Learning, eduction my own way, another love of my life. Learning from everyone and everything I interact with. Life, this existence, whatever your theory, religion, dogma, doctrine, there is one thing for certain, what we are doing here is one big puzzle. Learn to pay attention, read the clues, fit the pieces and learning becomes a thing of pure joy.
Fear
Fear, I have talked about the sharks in the Solomon Isalands, both Sarah and our dive leader were 100% focused on the sharks, they were unable to be with anything other than them. Myself, on the other hand, spent a good couple of minutes watching these beautiful things, paying attention to their movement patterns, the proximity to us in which they came.
They didn’t come within three metres, the shelf behind us and the sheer size of three people together made us interesting but not interesting enough to pursue for the moment. I was able to pull my breathing back to calm, give Sarah the arm she needed to hold onto while looking around at the ridiculous scene around me.
Sharks, massive green turtles, sea life of all different shapes and sizes, corals flowering for 10s of metres, the bottom of a rock shelf that extends well beyond the visible eye. Visible eye in these waters being 30/40/50 metres, ridiculous scenes.
Some things cannot be unseen.
I do not react to fear like most, never does it cripple me, always I am able to pay attention to the full nativity scene. My Dad taught me this, I learnt not to be afraid through him. He also taught me to be afraid all the time.
Attention he was big on. He would scream, yell and shout, in time give a beating to force us to pay attention. You’re not paying attention, pay attention. PAY. ATTENTION. PAY ATTENTION. I don’t know five or 10 minutes of this to a six year-old it starts to get pretty confusing.
I’m paying attention to his words, after 10 minutes I realise this is not enough. Another 10 minutes goes by, I add in all of his facial features. I practive this for a few months, I master it. Still not good enough, I add his whole body, practice this for a while, nope failure. A couple of years later I learn to add in everything I see in the environment, paying attention to every detail now, hearing every word, nope, not there yet.
I cannot tell you how many bruises I have by this time, I have lost count, how broken I am.
Finally all that is left is me, what is happening inside of me. I add this too, not good enough again. He is gone out of my life, dead, by the time I master it. This mastery would take another 25 years or so. I tried to be the attention he needed, I really really tried.
I tried to be better. A better boy, person, son, child, thing. I wanted to be better but I I failed and failed and failed, I was a failure, not good enough. My beatings, my torture was my fault for being a shit kid.
Some kids are just shit kids Fred. Yeah, Fred, was one of those. Sadly, he was the only one who thought it, believed it, was convinced of it and he did nothing wrong but be born into these circumstances, to this man, in this family. This family who did nothing, continues to do nothing, when they say family is everything.
The attention method is not the torture method, this was fun in comparison. However, it is one of the behaviours that I am trying to remove from my worlds, stopping it being passed down through generations before it starts. Not allowing it to come under the banner of intergenerational trauma.
For fighting to remove this behaviour, the torture method, and others from the continuation of repetition in my family, it is already being repeated, my life to these people is worth the voucher I do not need to mention again.
Now, my attention is beautiful, I am afraid of nothing. I have body reactions to things of course, going way too fast around bends, a shopping trolley flies my way, the big slab of wood rolling towards the sometimes busy road, but I am never afraid. Never does my body react so strongly that I cannot think clearly, I am never in danger.
I was afraid of every moment with my Dad, every moment he was away I was afraid, I became afraid of every man.
The greatest fear were the times when Fred decided I did something wrong at, say, 8:30am but he wasn’t in the mood to really get stuck into me so he’d wait. He would tell me to return to the house at a specific time, generally early afternoon, and be waiting for him on the spot. Do not be late.
I would wait and wait for him to arrive, or start to speak if he was already sitting in his chair. I had already waited hours, my fear was through the roof, I was already crippled. I had already spent hours trying to work out what I did wrong. I knew I couldn’t lie, that was instant beating material.
Fred lied all the time about everything. Played for South Africa in both Cricket and Rugby, was a champion this and that, had a degree in mechanical engineering from the University of Michigan or something stupid, was three years older than Mum. We found out the last one was a lie when I was 14 and his family were visiting from New Zealand, he was about four years younger.
This is the bloke we are dealing with here.
He would then start, the torture method would begin. It starts quietly, you know what you did, tell me. I had no idea, even at the time I had no idea. After 10 minutes of standing still, he starts to get angrier, just a huskiness to the voice that wasn’t there at the start, you know what you did.
‘I don’t know, I didn’t do anything, I don’t remember.’ Shut UP! You know. Stop moving, moving again and you’ll know about it. Moving, I probably lifted my arm to wipe the tears from my face.
10 more minutes, 30 minutes now, the tone is shorter, the volume has trippled. I am squirming in my skin, crying uncontrollably, shaking, vibrating in ways that a child should not be able to.
