Like many others, I have been stuffy & itchy-eyed here, and quite especially today. I think perhaps it is from the last of the autumn pollen anticipating this feeling of a rain that is probably not coming. It hurts my back and lower abs to cough - ugh.
But, I made simple and tasty broth/soup last night and today that both eases the hayfever symptoms greatly as well as brings a cozy self-centering comfort.
Ingredients and directions are as follows:
* 3 cups water near boil then turn off then add:
* 1/2 cup dried seaweed like wakame or arame
* 4 large cloves fresh crushed garlic
* 2 teaspoons fresh crushed/squeezed ginger + juices
* 1 tablespoon good organic soy sauce (tamari or nama shoyu)
* Few dashes of cayenne pepper (1/2 teaspoon if low heat pepper like 30,000)
* 2 teaspoons olive oil
Serve in a rustic, wheel-thrown ceramic mug that fits cozily in your hands.
With the massive amount of chemtrail spraying lately, it is good to consume lots of cayenne or other hot peppers to keep mucosa production going as your first line of defense...
~ namaste ~
Photography, food creations and article by Jahrun Chilam Balam 2010.04.20
UPS came and hauled-off the 14 boxes, including my bicycle and gear broken-down into the two 50-pound suitcases. Now counting-down 30 hours until I fly out of here to Fort Smith, Arkansas. Super-boosting my health and immunity for the trip, I have been on triple juice duty using the sixty dollars worth of great bulk produce I got at Wild Thyme Whole Food Market the other on Friday.
Here is a little window on today's juice and other raw culinary delights.
UPS came and hauled-off the 14 boxes, including my bicycle and gear broken-down into the two 50-pound suitcases. Now counting-down 30 hours until I fly out of here to Fort Smith, Arkansas. Super-boosting my health and immunity for the trip, I have been on triple juice duty using the sixty dollars worth of great bulk produce I got at Wild Thyme Whole Food Market the other on Friday.
Here is a little window on today's juice and other raw culinary delights.
At the grocery today after a pleasant hike in the local nature preserve with my roomate Tito, I spied some dried, locally harvested, wild tripe fungi (Auricularia mesenterica) in the mushroom section. Excitedly I brought them home and re-hydrated them for a late lunch. Mmmmm what an incredibly wild taste and texture. This, indeed was a treat. The mushrooms were recently dried and they reconstituted nicely soaking in warm water for about 20 minutes. By the time I made the sauce and cleaned everything-up, they were ready.
Today's Juice
Today's 3-meal juice: apple, kale, cilantro, beet, carrot, cucumber, fennel, and ginger. All organically grown of course, and I soaked the ingredients in fresh cold water for 2 hours before juicing.
In the Bowl
In the bowl is the wild tripe (Auricularia mesenterica) mushroom, splashed with organic namashoyu tamari, topped with sweet pea sprouts, a teaspoon of turmeric-habanero sauce, chopped cilantro, local bee pollen.On the Side
In the bowl is the wild tripe (Auricularia mesenterica) mushroom, splashed with organic namashoyu tamari, topped with sweet pea sprouts, a teaspoon of turmeric-habanero sauce, chopped cilantro, local bee pollen.On the Side
Served on the side of the plate is half a ripe avocado with a dash of ume plum vinegar and a little fresh ground black pepper. I also placed one gorgeous wild tripe mushroom (Auricularia mesenterica) specimen there for you to have a clearer look. This all just turned-out to be a smashing taste and texture sensation, enjoyed with slow and reverent chewing.
Turmeric-Habanero Sauce
The sauce was prepared at high-speed in a regular blender using:
1) quarter-cup of olive oil
2) two fine red habanero peppers
3) bit of ginger
4) four large cloves garlic
5) tablespoon of umeboshi plum vinegar
6) tablespoon of fresh powdered turmeric
7) teaspoon of local honey (sweeten to taste)
8) quarter-cup near boiling water
Everything I have been reading on how to best defend yourself against airborn chemtrail fallout and other particulate/pathogenic sources, include the daily consumption of hot pepper to keep the mucous production up, your first line of internal defense against unwanted inhalants. The mucous is your body's way of saying "Let's get this stuff out before it gets in any deeper!" Stay well hydrated with natural spring water from its natural source.
Capsicum from hot peppers as well as turmeric are proven natural cancer remedies. Additionally, in my bit of research on the tripe fungi I discovered that the UK has long recognized the Auricularia mesenterica, tripe mushroom species as a cancer-curing food.
Capsicum from hot peppers as well as turmeric are proven natural cancer remedies. Additionally, in my bit of research on the tripe fungi I discovered that the UK has long recognized the Auricularia mesenterica, tripe mushroom species as a cancer-curing food.
Enjoy!
~ Namaste.
~ Namaste.
Written by Jahrun Chilam Balam 2010.04.19
A quick journal entry... from the field...
There is an elementary school across the street here in Ballston Spa. They have a small community recycling drop that includes a giant covered dumpster for cardboard and paper, where the school also dumps its things. Nearly each school day, I watch a man with a hand truck, wheeling broken-down boxes to the dumpster. So naturally, when I needed a few boxes this morning, I went over there and discovered what most of the boxes had contained: styrofoam lunch trays and all manner of disposable plastic and food-related products from Sysco, Tyson Chicken Chunks, Tyson Turkey Tenders, Tony's Smart Pizzas, cheese steaks, apple turnovers and on, and on.
