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Showing posts with label Self Reliance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Self Reliance. Show all posts
From Beyond The Blog - 30/10/12
I'm not sure why I chose last night when I was exhausted to record this, but I did, and here it is.Enjoy, and thanks.
The Not So Romantic Parts - Wednesday 10/10/12
Illness. It is upon us and I have observed it tends to occur around the transition of the seasons.
As our bodies slow down to combat the invasion, one can suffer, or one can embrace the time and change of pace we are gifted.
On this occasion, I have reflected and observed some very important and often overlooked factors when it comes to living the much romanticized, almost mythical 'simple life'.
Thankfully my affliction is minor and its main effect is lethargy. But even this can present a challenge. Energy must still be expended if the fire is to be kept fed and the wood supply replenished. Feeling tired can amplify the feeling of exertion and sap morale.
From the perspective of a father, it appears there is scant opportunity for a mother to rest to the extent her body requires. The demands of infants does not slacken, in fact they seemingly increase if the child has also contracted the infection. This in turn appears to prolong the duration of the illness in the host.
Living in close proximity takes on a new dimension as you cower in the extremities of your abode, hoping that the cough and splutter that just erupted from your eight year old and showered your cheek holds no dire consequence.
Relative to most, my family and I do exist closer to 'nature' or 'the edge' so to speak, but the truth is we are no where as near as our ancestors nor indeed the bulk of the worlds population today.
No, unlike most, when unwell we cannot, and do not, lie in bed sipping on mass produced pharmaceutical 'remedies' whilst heating is activated via a timer, food procured from a freezer, blasted with microwaves and reputedly edible in minutes etc.
Nor do we walk a tight rope where pneumonia or the risk of more severe disease is a reality. This is due in part to having friends and family who dwell in houses with the aforementioned conveniences where we can retreat if needs dictate, as well as having the safety net delivered by Universal Free Healthcare in the form of the NHS. Thankfully we rarely need to play that card, but it's very existence is a comfort and worth acknowledgement.
I am sure I am not the first modern youth who was flabbergasted when told that the common cold swept like a plague through the indigenous population of the Americas, with deadly effect, when first the white man arrived.
Now, I believe I am closer to understanding why. If it wasn't the disease itself, then a contributing factor could have been the ease of its transmission compounded by the difficulty of functioning and fulfilling basic, everyday needs. A whole family, even village could quickly become incapacitated (this still happens today!) and a vicious spiral could easily begin.
Sadly, a lifestyle such as my own is undeniably elitist. Natural selection at work in its ugliest and crudest form. No amount of currency will fill the void of not being able to lift your head off your pillow to light your stove. Your bank account cannot put food into your mouth. Your estate will not magically manifest a watertight shelter.
Consequently, I admit to being probably overly cautious when sawing and chopping wood for instance. No 'injurylawyers4u' will be able to replace the functionality of a severed thumb or chopped foot. A broken leg could easily mean many weeks of hardship not solely for me but for my entire family.
At Lammas I witnessed dreamers from all ages, backgrounds and walks of life come to visit, nearly all wishing to engage in a similar endeavour. For a few, the realisation that they would not physically be able to do so without relying on another was a sobering and hard to swallow truth to say the least.
Nature does not adhere to any amount of disability or equality legislation.
This is not to say these folk were beyond hope. Far from it. Their challenge only slightly increased by the need to re-unite their family. To rediscover the strength a family unit provides. It is no accident why family is so very very important, perhaps not literally and physically so much in the western world, but you need not travel far to see it in action.
I am able to meet the demands and challenges I am faced with, but this will not always be so. Is the answer a pension plan? No. It is my family, primarily my offspring. They are my retirement fund. They just don't know it yet!
As our bodies slow down to combat the invasion, one can suffer, or one can embrace the time and change of pace we are gifted.
On this occasion, I have reflected and observed some very important and often overlooked factors when it comes to living the much romanticized, almost mythical 'simple life'.
Thankfully my affliction is minor and its main effect is lethargy. But even this can present a challenge. Energy must still be expended if the fire is to be kept fed and the wood supply replenished. Feeling tired can amplify the feeling of exertion and sap morale.