45 minutes out and we are reaching a crescendo, I have opened my mouth and am confessing to everything a person could confess to. I’m lying through my teeth to get this over with.
I forgot to mention, sitting next to my Dad leaning up against his chair are a few different items. The first couple change regularly, the fishing rod, some wooden fence pailing, broom handle, other things that look like they hurt. There is always one there though, the special occasion one, the thing that hurts for days and days and days, makes sitting down next to impossible especially if you get hit on the back or behind the knees, the calf hose.
Grab a calf hose actually, or look it up on the internet, it is a 1.5 metre or so, five or so centimetre circumference piece of plastic poly tubing for manually feeding calves, weaning them off their mothers. Now, if you have one, lift it above your head as high as you can and slam it is hard as you can on the nearest flat hard object.
Listen to the sound.
Now, imagine you are getting hit by this thing, you are not even 10 yet and it has happened countless times. Imagine the person standing in front of you swinging the weapon is 194 centimeters tall, 90 kilograms, has a massive bushy beard, is black. Imagine a room full of people sitting around you, watching, saying nothing.
Ladies, you are not an exception here. I have a sister. When it came to punishment my father did not discriminate.
45 minutes in I am praying for this thing to stop, it is the reason behind my lying, I am pleading to be beaten.
10, 15 minutes later, panic and shock are not the words for my state. Fred has decided he is satisfied, whatever lie I chose was the right one, now I get the beating, thank God. I don’t care what he uses by this stage. I’m just a shit kid that deserves this.
The beating is joy, I get to release the last hour of torture. I have full permission to scream and shout, release all the shit built up in me, do what all animals do, I get to shake it off, shake it off. I get to release my fear.
The worst however was when he was satisfied with what he had just done to us and gave us a hug. Our abuser, violator, torturer now became our nurturer. No wonder repetitive violence victims are so full of confusion.
My Dad taught me to be okay with fear because nothing in my life compares, or could compare, in any way to how afraid I was of him. Nothing at all with the exception of DMT. DMT which took that fear and showed me it is insignificant to my capacity to feel it, the capacity of all human beings, a story for another heading.
This behavious is the number one I tried to remove from my family, it is being continued, not the beating (well, it is in a way), the part leading up to it. My family prefer I am homeless, prefer I am dead than any of them support me in speaking up. They are cowards, they add no value to the world, they act this way because to admit my words they also have to admit to themselves what I have told them in their own family spaces.
Family is everything, though, right?
Target of discrimination
Travelling, it needs to be accepted that you are going to be faced with situations that do not make sense to you. Discrimination is a big one, you can try your best to present culturally appropriately but sometimes it does not matter.
I flew into Rome airport, took the train into the city and on my way to find the accommodation stopped in at a pizza place. When in Rome after all.
The guy serving flat out refused to serve me. The basic English that I understood was, we do not serve you here, leave, you are not welcome. I was very confused but understood I was not welcome. I didn’t understand why, maybe with the short hair and close shaved face, Iraq deployment break, I looked like a skinhead or the Italian version.
Just have to accept these things, being the target of things you have targetted others with, live and learn from it.
Beautiful teaching from everyday life.
Drug Ignorance
I broke my ignorance towards drugs through Cannabis. Cannabis in Amsterdam firstly opened my eyes a little and then Cannabis and the Dark Web really got me thinking. I’ve mentioned it elsewhere, it was Cannabis and the Dark Web that brought me to psychedelics. Cannabis itself being a psychedelic.
Learn to use the Dark Web and your world will open up to you, absolutely open up to you. The auction sites are just like eBay, with a whole different category of goods. Yes, some of these goods are very harmful and will get you in a lot of trouble. However, I trust that most are not using this service for anything other reason than personal exploration and the ones that are already using it for criminal purposes are doing so, probably know how to use it a lot better than me.
You have to learn to navigate crypto to use the auction sites but crypto itself is very worthwhile having a cache of. The Auction Sites are the most important thing to understand. To purchase goods a system called Escro is used. Escro means that your money when you buy the goods is held in a holding account, when you receive the goods you update the system and the funds are released to the seller, or alternatively they are automatically released after a time period.
The tool is great, it is safe, you can get the drugs sent to your door, a PO Box or another mail receiving system. I had them come to my door. Only two out of 35 or so orders did not arrive. The important aspect is do not keep money in the Auction Site, you transfer crypto to it in order to pay stuff, you can transfer as much as you want and have it sitting there. Do not do this, you will lose it eventually.
Every Auction Site goes offline and never comes back, all of them on the dark web so far. New ones pop up all the time, they will go down too. There are some that have been going for a longish time, still do not trust them. They either go down because the administrators do a runner, take all the crypto that is held on the site and go silent. The other, the site closed down by the authorities.