Do you know that heating, microwaving, preparation and serving of hot foods on Styrofoam and other plastics causes release of massive amounts of xenoestrogens, dioxins and PCB carcinogens that transfers into the food, especially foods having fats and oils? How does this affect the health of children eating these lunches at school 5 days each week? What are most children eating at school? Where does it come from? What are your children eating at school? Why do parents create the illusion of animals, and primarily farm animals, as being cute? Why do parents cutesify them only to force the eating of animals? What exactly are adults teaching their children? What rights do animals have? Are we not firstly animals? What makes us different? What rights do children have? What rights should children have?
As it turns out, children today and historically have had very few active rights. Today, parents have them repeatedly injected with what exactly? Parents feed them with? Parents wipe their anus and genitals with astringent alcohols and carcinogenic chemicals and can't figure-out why they have chronic rash or asthmas. Parents tightly swaddle them in highly toxic and genital-stunting disposable diapers until they are three or four or even five years old. Parents powder and smear them with toxic and irritating "personal care" products. But parents not paying attention. Parents believe labels that tout "Safe for Kids!" People demean children when people refer to children "kids". Parents fatten them up on pizza, hot dogs, hamburgers, ice cream, doughnuts, candy and sugar cereals. Parents dress children and their beds in a sousing melange of toxic laundry substances. Parents spray toxic chemicals in their houses and on the lawn where they crawl. Parents have toxic plug-in synthetic fragrance bombs that dull their minds and sense of smell. Parents further debilitate their natural curiosity for exploration by keeping them in the house out of fear. Parents keep them from experiencing and knowing nature. Parents plug them into electronic games and televisions. Parents distract them with sports and fashions. Parents do everything to stupefy and poison them. Parents do everything to keep them from discovering that there is any other possible concept to living other than what the parents are robotically doing themselves. Are you a parent?
I pray they will soon, and before parents' poisons sentence them to incapacitated mind and early death.
~ Sat nam.
Related Posts:
http://jahrun.blogspot.com/2008/08/email-wants-and-needs.html
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Custom diagrams and article created by Jahrun Chilam Balam 2010.04.17-19

Coded inside the seed is my feral creature, one that beckons in a language before the learned tongue of English, so vividly imploring my retreat from domestication; starkly awakened and motivated by messages from seemingly independent sources, like Anastasia, to simply strip off my clothing, place it into a watertight bag, bury it under a rock or in the hollow of a tree and then wander into the forest to live. In strides, I am in the flow of, and flowing toward, a full-time and intimate sensory connection of myself as a completely aware energy being, with that of the Earth as a complete living energy being, all its hosted organisms, and to open the shamanic experience of singularity with The Cosmic Organism.
Three years ago I began looking at the possibility of living in a yurt, and that idea has matured. In March, I decided to purchase a 24-foot diameter yurt from the Colorado Yurt Company. They provide an online Color Builder tool for previewing canvas color combinations. Here is the preview of the colors I have selected. I received a call the other day telling me that the yurt would probably be ready at the end of this week, which is today. But where to put it?
Two weeks ago, I re-established connections with a couple who own and operate an organic foods market in the northwest corner of Arkansas. I first met John and Sue in January 2007 while driving across the country with my dear friend Willow. In between and during our intense discussions about the world and food, I played my flute and Willow treated John to a massage. We connected so immediately, like star family. So... when I first phoned John a year later to talk about coming out that way to research land, upon introducing myself "This is Jahrun. My friend Willow and I visited your store over a year before.", he asked excitedly "Is this Jahrun the flautist?! Sure, come on out I'll be happy to show you around!" John went on to tell me about having read the Anastasia books that I told him about, that he bought a greenhouse kit, and that he had two large parcels of forest land.
It surprises me a bit that many people have never even heard of a yurt, and of course I am more than happy to inform. Many people I have talked to have been quite interested in my yurt ideas and have raised some good questions. Many of the answers regarding qualitative living experience I cannot provide as I simply do not have the experience of actually installing and living in a yurt. But questions like "Will it be warm enough in the winter?" and "How will you heat it?" meet my clarity of vision and seem relatively simple to answer.
Heating
For heating, I plan to have a variety of sources for heating water, including a passive solar collecting panel and also a wood stove/oven that has a water loop, like the ESSE Ironheart EWB. The Ironheart EWB has an inlet and outlet on the left side to circulate water through the wood stove and then into a hot water reservoir. The hot water reservoir itself could also contain an electric heating element that could be used in conjunction with hydro-electric, solar-electric, or any other generated power as a back-up for providing heat and hot water.
Earthen Adobe Floors
While the above picture does illustrate the basic concept of having an in-floor heating loop for a yurt pad, I prefer something much more organic and planet-grounding underfoot and so I have been researching techniques for creating earthen floors. I envision an earthen floor made from mostly clay found on site mixed with sand, straw, grain hulls. Once dried and cured the floor will be finished with linseed oil or some other natural curing oil(s). Some people are using an orange oil. Maybe a final coat of carnuba or some other natural sealing wax. Some people are embedding their art into their adobe floors using additional pigments, or other natural media like pebbles. This could be fun!
