Monday, May 27, 2013
Come into my picture.
We rent an old stone cottage that sometimes leaks. It has a yard with a couple of flower beds. It has a rusty gate leading to the narrow way where honeysuckle crowds around and greets the visitor with scent for three months. It has our treasure, a sixty-five year old Jasmine that flowers and suffuses with scent our lives from June until December.Our landlord never passes without a gift of something. Of eggs or courgettes or tomatoes or fruit from his orchard. Gifts of apricots and “Thespolla” and grapes. Sometimes at our door a gift of something, grown or made, left anonymously.
According to the government we are poor itinerant labourers, living well under the poverty level.
And yet our lives are full of richness, as you can read.
The sea lies a couple of hundred meters away, over the vegetable gardens and the ruins of the Minoan village.
We can hear goats, bleating their sad refrain, though they should be generally happy.
And where have we heard that before?
Eagles and buzzards and Eleanora’s falcons soar overhead. The old farmers go about their business, one turning up every couple of days to tend his vineyard next door to us. In his seventies, groaning with every exertion, with bad knees, he patiently toils for hours in the heat and dust.
We pass small time, my hopelessness at Greek probably giving rise to who knows what misinterpretations.
We discuss the weather.
Going unsaid but not needing the saying we share moments of silence, staring at the sea, wondering what has become of us.
He is an honourable man I believe. As I strive myself to be an honourable man, doing no harm, living as far from the false reality as I can, I see how close in their past was that way of life and how its spirit still flows in their veins and lives on in their old music and their dances learned in Granny’s kitchen.
They are a proud people. Not perfect, as none of us are, but for the most part they want only good for you and are, dare I say it, still human. The worst effects of the corporate takeover are yet to be seen here. Few chain stores. People still grow a lot of what they eat or gather food from nature, wild greens and herbs, snails, goats milk from their small herd. Someone knows someone with a boat and so there’s fishing.
Everyone knows someone that makes Raki, the Cretan version of Marc, or hooch, or pocheen or Arrack, quite simply the best bit of booze a smile can get you three free bottles of left at your door.
The making is done with solemnity, and with fire, and with food and with drunkenness and with family and friends together. It has love and pride in it, this spirit. And shared labour. You are supposed to have a licence to employ a still and make Raki.
They banned smoking in tavernas here.
Everyone ignored it.
They insisted on crash helmets.
The wise took the hint. The rest just go without at their peril.
Which is of course their choice.
Too often, here, tragically.
Perhaps if the world were different, they would take more care, our youngsters?
And we would take more care of them.
As we should of our unborn.
There is poverty here, and fear for the future, and bills unpaid and businessmen being hit in the pocket. There’s some begging.
We are afraid, because we all of know the worst is yet to come.
The whole of our species feels this.
We know we can’t go on doing what we’ve been doing.
That little of it makes sense.
The very systems we rely on are designed to prevent us from controlling our destiny together.
It is time to shrug them off.
There is of course a resentment here.
There is a word here they use which refers to the money they had to pay to the Turks when they were occupied. They now apply this word to the payment of anything to the government. The entire nation understands it’s been shafted royally, but of course there is no leadership, no force for good and honesty and honour determined to make life good for people.
Just fringe parties, waiting to pick up the disenchanted.
And the greedy remnants of the old politics here, of sleazy deals passing down through the whole of society, cushy jobs granted, large contracts paid lip-service to and big profits ending up in Switzerland.
Retaining support with graft, with backhanders, dividing the loyalties of their people with tawdry baubles of power and money and pension whilst the great prize of a society built on the foundations of love, that thing we all at our very core desire most, passes us by.
Strangely, we all of us know this.
The old man and I staring at the sea know how close we are as a species to realising the simplicity of living long and living well and of loving and of loving life, and wonder when we might share that understanding and step out of the dream.
And set each other free.
And assume the burden of care for each other.
Your freedom I guarantee, because my freedom relies upon yours.
As a species we need to decide on the fundamentals, anchor our passion and our determination and our collective grunt and mind-power on that vision and simply walk in that direction, walking away from things that contradict that hoped-for place, that place we have to go.
Slowly the world is awakening to the idea that we are endangering everything, that we have become a threat to ourselves and that it need not be so. In fact we are despoiling our world and despair at it and feel helpless about it and by and large we are afraid.
Afraid of each other.
We have forgotten how to share.
Forgotten how to trust and to be trustworthy and to value that thing as highly as we should, it being a virtue of ours. As is generosity. As is caring. As is pity. As is selflessness at its highest. As is the love of fun, the ins and outs of kinship, the bonding and tribalism we find such fun made glorious by the absence of enmity, by the banishing of fear, by setting each other free.
As is love.
Love is all that we want from the world.
Love is all we should give.
When we seek on this internet for ideas about how to share we find the slick visions and packaged dreams made just for us, just for this moment, to draw us into a rabbit-hole.
Someone needs to invent an app.
An app that finds out what we really think, that balances choice with information that comes from the cloud, the input and the thought of the people that care, each time drilling down to a principle, the core principle that underpins the collective thought.
