issuing a 'shut up until you're out of here, reality pest' order on Casey.

Anyhow, after nine years, three months, two weeks, and two days in prison, Casey was released into the light of day on May 29th 2013. Considering his honesty-and-reality speak a threat to the system, or at least a serious nuisance, St. Teresa May at the Home Office saw fit to deport him immediately whence he came, the U.S. of A.

I am keeping the link to the 'Free Casey' website (as well as still wearing my t-shirt of the same) on Pale Green Vortex, since it is a useful portal into the world of the War Against Some Drugs, and especially the War Against Certain Types of Consciousness. Anybody still labouring under the delusion that drugs laws are anything to do with the health and well-being of the general public is advised to have a good old scratch around here.

And as far as Casey Hardison is concerned: Pale Green Vortex wishes you good luck with the rest of your life!