Clay is a major industrial mineral resource in Arkansas. Combined industry output in 1995 amounted to over 1 million tons of raw clay, valued at over $1.2 million. In 1995, Arkansas ranked 4th in the nation in production of both kaolin and fire clays, and 9th in common clays. Few data concerning tonnage and grade of individual clay deposits in Arkansas are available, but the amount of potentially useful clay in Arkansas is substantial.Unlike concrete cement, not only will an earthen floor further reduce the cost and amount of lumber resources required, an earthen floor is easily re-integrated back into the natural environment at such time as it is deconstructed. What actually happens for me will depend on several factors including what materials are available at the site, how much help is available and, how quickly I am able to obtain the prerequisite materials. It occurs to me that I may need to construct two pads, one as an interim solution until the earthen floor dries, with the plan to move-in before winter. I may simply live outside until then. This feels okay to me so long as I have a hammock.
Some advantages of Earthen Flooring:
● Eliminates construction waste – excess earth returns to landscape.
● Attractive, grounding, comfortable, slightly spongy, comparable to leather.
● Materials are inexpensive if not freely available.
● Installation mistakes are easily to repair.
● Easily absorbs other pigments for special designs or artwork.
● Minimal pollution as materials require little processing or transport.
● Durable with proper care and easily repairable with nearby clay soil.
● Low maintenance, able to be swept or moist-mopped; properly sealed.
● Stabilized earthen flooring is not dusty.
● Easy to shape flooring into other features.
● High degree of thermal storage and slow thermal release.
● Good for radiating a soft and even heat from an in-floor heating loop
Some Disadvantages of earthen Flooring
● Labor intensive to install.
● Long time to dry and cure in some cases.
● High traffic areas may require additional materials.
● More vulnerable to scratching and gouging than hard tile or cement.
Diagrams render best with Google Chrome
In-floor Storage
Thinking about where to store things... and wanting to keep the floor space as open as possible... I thought to recess 5 and 15 gallon plastic buckets into the pad. Nicely-finished circular wooden lids would fit flush with the floor surface on top of each storage receptacle. Each lid would have a finger hole in the middle to allow lifting the lid off and putting it back into place. Underneath each lid would be a piece of removable cloth to keep dust from finding its way into the storage receptacles. A ring of ceramics or some other material will provide a flush and elegant interface between the receptacle opening and the floor. The interface ring will prevent the cob from chipping or wearing out as a result of opening and closing the receptacle lids. Wood is probably not suitable as it would warp or distort over time causing a poor fit with the lid.
Perhaps the floor should be a hybrid sandwich of reinforced pumice concrete and cob? This would allow for a quicker initial set-up. Cob could be added gradually using the in-floor heating loop as a way to reduce drying times when it is cool and humid.
Diagrams render best with Google Chrome
Diagrams render best with Google Chrome
Sleeping Accommodations
I have come to greatly appreciate the womb-like comfort of sleeping in a hammock which becomes better and better once you learn a few techniques. For using any number of hammock arrangements inside the yurt, I will install tall log stanchions that are anchored deep into the floor. The tops of these stanchions can support shelves and/or can become support posts for a loft.
Here is shown a configuration of 5 hammocks and I estimate that with some creativity, as many as 8 people could be accommodated. When someone wants to rest, they simply open one of the in-floor receptacles containing hammocks, pick one they like, fasten each end to a hook on two stanchions and - presto - instant comfort! When finished resting, within seconds, floor space can be reclaimed.
Open floor space is a key feature that I look forward to. Yoga, dance, thai chi, sitting, drum circles, community meetings... or just enjoying clean and open space.
Cellars and Food Storage
Living space could be easily doubled or even tripled through the creation of cellars. Here could be stored more foods (like roots, tubers, apples, nuts, etcetera) in an annexed cellar as illustrated below. Water would be frozen in buckets during the earliest winter freeze and then brought-into the cold storage room to preserve these foods well into springtime, when garden foods would be abundant again. Shown in this diagram are outside solar collectors that would carry natural sunlight through flexible fiber optic like cables into the cellar for natural lighting.
I have come to greatly appreciate the womb-like comfort of sleeping in a hammock which becomes better and better once you learn a few techniques. For using any number of hammock arrangements inside the yurt, I will install tall log stanchions that are anchored deep into the floor. The tops of these stanchions can support shelves and/or can become support posts for a loft.
Here is shown a configuration of 5 hammocks and I estimate that with some creativity, as many as 8 people could be accommodated. When someone wants to rest, they simply open one of the in-floor receptacles containing hammocks, pick one they like, fasten each end to a hook on two stanchions and - presto - instant comfort! When finished resting, within seconds, floor space can be reclaimed.
Open floor space is a key feature that I look forward to. Yoga, dance, thai chi, sitting, drum circles, community meetings... or just enjoying clean and open space.
Diagrams render best with Google Chrome
Cellars and Food Storage
Living space could be easily doubled or even tripled through the creation of cellars. Here could be stored more foods (like roots, tubers, apples, nuts, etcetera) in an annexed cellar as illustrated below. Water would be frozen in buckets during the earliest winter freeze and then brought-into the cold storage room to preserve these foods well into springtime, when garden foods would be abundant again. Shown in this diagram are outside solar collectors that would carry natural sunlight through flexible fiber optic like cables into the cellar for natural lighting.