From the perspective of a father, it appears there is scant opportunity for a mother to rest to the extent her body requires. The demands of infants does not slacken, in fact they seemingly increase if the child has also contracted the infection. This in turn appears to prolong the duration of the illness in the host.
Living in close proximity takes on a new dimension as you cower in the extremities of your abode, hoping that the cough and splutter that just erupted from your eight year old and showered your cheek holds no dire consequence.
Relative to most, my family and I do exist closer to 'nature' or 'the edge' so to speak, but the truth is we are no where as near as our ancestors nor indeed the bulk of the worlds population today.
No, unlike most, when unwell we cannot, and do not, lie in bed sipping on mass produced pharmaceutical 'remedies' whilst heating is activated via a timer, food procured from a freezer, blasted with microwaves and reputedly edible in minutes etc.
Nor do we walk a tight rope where pneumonia or the risk of more severe disease is a reality. This is due in part to having friends and family who dwell in houses with the aforementioned conveniences where we can retreat if needs dictate, as well as having the safety net delivered by Universal Free Healthcare in the form of the NHS. Thankfully we rarely need to play that card, but it's very existence is a comfort and worth acknowledgement.
I am sure I am not the first modern youth who was flabbergasted when told that the common cold swept like a plague through the indigenous population of the Americas, with deadly effect, when first the white man arrived.
Now, I believe I am closer to understanding why. If it wasn't the disease itself, then a contributing factor could have been the ease of its transmission compounded by the difficulty of functioning and fulfilling basic, everyday needs. A whole family, even village could quickly become incapacitated (this still happens today!) and a vicious spiral could easily begin.
Sadly, a lifestyle such as my own is undeniably elitist. Natural selection at work in its ugliest and crudest form. No amount of currency will fill the void of not being able to lift your head off your pillow to light your stove. Your bank account cannot put food into your mouth. Your estate will not magically manifest a watertight shelter.
Consequently, I admit to being probably overly cautious when sawing and chopping wood for instance. No 'injurylawyers4u' will be able to replace the functionality of a severed thumb or chopped foot. A broken leg could easily mean many weeks of hardship not solely for me but for my entire family.
At Lammas I witnessed dreamers from all ages, backgrounds and walks of life come to visit, nearly all wishing to engage in a similar endeavour. For a few, the realisation that they would not physically be able to do so without relying on another was a sobering and hard to swallow truth to say the least.
Nature does not adhere to any amount of disability or equality legislation.
This is not to say these folk were beyond hope. Far from it. Their challenge only slightly increased by the need to re-unite their family. To rediscover the strength a family unit provides. It is no accident why family is so very very important, perhaps not literally and physically so much in the western world, but you need not travel far to see it in action.
I am able to meet the demands and challenges I am faced with, but this will not always be so. Is the answer a pension plan? No. It is my family, primarily my offspring. They are my retirement fund. They just don't know it yet!
Waste and Dishonour
I had the pleasure of
receiving a communication from a forum member today.
He wished to know how
he may reduce the waste and fully utilise the parts of the animals he
hunted. It was/is a firm belief featuring heavily in the mythology of hunting tribes that to do so is to
honour and respect your prey, to neglect to, a sin and a crime.
I may know a smidgeon
more than many regarding this field, but I cannot by any means claim
to be an expert. I would guess they live in Africa and the Rainforests of South America, but I shall do my best in future posts to
share what experience I do have and the knowledge I have gained.
Before I do, I have to
say that it was the enquirers mention of having witnessed the people
of Afghanistan and “seeing what they do” that really caught my
attention and set the little cogs turning. I believe I understand
what he is referring to.