Dark Web was perfect for me, being seen purchasing drugs from dealers doing what I was doing in the professional sense was not ideal. All my jobs have had a strong public presence. I could do my thing, live my life and nobody was any the wiser.
Amsterdam, the coffee shops, other countries now too, have a menu of the available pot. Describes the strain from an experience persepctive, great to lie back on the couch, won’t stop you getting on with your day, sit back and enjoy the ride. They also have other detail, sativa, indica, THC and CBD content, where it was grown, how it was grown.
The dark web also has the above detail in significantly more detail.
When I came back to pot I was heavily, almost 100% already committed to my own healing path, to educating myself on anything at all that could make the work more effective from a personal and professional perspective. Nothing I was doing had any intention other than this, cannabis included.
There were already studies coming out about the effects and potential of cannabis in the mental health space, it was a big motivation for me to bring them back into my life. Everything I was doing came with significant study alongside it, cannabis no exception.
All of the terms I saw on the dark web I started to study. I started to understand sativa and indica firstly. From a simple perspective indica strains of cannabis are catered towards chilling out on the couch, sativa won’t impact your day unless you have too much. The too much point you’ll end up on the couch, doesn’t matter which strain. THC I learnt is a driver behind the feeling, the stone, whereas CBD drives the calmness. Other words, the experience versus the grounding.
High THC strains of weed that are very low in CBD, or have had the CBD completely engineered out, can be dangerous territory for people who are prone to paranoia, psychosis, psycotic episodes, schizophrenia or have personality disorders. Research, knowing your conditions and how they interact with medicine is absolutely necessary. The actual medicine and not just its title, cannabis is not just cannabis.
From here I started to look at all the other stuff I could buy. Most was not an interest, heroin, cocaine, meth and a whole bunch of other shit. Some was an interest, mushrooms, the first title I saw and the first substance I started to research posrt cannabis. I extended the research to the other drugs under the psychedelic title, ended up buying two, LSD and Psilocybin Cubensis mushrooms.
My first experience of each was low dose, mid-range. The LSD was beautiful, difficult, it went for a long time. The mushrooms just phenomenally beautiful, my world popped, there was life in everything I had not ever experienced, a curiosity for the world I lost when I was a kid started to grow again.
I’ve learnt from the mushrooms a key detail about them, what we are shown in these experiences, the absolute beauty is available within our everyday eyes. It is how we saw the world as a child, how I now see the world again.
It was my second mushrooms trip that put pretty much all my effort on learning myself and healing together, in the most simple way.
It was high dose time and I was living in a unit, small complex but a unit all the same, not ideal. I decided a bush walk was the better option, the Nitmiluk Gorge walk, one of them, an overnight one was the perfect option.
The walk had just opened up again after the wet season so I knew it would be quiet, the weather is still pretty horrendous for hiking at this time of year. Day one I walk to the camping spot, seven or so hours, smoke some pot and chill. Emotionally I am a bit of a wreck, was about to turn back during the drive down and just say fuck it to all the work I had done on myself, basically give up.
There are only three or four other people staying the night, it is ideal, I only said g’day and didn’t need to think about involving myself in others conversations, there was plenty of space.
I wake up in the morning after sleeping over the top of a beautiful river, the gentle sound of flowing water filled my ears through the night. Over the top of the river, my camping setup is a Hennessey Hammock, the best bit of hiking kit I have ever owned. Still use it regularly.
Make an omelette and drop about four grams of mushrooms into it, eat it, pack up and I start the walk home.
P.S. The other day, the errand, the mushroom one, great success!
I start walking, feeling shit, just general shit, body and mind. After an hour I realise I have gone in the wrong direction, I’m dawdling without paying attention, the mushrooms kick in. I try to find my way back, it’s 8am or so now and the sun is hot, humidity is heavy, sweat is pouring out of me, I am not having a good time.
It takes me another hour and a half to find the trail, I’m back where I started, have made no ground at all. Starting to gmove into hissy fit territory. Finally I find the correct path and walk around a little bend, here I am presented with a hill that looks like it goes straight up and I crack the fucking wobblies.
Throw myself on the ground, smash it with my fists a few times, crying, dry retching, bitching, moaning and having the most horrible of horrible times. I still have at least seven hours of walking in front of me, bad mood is not the word.
A voice, through all the chaos a calm voice pops into me head, the same voice I heard when I was seven and made the promise to myself to be something different to my Dad. That time it was a statement, an absolute statement, this time it was care and encouragement. Get up buddy, just stand up.
I stood up. See you can do it mate. Now, take a step. Good. Another step.
It didn’t need to continue, I knew the message, I can choose to sit there and act like a bitch or a can stand up and walk, it’s my choice. What I do, no matter what it is I choose, I could have easily tantrumed and tantrumed getting nowhere or just walk and get somewhere. Personal responsibility, full personal responsibility, was the key that was missing to my healing.