Diagrams render best with Google Chrome
Additional Resources
Yurts:XX
XX
Wood Stoves:
XX
XX
In-floor Heating Loops:
XX
XX
Cob, Adobe and Earthen Features:
I Love Cob! (BLOG by Michael Blaha)
From These Hands, LLC (Sukita Reay Crimmel)
Portland Spaces - Down Home Dirty Work
Year of Mud: Building a Cob House (Ziggy)
Land Ark for Earthen Floors
WebEcoist - Homes from the Earth
Fiber Optic Solar Lighting:
GREEN POWER SCIENCE - Homemade Optical Cable
Parans Solar Lighting
Sunlight Direct, LLC
~ Namaste.
Photography, food creations and article by Jahrun Chilam Balam 2010.04.15
Before my bicycle ride today I had an inspiring and colorful lunch, featuring a trillium open-faced sandwich and raw warm borscht.
Warm Raw Borscht
The raw borscht porridge was made in a blender using a small beet, leek, onion, sweet pepper, garlic, ginger, olive oil, umeboshi plum vinegar, black peppercorns and spring water. Upon serving, 3/4 cup porridge was poured in a glass measuring cup and 3/4 cup of near boiling spring water, then rapidly stirred to quickly equalize to a pleasantly warm serving temperature of about 102°F-104°F. I poured the final mixture into a bowl and topped with sprouts and drizzled a curry oil on top.
Open-faced Trillium Sandwich
On the plate are three open faced sandwiches of organic sour dough bread spread thickly with freshly-made hummus mixed-in with tamari and chipotle powder, topped with thinly-sliced onion, tomato, multi-colored sweet peppers, watercress and a pile of sunflower sprouts in the center.
Avocado Salsa on Brown Rice
Later, on returning from today's 28-mile bicycle ride, I used the blender again to make a avocado salsa using almost the same ingredients I used for the borscht, only I used a substituted an avocado instead of a red beet, and added freshly-squeezed juice from one whole lemon, a pinch of Celtic sea salt and half a teaspoon of powdered cayenne pepper. In the bowl I placed a small serving of long-grain brown rice, smothered it with the avocado salsa, topped with a tablespoon of ground panch phoran mixture (panch phoran/sesame/flax/Celtic sea salt), and finally I garnished with sweet pea sprouts and watercress.
Home-grown Sprouts and Greens
Except for the toast and small portion of whole grain brown rice, these dishes are raw and use all organic or home-grown ingredients! It is easy to sprout and grow many foods in a sunny window. Here growing in the light of my window are the sunflower sprouts and the watercress shower and refill with fresh oxygenated water each day.
Enjoy!
~ Namaste
Photography and article by Jahrun Chilam Balam 2010.04.15
When your accountant waits until the last day to file, what do you do? Get outside and be your intrinsic human self. I decided to make an easily digestable lunch, pack a green drink, some wakame, lots of water and go on a bicycle ride. Here is my planned route:
Travel experience these last few days:
After cousin Jeffrey left the bus station in David, just as I settled into my chair, the baggage man came into the bus carried by the river of other passengers entering. He showed me a baggage ticket and asked if I had the same number. I fished my three tickets out of my pocket and of course one of them matched. He motioned for me to follow him and out we went into the isle and paddled upstream against the current. On arrival at the belly of the bus, he pointed to one of my gray cases left lonely on the curb and asked if there was a bicycle inside. Perhaps he was referring to the words "Bicycle Tourist" that I unwittingly scribed on each case the day before, thinking somehow the act of demystifying the contents for airport security x-ray operators would be returned in with benevolence and smoother flow? (start laughing anytime.) Of course I said yes, that the case contained my bicycle and provisions, after which he asked for an additional six dollars. This held fair balance as it was less than the $10 bribe that we did not cough-up initially. Finally I had to shove the six dollars in front of his face to regain his attentions that had shifted away leaving me in some state of bizarre and prolonged invisibility. I returned to my chair. There was a teenager next to me with his death t-shirt, tattoos and what I could only discern as heat-branded, embossed, monogram initials set deeply into the skin on his upper arm. We said not one word to each other the entire way to Panama city, where until I slept.
At the Panama City bus terminal there was an apathetic attempt by the driver to locate assistance for me in getting the luggage down to the taxi parade. Within less than a minute shrugged his shoulders and excused himself to drive away. I looked around, and the other passengers on the bus had all evaporated into the night. Remembering my epiphany of "each step taking oneself closer" (to something) I decided to inch-worm the bags to the top of the ramp: roll one case set it down and stretch, repeat with the next case, and finally hoisting the duffle on my upper thighs, I managed to arrive at the top of the ramp with some sort of waddle. There I stood looking down at the ramp, at the amorous couple on the granite bench, the late night family at the switchback landing and at the taxis below. Just as I was meditating and preparing myself, and reaching to roll the first case again, a man appeared on the ramp, pushing a large dolly cart. He delivered all my bags to the bottom and where I secured a cab ride for $25 in a tiny car where the driver and a couple other guys helped him finagle the bags almost miraculously into the tiny spray-painted vessel. Away we went into the night through the lights of Downtown and on along the water, finally arriving at the airport which somehow seemed a dwarf in proportion to the number and size of Panama City's high-rise towers. The cabbie took the bags out and put them on a large cart for me and wheeled them into the terminal. Therein, the lateness of night was felt so palpably, empathically, with the lethargic scuffling feet of the seldom seen airport worker. As there were no prominent counter logos or markings, the cab driver inquired twice on my behalf where the Spirit Airlines counter would be. Looking around, I spied some line stantions, ropes and placards displaying Spirit Air, stowed along one of the nearby walls, and so payed the cab driver, and in gratitude, hugged him goodbye.