That core will be love, because we must come to the collective wisdom that this is the only way we will survive the peril we are in and step into a future worthy of our species.
A world people of peace and love, fit for the universe, dazzling in its diversity.
That is the hive mind, and it is a force of good, and it is our destiny.
We could adopt a symbol.
Perhaps the last war will be an app war, the war for the collective consciousness of humanity. A battle humanity must win, despite the huge forces targeted at us; the mass media , the systems and organisations and belief shapers, the thought shapers.
If love is not at its core, we must walk away from it.
Seek that inner desire that we dare not show to the world and call it forth, live the life you should live.
Examine all that we do in the light of this consciousness and make our world what it should be for us, its inheritors, that generation that is a breath away from discovering it has its shoulder at the door of history and can, with a shrug, step into a new future.
And if you can read this, this responsibility lies on your shoulders.
Shrug, dear friend.
As we know, the battle is all about preventing us from coming to this realisation
It is being lost.
The species is awakening, and when they step on to the pathway that leads to truth they are waylaid by the glamour and the glitz of the prepared deception, they that bury the needles of their lies in a haystack of distracting truth.
To prevent a focusing of our intent on our future as a species.
To prevent us from asking ourselves what it is we really want, and then seeing no reason why, if that is what we really want, the world is not ordered so?
We are being distracted. Waylaid. Bamboozled.
I guess we should be ready for more.
Plots are unfolding.
This year the game will ratchet up a few notches.
Watch for the announcements from the alternative media. Parties are about to be formed. The next stage of the chaos, no doubt, is close. Daresay they would like to see Icke and Jones elevated to the grand stage. And maybe a few more “Masters of Wisdom” revealed in their networks……
Throw in the evidently planned UFO contact, however they play it, et voila!
The world becomes a Coke advert.
Our fate will be close to being sealed and still we will be divided.
Shouldered aside from our destiny for being stupid.
For fearing each other.
For using fear on each other.
And for allowing there to be a source of that fear, and for not believing what is obvious, and for being distracted.
All seven billion of us.
From what is true.
And there is only one truth, and it is love.
And in it lies our salvation.
Our one way out.
The last cast of the dice.
And I hope a million read this and see that this thing can be done, yet understand that 30 might read it.
So it goes.
In that lies our entire history.
This coming time is an event probably worth travelling through the universe to be a witness at.
Will we make it through the big test, or will we blow it?
We are eating in the restaurant at the end of the universe (thanks, Douglas Adams), have ordered Pizza and Coke and all of us have our collective fingers on a red button that says “FIRE” and are pressing down on it now.
We have become sick of each other, do you see?
We are being conditioned to believe we are too many, that there is not enough to go around, that only the fit are worth allowing life, that the sick and the old and the infirm can be helped to find dignity in dying. We are relentlessly conditioned to be wary of each other, living in a false reality that insists that we scrabble and fight for every morsel instead of being easy with each other and working together.
The consequence of dog eat dog is only one dog left alive.
And then that dog will die.
And there will be no more dogs.
And nothing left that can weep, that understands grief, will remain to mourn our ignominious passing into nothingness.
And those watchers will shrug and move on.
We will have failed.
It is on this threshold that we stand, dear friends.
Somehow, somewhere along our path, we have forgotten how to value people, how to judge their worth. We would honour wisdom. We would honour goodness. Now we pay a tithe to that which is wrong and are led to that by people we cannot respect, people we know to be liars, to be greedy.
Our so-valued democracies are a sham.
They rely on our belief in the goodness of that which we believe represents our collective force, that if the democratic process is a sham then we as a people are a sham and of course that cannot be so.
In no way could we be the masters of this Titanic ship as it crashes into the iceberg of fate.
And of course we aren’t.
But we are allowing it to be so, by allowing ourselves to be so easily divided.
There is no divide.
There is only love.
And one humanity, having a lot of fun.
Which is of course, is it not, how the world should be?
And the simple job that’s to be done is to make sure we do have our hands on the helm, that the ship of life is pointed in the way we want it to be.
This would probably preclude weapons of mass destruction, and presumably war, and starvation, to begin the list.
Which is long, but do-able.
Do you see?
It just takes everyone to see, and the world will change.
In that moment.
We understand that we mean nothing to those that govern our lives and make the various hells we each live in.
We none of us know we are safe.
We haven\’t given that gift, which is within our power to give to each other, yet.
That is only a matter of time.
The end result of this experiment must end with our species deciding what is good for us, what is good for our world, how much fun we can get out of this experience we call “life”, joining together to walk away from anything that isn’t at its core an act of love.
Only this will be our salvation.
Therefore we must find our way to this place.
And it is, of course, only a step away. A small decision for you to make.
We can be proud again, each of us, and free.
And we can be the good that we conceal from life.
We can let that good free from its prison, sure that the world will not harm it..
And everything will change.
The meek will inherit the world, you see.
And we will fly.
Olive Farmer and Aktina Pempti!
Xxx xxx xxx