By the time I made it back to the car I had completely integrated this teaching, my world opened up to how I held myself back through ignorance. Particularly the ignorance of the public narrative that will allow alcohol, statistically the most destructive, poisonous and toxic in every way drug on this planet but not even be willing to understand others.
Now, no matter what your drug I will not discourage you, I’ll help you understand the you behind the drug. Drug abuse, addiction, attachment, are all symptoms of what is important, they are not the problem, it’s the you underneath the symptom, the addiction, that needs to be understood. Understand the being, and the symptom is understood too.
I am no longer ignorant to any drug, no longer maintain my previous position towards them which is the drugs are bad position. This position is really harmful, really really harmful, it prevents you from seeing me as a human being as it once prevented me from seeing you.
Discrimination without education, again alcohol, is the most harmful thing on this planet.
Boys have penises, girls have vaginas
I must confess. Vaginas, they are ugly, there are very few pretty vaginas. An ugly dick us uglier than an ugly vagina but a good dick is much more attractive than an attractive vagina. Like, ladies, I can understand why you keep these things hidden but you really shouldn’t. If a man isn’t going to get past the look of this creature between you legs, well, he doesn’t deserve it.
I don’t like looking at one, not going to lie. Don’t mind looking at a nice cock though, pretty happy to share photos of my own for others to have an example of, see what a beautiful one looks like, others words, I’m just quoting here.
A soft cock is an ugly cock. Like there is no pride in it regardless of it being erect or not. It just looks ugly and limp regardless it’s current form. A non-soft cock is proud, even when it is soft it isn’t soft. A cock photo really does tell you a lot about a man ladies.
But, fucking hell, you can’t just send this shit without an invite. This is a surefire way to know you have a softcock for yourself anyway, sending dick pics without consent, you’re cock is fugly anyway buddy.
Back to the fanis. My displeasure at staring into the vaginal abyss does not stop me in any way from staring right into its eternity, barely fucking blinking in the process, fuck I love this thing. Back in 15.
Nah, joking. I’m still here, only took three. Joking again, didn’t leave the keyboard 😜
Fanis, fannies, throwback to a moment in the library with a bunch of 16 year-old boys huddled around a computer in the library that had only jsut got the internet for the first time.
Education, I love it, experiencing something for myself to understand it.
Every woman I have ever been with that has let me spend free vagina playtime with my mouth I have been able to bring to orgasm within minutes, fingers included too in the oral play. I have no idea how this came about but it did, I’ll keep it thanks God. This wasn’t the case with Sarah. She had a great time, could get close but not quite all the way.
I got a bit tired of not being able to effectively tickle her clit so I asked her one day to guide me. I did everything she said, exactly as she asked me to do it. I wasn’t far off, just a little change of angle here, the finger more over there, move your tongue like this, suck that a little bit, spit on it, gie it a gentle whack, back to the clit and fingers.
Hey presto! Five minutes later Sarah is recovering her breath on the couch.
From then it was even easier to get her in the mood if she was sitting on the fence. I’d simply do some of the things she taught me, wait until her body changed in the ways it needed to tell me what I needed to know and I’d get to fuck her all over again. Win win really.
Vaginas buddies, all buddies, buddies is gender neutral, get stuck into them. Listen to your partner and learn.
* No jacking occured during the making of this post.
Cock Hygiene
While I am at it.
I learnt to clean my dick in the very best way, through Emma when I was 38 or 39, thereabouts.
Beautiful beautiful French woman with a phenomenal body, abs and skin that still make me go weak at the knees. Yeah, back in a minute ….. Ha. No disclaimer at the end of this one, you’ll just have to decide for yourself.
I knew well before this how to do it, by now I was pretty good at penis polishing to be honest.
Emma has very high hygiene levels and sucking dick isn’t at the top of her favourite things to do. She’ll do it sometimes but only if the frank and beans meet her ridiculously high standards. Sometimes it did, mostly it didn’t, common theme she tells me.
One day, the last day we spent together actually, I say buddy, if you’re going to keep banging on about how clean you need it to be in order to blow me you better show me how it is done. She did.
30 minutes later I am fucking her on the bathroom floor, one last time before I leave. The first 30 minutes she cleaned that thing like a cock has never been cleaned. I didn’t really know those things were possible to be honest, I certainly could not see how they were necesarry, how I could even think to do it on my own.
At the end of the 30 minutes, after the demonstration, before the fuck, lots of oral was included in the demonstration, didn’t necessarily need a top up. Anyway, before the sex, after the demonstration, Emma is still on her knees looking up at me with a smile on her face, my hard dick is still whacking her lips, ‘mate, there is no fucking way I am doing all of that every time you want to give me head!’
Education on cock hygiene, done right.