The wait was not too long as I found others to talk with who arrived later on the scene, including one Panamanian man from Volcan, who was on the same bus. He has a banana farm near Volcan but works in Boston part of the year for a company that makes lithium batteries for Motorola, NASA, etc. Naturally, my interests were piqued and as my questions became more detailed and specific regarding the nature and future of lithium batteries and their potential applications, he eventually confided that he simply solders and otherwise assembles the batteries. Another man showed-up who is returning to Florida, a former boat captain, but now a relatively "poor Gringo" that has exchanged citizenships through Panamanian matrimony. Another conversation ensued with a guy returning from a two week vacation in Panama, returning to his restaurant management position far north of Montreal, Canada. Soon enough, the line was constructed and the Spirit Air workers appeared around midnight. My bags were each about 5 pounds overweight. The first two he apparently let slide, and then came the negotiations on the second gray case which was 7 pounds overweight. I stated what he already knew, that I had paid $100 for the 3rd bag, which was already a formidable penalty. I suggested that it might be possible to remove some itms from the case, so we opened it and I fished-out some handlebar grips, and other parts, which on their own and out of context, looked strange somehow. When I suggested that this would only raise questions and further problems with security, he seemed to agree and so we closed the case and on I went to the security line, one much tamer than those I would be meeting in Fort Lauderdale.
While negotiating with the Spirit Air check-in agent, my former individual invisibility suddenly dissolved as the attentions from everyone shifted to the scene of Opening the Gray Box. It was if the magic I had been experiencing throughout my entire journey wafted out of the box like the ethers from a genie's lamp. The man became personal and asked me questions from the center of his own curiosity. Two women at the adjacent desk overheard me telling him about my journey. Before I left the counter, the two women began asking me more questions (in English) and scratched their way deeper into my "story". We were on the same flight to Fort Lauderdale and were seated only one row apart. Waiting at our gate, we shared really deep conversations about spirit and wakefulness. Soon we boarded, and soon the lights were dim and soon we all slept, though again for me as on the bus, it was only a half sleep - a purgatory sleep. The ladies reconvened with me later at baggage claim, and as they had no checked bags, we said our final goodbyes. One of them opened a a dedicated channel, like a tunnel, and said "I would like to give you a small gift to help you on your way. Just a small gift." She held out her fist to transfer something to my hand. She said "Don't look at it until after you get your bags." I promised to follow her request as she pressed a wadded piece of paper down into my closing hand. I put the crumpled wad into my jacket pocket and zipped it closed. We hugged goodbye.
A crowd of people formed around the carousel. One man, a gringo with a buzz cut, wearing a weight lifter's club t-shirt stood larger than anyone, a veritable giant. I approached him and asked, lightheartedly stroking his ego which he virtually wore, if he would help me lift my bags off the conveyer and onto the cart, that now cost $1 in the U.S. He looked at me as though pained and annoyed, but flanked by friends he agreed to help, but on made it clear that he had a connecting flight to catch. The first suitcase appeared in about 30 more seconds, which seemed like an eternity. He pulled it off and after another 15 seconds said that he had to go. I excused him and the other two pieces showed-up before he and his tagalongs disappeared around the corner. I slid them off the belt and onto the floor with a thud. With a turn of good fortune, a young Chinese man wearing an employee badge necklace appeared to pull as-yet unclaimed bags off of the conveyor. He loaded the other box on the cart and the two of us heaved the duffle high atop.
Soon I was facing a woman at the end of a fast-moving line that had the attitude of Condaleza Rice. While she verified my passport and U.S. immigrations form, the next available bulldog barked from his stall something like "I am ready whenever you are able to get over here." Whoa. Welcome home. The snide interrogations began about what I was doing in those countries, why I would even want to ride a bike, what is my profession, where I live, etcetera. Then in a seemingly warmer tone he instructed me to turn around and go around the corner where I will see a line and a red light. Spinning the cart around and seeing that I was looking for the almost illusive crack into the adjoining room where I was to go, he called after me saying that I was going the correct way and that he didn't design the system. Soon I was in the inspection room with the hulking x-ray machine resembling a half buried steam locomotive, cold stainless steel countertops, and lights that made everything seem hopeless and even grayer than the color of my own luggage. A few other people were there, mostly foreigners or people of color. One guy was explaining a new pair of sneakers. Finally I was asked to move over to one of the counters, only to be interrogated sharply by another man who asked "Who told you to come over here?!" The urge to be disagreeable began to boil in my belly. But I went through the same questions again. The man told me to turn around and go over to the far counter, by which he meant the x-ray machine. So I navigated the cart like stirring caramel syrup and made my way over to the x-ray machine. Another woman here. Somehow a softening one, with the compassion to listen as I explained that one of the reasons I was ending my journey was because of a spinal injury that made it difficult for me to lift much. Feeling somehow like Jesus dragging the heavy timbers of the cross through a sneering and jeering crowd, I asked the expectant man if he would help me get the bags onto the high counter at the mouth of the machine. The bags went through. The man walked away. The woman helped me load the cart. Nothing was said. I asked if they were finished with me and the woman affirmed with a nod of her head.