When I was fifteen I
had the privilege of visiting India. This was a profound experience
that I have no doubt has shaped my present and will my future. I, a
teenager at the time both blessed and cursed with having been born in
an age of rampant technological progress and the economic boom of the
90's, seeing people living in abject financial poverty. These people
had few to no possessions of monetary value and yet were seemingly
happier and more content with their lot than any single person I had
ever come across. From the overcrowded train carriage, a relic of a
bygone age, I observed filthy young scamps very much enjoying a game
of cricket in the Sun, wickets constructed from gnarled sticks,
laughing and evidently happier than any of my fellows in Britain with
their Playstations, televisions and mobile phones. An impossible number of houses
lined the railway banks, constructed from a myriad of salvaged waste
materials. Here was necessity mothering invention on an awesome
scale though now the materials were not natural, rather the economic and industrial cast offs in an urban setting.
It is therefore little
wonder that whilst my local tip proudly displays a sign claiming to
have recycled 73% of the waste handled last year, countries such as
India and those in Africa can easily claim over 95%. The common
denominator? Money, or rather the lack of it.
Money is a magic bullet
that can often bring about a desired outcome or secure an acquisition
that outsources the challenge of manifestation to another. I view each pound sterling
as a unit of time. Sometimes the exchange is very efficient, for
instance an air rifle. How long would it take you to construct and
manufacture such a device? If a good quality rifle costs £300 new,
and you earn £50 a day, six days of paper shuffling/labouring/bin
collecting/filing sees you outfitted with something that it is fair
to say would have taken you a damn sight longer than that to make!
Conversely the hundreds
of pounds spent heating, running, renting/buying your home each
year and the hours spent working a repetitive job you ultimately
resent and despise and keeps you from those you hold dear in order to meet those bills is an example of the
insanity money perpetuates. I find it more efficient to live close to my family in a
caravan with a wood burner and collect and process the wood myself.
Gas for heating costs me £35 every five months! Barely a days labour
if I do choose to sell my time...
Now it may seem that I
have digressed, but the above is intended as a background
illustration of why most of us (myself included to an extent) do not
fully exploit the resource and opportunity each of our kills
presents. We lack need.
I am told that food is
the cheapest, for us wealthy countries, than it has ever been before.
- We do not need to eat that rabbit.
Clothing is practically
disposable, - No need for the fur.
No need to tan, - no need for the
brain.
Needles are mass
produced and lets face it, with clothes no longer mended who the heck
needs those anyway, so – bones not required.
Glue is readily and
cheaply available manufactured from chemicals, - no need to boil the
scraps of hide/ eyeballs.
I daresay the list
could go on but I think you catch my drift.
To the enquirer and the
curious, as a start, I refer you to my 'Make Your Quarry Pay' post.
Regarding pigeons, it
did seem somewhat shameful and criminal to use just the breasts, and with this in mind I
experimented with skinning it in order to cook it like one would a
chicken. Please see this post for further details. Unfortunately I do not believe in this case that the extra effort required is beneficial for anything but the conscience. Amazingly those birds are seemingly 95% breast!
Feathers are the most
obvious usable item of avian quarry. Jays for the electric blue wing
feathers, prized by fishermen, magpies I believe also.
For the remainder of my
life I will endeavour to experiment, test and research further ways
that I may honour that which I kill, but I will say this. In nature,
ultimately, there is no such thing as waste. This is by no means a
truth upon which we may excuse ourselves, only you can be the judge
of the acceptability of your habits, but it is a truth nonetheless. Parts that are
presently unusable to me, I 'offer to the woodland gods'. To date, no
offering has thus far been rejected and in this knowledge my conscience is soothed.
Self Reliant Airgunning - Pellet Production
It has been the one bug bear of mine. That little niggle about
airgunning. The tie that keeps me reliant on the world of money and the
marketplace.
I speak of ammunition, its consumption and its loss.
We use a lot of pellets!
Accuracy demands that each pellet is near identical in shape and weight, and soft (for the rifling). Killing cleanly requires the material, after accuracy is obtained, to still pack a punch, thus a metal is deemed best.
It is therefore safe to say this means a man in the woods cannot extract or find the materials from the surroundings without mining the ore (if it even exists locally), smelting, casting, moulding, and swaging.
Unfortunately, if one is to stay safe from harassment, bow hunting, despite its 'renewable' ammo, is not an option on this island of ours, and catapults firing stones that are rarely uniform is a challenge I have yet to master.