Away I went rolling through the labyrinth-like winding hallways and soon was pleading with an overweight and scowling black man at the baggage re-check point. Finally I escalated by telling the attendant there, flat-out, that my back was actually broken and that I required assistance. Grimacing with me for different reasons, he reach across the scale platform and drug the items across. He scanned the tags and said to proceed on to my gate.
Soon I was facing a woman at the end of a fast-moving line that had the attitude of Condaleza Rice. While she verified my passport and U.S. immigrations form, the next available bulldog barked from his stall something like "I am ready whenever you are able to get over here." Whoa. Welcome home. The snide interrogations began about what I was doing in those countries, why I would even want to ride a bike, what is my profession, where I live, etcetera. Then in a seemingly warmer tone he instructed me to turn around and go around the corner where I will see a line and a red light. Spinning the cart around and seeing that I was looking for the almost illusive crack into the adjoining room where I was to go, he called after me saying that I was going the correct way and that he didn't design the system. Soon I was in the inspection room with the hulking x-ray machine resembling a half buried steam locomotive, cold stainless steel countertops, and lights that made everything seem hopeless and even grayer than the color of my own luggage. A few other people were there, mostly foreigners or people of color. One guy was explaining a new pair of sneakers. Finally I was asked to move over to one of the counters, only to be interrogated sharply by another man who asked "Who told you to come over here?!" The urge to be disagreeable began to boil in my belly. But I went through the same questions again. The man told me to turn around and go over to the far counter, by which he meant the x-ray machine. So I navigated the cart like stirring caramel syrup and made my way over to the x-ray machine. Another woman here. Somehow a softening one, with the compassion to listen as I explained that one of the reasons I was ending my journey was because of a spinal injury that made it difficult for me to lift much. Feeling somehow like Jesus dragging the heavy timbers of the cross through a sneering and jeering crowd, I asked the expectant man if he would help me get the bags onto the high counter at the mouth of the machine. The bags went through. The man walked away. The woman helped me load the cart. Nothing was said. I asked if they were finished with me and the woman affirmed with a nod of her head.
Away I went rolling through the labyrinth-like winding hallways and soon was pleading with an overweight and scowling black man at the baggage re-check point. Finally I escalated by telling the attendant there, flat-out, that my back was actually broken and that I required assistance. Grimacing with me for different reasons, he reach across the scale platform and drug the items across. He scanned the tags and said to proceed on to my gate.
Finally, I remembered my pocket. It was a one hundred dollar bill.
What a world. Each gate to each destination city has its own pronounced demographic. Atlantic City was no exception. I will spare you the remaining story of whiney Long Island accents, rudeness and the spoiling of children in ways unsurpassed. I had entered a maelstrom of utter madness. It is gruff and cold here. After some negotiating, I shelled-out $25 for a cab to drive me the 5 miles to the train station by yet another scowling dark face. He unloaded the payload into the mouth of a freezer-like elevator that took me up to a sunny, but cold platform. No one else was there. The elevator alarm sounded on and on as I again struggled alone with the weights to get them onto the platform. An older woman appeared eventually. She told me about her son, living in a schoolbus under some tarps in Oregon, who was now back East in Philadelphia visiting her and his father in Philadelphia. The witty gray-haired woman helped me onto the train when it arrived after a two hour wait outside in the sunshine and brittle cold, but the abrasive attitude continued with the complacent conductors who made me relocate the bags, denying me any assistance, as one of them remarked "We have backs too!" Eventually, I lugged the bags off the full train, no one lifting a finger to help, at the dark underground platform in Philadelphia. People again vanished leaving me there with my load on the platform, grimy and stinky with a foulness of decades of machines belching with bad attitudes. Just as I began the inch-worm process to reach the stairwell, escalator and elevator structure in the gloomy distance,nearly 200 feet away, the voice of my friend Meg called out her quintessentially saucy "Hey!"
Together, we got the stuff to the elevator in two trips, me again holding the door of the alarming elevator waiting her return. Up to the high ceilinged stone and cement day-lit structure above, large carts in the appeared in distant gloom, Meg walked across the desolate annex where the elevator had deposited us to retrieve one of the carts. Not far behind, a man dressed in the vintage railroad conductors uniform, vagrantly smoking the last heavy drags of a cigarette where in the spaces of the train station was disallowed, followed her. Off in the distance I could see the exchange and body language of the agitated man telling Meg that she could not use the cart. She returned with this news and so we hauled the stuff another 200 feet to finally reach the curb to where she parked the car. Meg loaded the luggage and I loaded myself, and soon we were driving on the unkempt potholed streets of Philadelphia, finally arriving at her apartment. Therein were delicious culinary aromas and some warmth, and the gentle face of her boyfriend Salvador, a deeply sentimental Spanish artist from Columbia. We ate.