On and off I researched various methods of banging out homemade ammo, but none were acceptable;
Corbin Pellet Presses and Swaging dies -Too expensive, too bulky and hardly cost effective to have shipped from the US of A.
L.E.M Spitzer moulds - poor accuracy results, becoming rare, none found in .177, production long ceased.
But lo! Whilst browsing for airgun bargains I came across an advert for a product aptly named "Airgun Pellet Maker". A chap had knocked up a prototype and posted a video of it on YouTube (I remember seeing it when it was first posted). He finally bowed to demand and has begun manufacturing them for sale.
He also lived locally so I popped across and we did a deal on a set. One .22 swager, one .177 swager and a dual calibre casting block.
That was on a Monday when the weather was poor and work was called off. I didn't get an opportunity to play until yesterday.
I was gifted some blanks to press and play with so I thought I'd do those and see what sort of weight the products were and their consistency on my new junkie scales bought for the job. Each were on the dot identical.
.177;
.22;
Now being as I'm using a springer, I've turned the weight of the .22s down to 18.4gr. The .177 I'm happy with as I want the punch.
The measurements include the tail flair, each fit beautifully in the barrels of the TX200 and TH208.
Pics of my play time.
Casting Block and eBay Lead Ladle;
The Blanks;
The Melting Pot;
The Finished Pellets;
The 'Workstation';
The lead was obtained from the old roof of this house I'm working on. The swager is to the right of the casting block seen in two parts. I intend to do a bit of a review of it with better pics outlining the method and process.
First test through the tx200 .177 10 yards.
Those two flyers, I think, were me tweaking the scope, zeroing as I went, and experimenting with holds. I was pretty impressed
Melting the old lead In a pellet tin on an old SMA Dried Milk Can using charcoal made in the woodburner;
Ran out of charcoal and had to use wood. I needed more oomph so...;
The process is alot of fun. Not everyone's cup of tea, but for me the value is more in the capability. Both the ability of recycling my shot, and forming it.
Hoorah!
Now to find the lead mine....
I speak of ammunition, its consumption and its loss.
We use a lot of pellets!
Accuracy demands that each pellet is near identical in shape and weight, and soft (for the rifling). Killing cleanly requires the material, after accuracy is obtained, to still pack a punch, thus a metal is deemed best.
It is therefore safe to say this means a man in the woods cannot extract or find the materials from the surroundings without mining the ore (if it even exists locally), smelting, casting, moulding, and swaging.
Unfortunately, if one is to stay safe from harassment, bow hunting, despite its 'renewable' ammo, is not an option on this island of ours, and catapults firing stones that are rarely uniform is a challenge I have yet to master.
On and off I researched various methods of banging out homemade ammo, but none were acceptable;
Corbin Pellet Presses and Swaging dies -Too expensive, too bulky and hardly cost effective to have shipped from the US of A.
L.E.M Spitzer moulds - poor accuracy results, becoming rare, none found in .177, production long ceased.
But lo! Whilst browsing for airgun bargains I came across an advert for a product aptly named "Airgun Pellet Maker". A chap had knocked up a prototype and posted a video of it on YouTube (I remember seeing it when it was first posted). He finally bowed to demand and has begun manufacturing them for sale.
He also lived locally so I popped across and we did a deal on a set. One .22 swager, one .177 swager and a dual calibre casting block.
That was on a Monday when the weather was poor and work was called off. I didn't get an opportunity to play until yesterday.
I was gifted some blanks to press and play with so I thought I'd do those and see what sort of weight the products were and their consistency on my new junkie scales bought for the job. Each were on the dot identical.
.177;
.22;
Now being as I'm using a springer, I've turned the weight of the .22s down to 18.4gr. The .177 I'm happy with as I want the punch.
The measurements include the tail flair, each fit beautifully in the barrels of the TX200 and TH208.
Pics of my play time.