I checked my email, only to discover more madness from Diana, Helena and Ruby's mom. An unsolicited and neurologically short-circuiting communique that reads as follows:
from Diana Morganto jahrun balamdate Sat, Jan 30, 2010 at 11:29 AMI don't know exactly what your plans are because as always you are not honest and forth coming with information- but as per the document you need to establish a stable residence. I'm not making any provisions for you. This includes providing any type of transportation for you- you need to make adequate accommodations, provide a long term address and telephone number- which you do not have- this willy nilly plan of yours is not going to fly and if you have a problem with this you can file a petition to the court because I am prepared to move forward as such. You pushed the envelope too far this time. I have information and I plan to use it. The world does not stop moving when you leave and does not start again when you decide to pop back into life.
If you cause any problems or stir the pot while you are in town I will seek legal action and will call the police- this includes disrupting the girls at school- the school has been notified that if you cause any problems that the police will be called.
You can visit with the girls but it will not be at some anonymous person's house or some room for rent. You are not welcome to my house so don't show up unannounced or again you will be met with the law. It comes down to this get your S-H-I-T together.
Huh?!?! I just got back from a four-month 1,800 mile bicycle trip through Central America, during which time I managed to get through to the children about four of the hundred attempts to do so. No emails returned and the phone nearly always goes unanswered. Diana is a wretched anathema, like an injured weasel, in perpetual anger over her own staunch resistances to allowing a rich human experience and I seem to be her favorite target. Maybe she's had just a bit too much fluoride in her drinking water over the years - just incapable of rational thought. Who is she to judge me? And how does this corrosive virulence serve Helena and Ruby?
It is easy to slip into feelings of being forlorn, wasted and lost. This is a place of utter madness. From my own preemptive portending to physical arrival, the closer I came to be back "here", the more madness spun around me. Sprinkled, yes with avatars of good will, but as in The Matrix, few and isolated, surreal. I am in a sort of shock. My reason for returning barricaded by utter madness. I am in the temporary safety of Meg's apartment in Philadelphia, but there are crazy men screaming and shouting angrily out on the busy street for the last hour.
How am I? I am fine. I arrived safely. Welcome home, traveler.
Jahrun
Jahrun
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Entry Salvaged from defunct Zaadz/Gaia BLOG
This is not only unusual, but rather startling. The next "event" is already happening. Unlike 911, the coming events will be through the use of exotic weapons posing as natural weather and geoseismic phenomena. The events now are about using psychotropic modulators to induce fear-based emotions in the masses.
The modulation of psychotropic vibrations have intensified these last 6 months. Can you feel it? Notice the rise in confusion? We must find our SELVES and find the infinite peace there to tune-out the buzz.
We must stand in peace, but we must stand. We must catalyze peace. Stop consuming. Quit your jobs. Awaken others. Heal.
Please see this article and check-out the video links:
http://www.naturalnews.com/022308.html
Kucinich the New Age leader?
http://www.co-intelligence.org/CIPol_DKucinich6.12.html
http://www.fas.org/sgp/congress/2001/hr2977.html
~ Namaste.
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Entry Salvaged from defunct Zaadz/Gaia BLOG
Guest speaker after guest speaker voiced their melodramas over federal budget, paling VA benefits, lost sons, wrongness of the war. A mother and daughter spoke to promote the food bank at the church, their face and jowls fusing almost without a neck into their shoulders, each respectively 100 to 150 pounds overweight.
Sitting in the front pew, immersed in a growing singe of topical and inhalant irritation from perfumes and colognes, I turned around the room to see the unhealthiness of everyone. Feeling light-headed and a growing burning sensation on my skin, I rose-up to leave the event.
Last night I received a follow-up email soliciting my survey of the event and felt so compelled to voice in contrast to my witness of public perspective, a radically different perspective in my reply.
The current geo-political militarization, looming police state, declining economical and biospheric conditions directly reflect a sickness of the pervading necro-consumer greed of INDIVIDUAL people.
Individuals are poisoning themselves, their children, and the Earth. They support a monoculturism of fast food, housing, animals and plants. They continue fueling their cars, thereby voting with each dollar to fuel and support the engine whose destruction they say they want to stop.
To pull the plug on war, the people must radically change their lifestyle in order to get underneath the problem. Shouting at and protesting the undesirable manifestations surfacing from the core problem will not make the problem go away.
Individuals must increasingly turn-off their TVs, grow their own food, stop poisoning themselves with the chem-pharma "pay to get sick and then pay for drugs" scam. Stop buying bottled water and do not drink from the public water supply. Stop applying topical agents to their skin, stop buying "fragranced" laundry, personal care products and all manner of air toxifiers. They must start buying organic produce grown locally. Stop eating meat, fish and poultry! Start practicing yoga and meditation. They must start exercising and riding bike or walking everywhere possible up to 15 mile radius. They must learn to know the natural aspects of where they live and feel the need to restore nature there. They must educate themselves more highly to know the "truth" and take right action, then be at peace.
~ Sat nam.
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Entry Salvaged from defunct Zaadz/Gaia BLOG
I highly recommend seeing it. Most (I say most here) of Michael's selected case studies were suffering primarily from their own choosing of a typical American consumer lifestyle. Poor diet. No exercise. Obese. You get the idea. Michael himself looked a hundred pounds overweight.