Casting Block and eBay Lead Ladle;
The Blanks;
The Melting Pot;
The Finished Pellets;
The 'Workstation';
The lead was obtained from the old roof of this house I'm working on. The swager is to the right of the casting block seen in two parts. I intend to do a bit of a review of it with better pics outlining the method and process.
First test through the tx200 .177 10 yards.
Those two flyers, I think, were me tweaking the scope, zeroing as I went, and experimenting with holds. I was pretty impressed
Melting the old lead In a pellet tin on an old SMA Dried Milk Can using charcoal made in the woodburner;
Ran out of charcoal and had to use wood. I needed more oomph so...;
The process is alot of fun. Not everyone's cup of tea, but for me the value is more in the capability. Both the ability of recycling my shot, and forming it.
Hoorah!
Now to find the lead mine....
The Voice From The Ether...
Hello!
Yup, I'm still here and the story goes on. But its time to end the black out to bring you guys upto speed on things.
First off an apology and explanation for the sudden neglection of the blog. This is down to two reasons. 1) A slip on the totem of priority and 2) the evident inability of my phone's mobile internet connection to upload the corresponding photographs. A consequence of this is that I require landline broadband and have thus far failed to bring with me my diary whenever I'm presented with the opportunity to log on. Like, now... So, sorry for that.
I do intend to post the missing entries but, I'd like to fast forward to the final entry I made in my diary before things got busy and ironically, very interesting. I don't mean to ruin things for you I only wish to sum up where I stand at this present now and why 'blogging' has become of lower significance to me when it is about documenting my physical life's events. The murder of the family pet cat, Eira, by a Human Being on the night of Thursday the 27th October was an excellent opportunity to observe my ego and all its urges to lash out, seek enemies, exact retribution. Instead I was the witnessing presence. I don't wish to sound 'saintly' but it was very easy to let go. To not react in the manner of the 'old' conciousness. To not be suckered in. We lacked proof, but the evidence was powerful enough for us to know almost by intuition 'whodunnit'. We went directly to them and had our answer. It changed nothing. Our cat is still dead. Her existence ended by enforced drowning in mere inches of water in the very same mill pond that had witnessed the demise of so many other beings. The feeling that it was most likely that Kit's wife Saara had executed her will upon the cat we named Eira changed nothing. It also was not solely the reason we ended our arrangement of volunteering for them and left Lammas (Tir-Y-Gafel) some three/four weeks later.
This non-reaction and non-identification enabled me to continue my interactions with Kit and Saara without anger, bitterness or hurt. I admit it still lurked and irked somewhat in the dark recesses where the pain body and ego still dwell, but I observed those emotions/thought forms, I did not react to them.
I forgive Kit and Saara both unreservedly. I am, and always will be, very grateful indeed to them for their part in my experiences and the facilitation of them. Had I grabbed my air rifle and shot dead their cat Gwyn, I would have perpetuated the same insane behaviour that plagues mankind presently upon this Earth. How in hell can ending the life of another, innocent, unknowing being bring justice or revenge except through the insane delusion that that being is the perpetrator or somehow was in alliance with the perpetrator. Or even that justice lies in inflicting the same injury upon the injurer, disregarding that the one that would really pay the price is faultless. The ego is cunning like that. By mere association, my mind attempted to convince me that their cats death (Eira's Sister) would make things 'fair' or 'right'. What rubbish. Death plus Death will never equal Life. I could be ashamed to admit to those thoughts, I am not, for they are not mine, they are born of the ego.
It was almost poetic when viewed from a distance. That the cat named Eira was born at Tir-Y-Gafel, and just over a year later she died there after producing a litter of three, one kitten was an almost exact replica of her. The kitten who seemed most attached to her, despite being homed and living over 200 miles away, died shortly after his mother. Emma speculates he simply wished to follow his beloved mother to that which waits for us all.
I do intend to periodically utilise this medium for communicating to those who will listen, but the structure of how I do so will take on a different form.