People of the United States have a memetic sickness, a multi-generational disease of the mind that continues the mass trend toward sickness at all levels of life: cell, organ, organism, family, society, region, country, continent and planet. Institutionalized healthcare is not a solution to remedy poor lifestyle choices!
Though I agree that the U.S. should have a socialized healthcare system like much of the rest of the world, it remains paradoxically in a state of gridlock until people start making consumer choices that are healthy at every level of life.
The U.S. is self-sympathetic, and most of you are afraid to do the hard work of taking proactive accountability for your own health. Until you all radically change, the federal government, hand-in-hand with billion-dollar corporations, are going to keep putting a different spin on things, fooling you into thinking some progress is about to be made. They OWN you because of your debts to your mind and body, and your fears about finding your true self.
Bruce Kelton, age 54, stepped lightly out of this earth plane to join our Creator on 10/13/04 at his home in the country, outside of Poulsbo, WA. He was surrounded by his faithful and loving wolf pack. Bruce died as easy as he lived, kicked back, in comfort and very quickly. He is happy, free, at peace; warmly welcomed by his ancestors and loved ones in spirit.
Kelton was born in Dallas, TX on 7/19/1950 to Frank Kelton and Marie Reed. He married Beth Fentress in Dallas, TX on 7/12/1975. They were married 27 years and loved each other deeply.
Kelton graduated from Thomas Jefferson High School in 1968, Dallas, TX. He attended The University of Texas at Austin, TX studying architectural design. He learned silversmithing and jewelry design at the Instituto de Allende in San Miguel de Allende in GTO, Mexico. He also attended Northwest College of Art in Poulsbo, WA updating his skills in drawing and practicing airbrush techniques.
Kelton was self-employed as a web-site designer and the owner of exographics.com. His artistry was inspired. He created striking images and unusual designs in computer art, in jewelry, stained-glass, sculpture, and in paintings. Earlier, Bruce worked as a carpenter, home builder and in commercial construction where he loved designing, solving problems, creating and building every kind of structure.
Kelton was passionate about LIFE (Living In Full Enlightenment). He enjoyed preparing food for his family and friends, loved the outdoors, animals, wildlife and wilderness. He enjoyed sci-fi books and movies. He played guitar, studied other instruments, befriended other creative artists and notorious songwriters and performers, both in Texas and here in the Pacific Northwest. He loved music, especially original blues. Bruce Kelton had a huge heart which he used to help and to inspire many people.
Kelton is survived by:
He was preceded in death by his father, Frank Kelton of Dallas, TX and his stepmother, Nan Kelton of Dallas, TX.
A "Celebration of Life" will be held on November 14, 2004 at 1:00 PM at Salisbury Park near the Hood Canal Bridge. If Bruce touched your life and you would like to contribute photos, songs, stories, thoughts, or good wishes to his celebration, please send these to:
C/O "Celebration of Bruce Kelton's life"
PO Box 268
Indianola, WA 98342
~ Beth Kelton
Kelton was born in Dallas, TX on 7/19/1950 to Frank Kelton and Marie Reed. He married Beth Fentress in Dallas, TX on 7/12/1975. They were married 27 years and loved each other deeply.
Kelton graduated from Thomas Jefferson High School in 1968, Dallas, TX. He attended The University of Texas at Austin, TX studying architectural design. He learned silversmithing and jewelry design at the Instituto de Allende in San Miguel de Allende in GTO, Mexico. He also attended Northwest College of Art in Poulsbo, WA updating his skills in drawing and practicing airbrush techniques.
Kelton was self-employed as a web-site designer and the owner of exographics.com. His artistry was inspired. He created striking images and unusual designs in computer art, in jewelry, stained-glass, sculpture, and in paintings. Earlier, Bruce worked as a carpenter, home builder and in commercial construction where he loved designing, solving problems, creating and building every kind of structure.
Kelton was passionate about LIFE (Living In Full Enlightenment). He enjoyed preparing food for his family and friends, loved the outdoors, animals, wildlife and wilderness. He enjoyed sci-fi books and movies. He played guitar, studied other instruments, befriended other creative artists and notorious songwriters and performers, both in Texas and here in the Pacific Northwest. He loved music, especially original blues. Bruce Kelton had a huge heart which he used to help and to inspire many people.
Kelton is survived by:
- canine companions: Juno/Juneau, Sitka, and Shotgun
- one brother: Roger (& Linda) Kelton of Colleyville, TX
- two sisters: June Kelton of Grapevine, TX & Emily Kelton of Shoreline, WA
- his mother: Marie Reed of Richland Hills, TX
- two nephews: Kyle Kelton of Colleyville, TX & Max Kelton of Shoreline, WA
- two nieces: Christie Kelton of Colleyville, TX & Karla Kelton of Colleyville, TX
He was preceded in death by his father, Frank Kelton of Dallas, TX and his stepmother, Nan Kelton of Dallas, TX.
A "Celebration of Life" will be held on November 14, 2004 at 1:00 PM at Salisbury Park near the Hood Canal Bridge. If Bruce touched your life and you would like to contribute photos, songs, stories, thoughts, or good wishes to his celebration, please send these to:
C/O "Celebration of Bruce Kelton's life"
PO Box 268
Indianola, WA 98342
~ Beth Kelton
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