I have begun, and am toying with finishing, writing a book entitled "Coping With Mine and Society's Dysfunction". In this book I intend to relate my observations and draw out into the open not only some of the issues I have witnessed at Tir-Y-Gafel (collective human coexistence in the micro) but also experiences before and after as well as inside and outside 'me'. There is little 'out there' that does not occur in me. Often the most infuriating or upsetting aspects of the 'out there' is often the very same tendency or aspect that I dislike inside 'me' or rather the mind I use. Just a germ of a concept...
Here is the final entry in my diary, should you wish to read it before its chronological place;
05/10/11 Wednesday
Our 'Indian Summer' is at an end. Normality, if that is what it is, seems to have returned.
Friday, Simon and Jasmine took us with them to Picton Castle where an event was being held in the gardens. The theme was light. Interestingly to me, my pleasure came not from the man made attractions. Primarily it was being with Simon and Jasmine and my family and the change of scenery, and once there, the magnificent trees and horticulture, most notably a 300 year old Cedar tree. From its trunk extended sucker like branches that grew outward a distance, just beyond the canopy, and turned skyward.
My favourite of these was one that resembled an elephants head and trunk.
I grant you that its been one week to the day since my last entry. I am finding it increasingly difficult to breakdown my life into newsworthy events. My life just is. What arises, passes. The fact that yesterday, I and others collected algae bloom from the millpond along with its brown trout victims, does not particularly change nor matter much. It is a tit bit of limited interest to another. Collectively, the entries may give my children an idea of who I was and what I was thinking, but that is of little significance to who I am. To me, each day is now a new life. Each night that previous existence fades and serves no role in the present. A death.
The photographs are images, a form of forms, it, like the other forms, will fade and whither into past. Unless one derives identity from these and other forms, their capture and/or demise are of no consequence.
I once thought it mattered to record and to remember the past. I once believed it important to be able to communicate my activities to others. It is not. Not, for me, anymore. These records are and have been entertaining. A distraction from the present.
For those who read this because they want to follow my path, to learn the secrets of how I changed my life, I have not answers, but important questions for you.
It was not particularly useful for me to ask "Where do I want to live/be?" But rather "Where am I happy to die?" I believe the latter of the two evokes much stronger imagery in the minds eye than the former. Also; "If not now, then when? If not here, then where?
"These roses under my Window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist with God today. There is no time to them...But man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with reverted eye laments the past, or, heedless of the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time" - Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self Reliance.
M Jones
Yup, I'm still here and the story goes on. But its time to end the black out to bring you guys upto speed on things.
First off an apology and explanation for the sudden neglection of the blog. This is down to two reasons. 1) A slip on the totem of priority and 2) the evident inability of my phone's mobile internet connection to upload the corresponding photographs. A consequence of this is that I require landline broadband and have thus far failed to bring with me my diary whenever I'm presented with the opportunity to log on. Like, now... So, sorry for that.
I do intend to post the missing entries but, I'd like to fast forward to the final entry I made in my diary before things got busy and ironically, very interesting. I don't mean to ruin things for you I only wish to sum up where I stand at this present now and why 'blogging' has become of lower significance to me when it is about documenting my physical life's events. The murder of the family pet cat, Eira, by a Human Being on the night of Thursday the 27th October was an excellent opportunity to observe my ego and all its urges to lash out, seek enemies, exact retribution. Instead I was the witnessing presence. I don't wish to sound 'saintly' but it was very easy to let go. To not react in the manner of the 'old' conciousness. To not be suckered in. We lacked proof, but the evidence was powerful enough for us to know almost by intuition 'whodunnit'. We went directly to them and had our answer. It changed nothing. Our cat is still dead. Her existence ended by enforced drowning in mere inches of water in the very same mill pond that had witnessed the demise of so many other beings. The feeling that it was most likely that Kit's wife Saara had executed her will upon the cat we named Eira changed nothing. It also was not solely the reason we ended our arrangement of volunteering for them and left Lammas (Tir-Y-Gafel) some three/four weeks later.
This non-reaction and non-identification enabled me to continue my interactions with Kit and Saara without anger, bitterness or hurt. I admit it still lurked and irked somewhat in the dark recesses where the pain body and ego still dwell, but I observed those emotions/thought forms, I did not react to them.
I forgive Kit and Saara both unreservedly. I am, and always will be, very grateful indeed to them for their part in my experiences and the facilitation of them. Had I grabbed my air rifle and shot dead their cat Gwyn, I would have perpetuated the same insane behaviour that plagues mankind presently upon this Earth. How in hell can ending the life of another, innocent, unknowing being bring justice or revenge except through the insane delusion that that being is the perpetrator or somehow was in alliance with the perpetrator. Or even that justice lies in inflicting the same injury upon the injurer, disregarding that the one that would really pay the price is faultless. The ego is cunning like that. By mere association, my mind attempted to convince me that their cats death (Eira's Sister) would make things 'fair' or 'right'. What rubbish. Death plus Death will never equal Life. I could be ashamed to admit to those thoughts, I am not, for they are not mine, they are born of the ego.
It was almost poetic when viewed from a distance. That the cat named Eira was born at Tir-Y-Gafel, and just over a year later she died there after producing a litter of three, one kitten was an almost exact replica of her. The kitten who seemed most attached to her, despite being homed and living over 200 miles away, died shortly after his mother. Emma speculates he simply wished to follow his beloved mother to that which waits for us all.
 | ||
| Eira; Born 10th October 2010, Died 27th October 2011. She was a cat who walked by herself... Into a man's tent in the middle of the night, one too many times and paid the ultimate price. Her life had been verbally threatened 2 days prior. How many of us know of a cat that will heed warnings or one that ever understood the human concept of 'Private Property'? |
I do intend to periodically utilise this medium for communicating to those who will listen, but the structure of how I do so will take on a different form.
I have begun, and am toying with finishing, writing a book entitled "Coping With Mine and Society's Dysfunction". In this book I intend to relate my observations and draw out into the open not only some of the issues I have witnessed at Tir-Y-Gafel (collective human coexistence in the micro) but also experiences before and after as well as inside and outside 'me'. There is little 'out there' that does not occur in me. Often the most infuriating or upsetting aspects of the 'out there' is often the very same tendency or aspect that I dislike inside 'me' or rather the mind I use. Just a germ of a concept...
Here is the final entry in my diary, should you wish to read it before its chronological place;
05/10/11 Wednesday
Our 'Indian Summer' is at an end. Normality, if that is what it is, seems to have returned.
Friday, Simon and Jasmine took us with them to Picton Castle where an event was being held in the gardens. The theme was light. Interestingly to me, my pleasure came not from the man made attractions. Primarily it was being with Simon and Jasmine and my family and the change of scenery, and once there, the magnificent trees and horticulture, most notably a 300 year old Cedar tree. From its trunk extended sucker like branches that grew outward a distance, just beyond the canopy, and turned skyward.
My favourite of these was one that resembled an elephants head and trunk.
I grant you that its been one week to the day since my last entry. I am finding it increasingly difficult to breakdown my life into newsworthy events. My life just is. What arises, passes. The fact that yesterday, I and others collected algae bloom from the millpond along with its brown trout victims, does not particularly change nor matter much. It is a tit bit of limited interest to another. Collectively, the entries may give my children an idea of who I was and what I was thinking, but that is of little significance to who I am. To me, each day is now a new life. Each night that previous existence fades and serves no role in the present. A death.
The photographs are images, a form of forms, it, like the other forms, will fade and whither into past. Unless one derives identity from these and other forms, their capture and/or demise are of no consequence.
I once thought it mattered to record and to remember the past. I once believed it important to be able to communicate my activities to others. It is not. Not, for me, anymore. These records are and have been entertaining. A distraction from the present.
For those who read this because they want to follow my path, to learn the secrets of how I changed my life, I have not answers, but important questions for you.
It was not particularly useful for me to ask "Where do I want to live/be?" But rather "Where am I happy to die?" I believe the latter of the two evokes much stronger imagery in the minds eye than the former. Also; "If not now, then when? If not here, then where?
"These roses under my Window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist with God today. There is no time to them...But man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with reverted eye laments the past, or, heedless of the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time" - Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self Reliance.
M Jones
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